Chapter 1: Musings of a God
Chapter Text
BOOK 1 - OUTLANDER
“There are two kinds of worlds—your world, which is the real world, and other worlds, the fantasy. Worlds like this are worlds of the human imagination: their reality, or lack of reality, is not important. What is important is that they are there. These worlds provide an alternative. Provide an escape. Provide a threat. Provide a dream, and power; provide refuge, and pain. They give your world meaning.
They do not exist; and thus they are all that matter.
Do you understand?”
At first, I had no clue what was going on.
Everything was color and noise, and I was falling. I don’t know how or why but I kept on falling, fearing I’d be chutney when I hit the ground.
Instead I woke up in bed. With a freaking bed sheet beneath me. Made of soft fabric. Softer than I was used to. And another sheet covered me all the way from my chest down to my toes.
“Good,” whispered a dry, rasping voice. “Very good.”
My head was on fire and my eyes felt like chunks of lead. My hands and legs felt fine which was… odd. I distinctly remembered those motherfuckers hacking my arms and legs and dropping me into that dusty grave and shoving mud over my screaming face. Not something to remember fondly over a meal, I assure you.
“Excellent,” rasped the voice again. Female, I recognized. An aging woman. “I told you he had strength.”
“We shall see,” said a silky voice.
“Your eyes,” said the woman again, “Open your eyes.”
Bad call. My eyelids were sleeping. But I opened them right away and hissed at the intensity of the light.I waited for a moment and then tried again. Then again. On the fourth or fifth try, I could see.
Somewhat.
Then somebody shafted a pair of glasses on my face.
And my vision cleared.
Hospital.
Joy.
My arms felt right. No injuries whatsoever. No absent limbs. No IV either. There was this weird, familiar woman smiling at me, not the ‘I want your babies’ kind or ‘you owe me money’ kind, but weird nonetheless. Not bad-looking, for a forty-year-old, with ash-brown hair, a fair, friendly face and brown eyes. She wore a nurse’s garb and presented a naggingly-familiar look I could not place a finger on.
“Welcome back,” She said.
I didn’t smile back, in case you’re wondering. I glanced further up, spotting a black-garbed man with greasy, black hair, a hooked nose and sallow skin. A face that I not only recognized, but challenged my brain that it was seeing things. My stupid brain, crazy little bugger that it was, threw back another contradiction, recognizing the man as Severus fucking Snape, potions master of Hogwarts. A fictional character of a fictional story that I used to read and, I suppose, day-dream about, when I was a kid back in school.
So why was I dreaming about him?
You’ve recognized your Destination World
Welcome, Outlander!
The words appeared, bright, brilliant, floating on a translucent blue screen. The kind that shows up in low-budget sci-fi movies made in the 1990’s. It didn’t take an earth-shattering revelation to realize what it was.
A fucking game screen.
First Severus Snape. Now a game screen. I’ve definitely gone cuckoo.
….or not?
How does one know?
I tried to open my mouth. To speak, yell, grunt, hiss– anything. Nothing worked. No sound emerged. Like someone had taken superglue and stuck it beneath my tongue. Instead I stared at Snape’s pasty pale, photophobic skin in shock and confusion, while the rest of me did a perfect impersonation of a waste basket. Utterly dead and full of crap.
Responses Muted Until Protocol Activation
I’ll admit. I was panicking now. But what good is panic if you can’t even move anything except your eyes?
So I watched. I watched with utter bewilderment as the man, no, the fantasy character in front of me conversed with the woman– Madam Pomfrey– my head told me.
“He’s barely responding,” Snape muttered, “Perhaps an aneurysm?”
“His readings are all over the place,” The nurse frowned, “It’s surprising he’s even awake. Merlin, if you were just a second too late—”
Snape stiffened.
“Dementors inside Hogwarts! I swear, what was that man thinking, I mean—”
“Kneazle got your tongue, Potter?” Snape barked, but any idiot could tell he was trying to goad me into reacting. News Flash, idiot! The game screen turned me into a dumb goat. So why don’t you hold your balls and shut your trap and do something useful for a change?
Hey! Imaginary characters casting imaginary magic could yield imaginary results, right?
A second later, his words struck me.
Merlin. Dementors. Hogwarts. Potter—
Potter.
He had said Potter.
He could be talking about one Potter.
My body shivered, and for the first time, my hand felt free. I shakily moved it up, crossing past my chest and lips, until it landed on my temples.
At my scar.
HOLY—
Outlander has recognized World Setting
Sense of Self Activated
Responses Active.
Establishing Reality Foundation…
Welcome, HARRY JAMES POTTER!
….Fuck!
You’ve got to believe me.
This shit is real. I’m not in a fucking coma, and these fuckers aren’t part of some deranged drama set. As strange as it was to wrap my mind around the facts, and as ludicrous it might appear, the truth is— it’s all real. Very real. I’m as logical as the next person, but I’d be a fool to shut my eyes and deny reality. As absurd as it was, this is my new truth.
I have been reincarnated into a fantasy world.
I’m at Hogwarts.
In the body of Harry James Potter. Not the wide-eyed eleven-year-old, bespectacled, semi-autistic kid of the books, but a sixteen-year-old Harry Potter who was, and I’m not kidding– still in his third year. Why? Not because he was a retard that constantly failed for three consecutive years but because in this world, they start at thirteen.
Why? No clue.
Initially, I was absolutely crazy about having actual magic. Well, actual, fictional magic of a fictional world, but you get the idea. But then I realized that being the Brat-Who-Lived also meant going on surprise dates with dragons and death eaters and dementors, basically anything with a D that has a Kill-Harry fetish.
But then this happened.
Name — Harry James Potter
Age — 16
Sex — Male
Meta-Luck — 12
World Anchor — 0
AFFINITY
Transfiguration — 15%
Charms — 18%
Martial Magic — 42%
Dark Arts — 30%
Psychomancy — 3%
Alchemy —- 2%
Spatial Magic — 21%
PERKS
Child of Prophecy, Outlander, Defiant, Horcrux
Yeah. Gamer elements. In the Harry Potter universe. Because there’s no such thing as ‘too much buggering’, is there?
I’ve had two days to lie in that whitewashed hall, listening to that worrywart Poppy Pomfrey’s lectures and drinking my potions like a retarded baby, while memories– Harry’s memories– bombarded my already addled brain like freaking Kamikaze hits. First year– the troll, the dog, the stone. Second year– parseltongue, Riddle, basilisk, ohmygawd pain. The phoenix bit was a nice touch. Third year– Grim. Sirius Black. Peter Pettigrew. Lupin– holy shit that’s a freaking werewolf— cold, more cold, more, more, more freezing arctic cold, dementor, hood and IDON’TWANNADIE—
Yeah. Painful stuff. You don’t wanna know.
But most of all, I got my answers to these new additions to my Potter-verse. The Screen. The attributes. Meta-Luck. Things like what the fuck were these perks and why was me being a Horcrux considered one?
PERK — HORCRUX
Tom Riddle Fucked Up! You get one free pass against the killing curse.
EFFECTS
+100% Affinity for Dark Arts
Okay! That’s not a perk. That’s a one-ticket saying ‘DIE and become a Dark Lord!’ All I needed was to fly into the path of a killing curse and Presto!
…yeah! Not happening anytime soon.
What was this world anchor bullshit again?
WORLD ANCHOR
A number representing how strongly you are tethered to reality.
Creepy.
At least the screens responded to my thought and nobody else could see it. Or I hoped that was the case. Snape hadn’t spotted anyone while I was imitating a cucumber.
My reality-defying, physics-altering, spell-slinging magic wand was out there somewhere. But until I got my hands on it, I’d have to get do with the screen.
Quickly, I checked through the other perks.
PERK — CHILD OF PROPHECY
Congratulations, you’re Fate’s Bitch! May you live in interesting times.
EFFECTS
+50% increased chances of encountering significant entities of this world
Attribute META-LUCK added
Meta-Luck. I briefly remembered something about a bottle of luck. All of this was a very diplomatic way of saying that I’d be drawn into the plot of the story. Newsflash motherfuckers! Everything happens to Harry Potter. You can’t get deeper into the plot than that.
PERK — DEFIANT
You’re a rebellious little piece of shit. Trying to get you to bow down to authority is harder than pulling teeth!
EFFECTS
+80% immunity against mental coercion
Not bad. The mental coercion thing would be especially useful, given who I was against. Wait. I was? No chance of snake-face reconsidering the deal? Like I could just fidelius myself off the world and settle down somewhere in the States under a different identity? Maybe invest in Google and Microsoft and Apple and settle down with a nice retirement package?
There were two problems to that. One was the obvious one– I had no clue how to perform the Fidelius. Assuming I could even do it. The second was the Child of Prophecy Perk. Somehow, I doubted it’d let me stay away from where the action was.
That left one final perk to check.
PERK — OUTLANDER
Ability to see the Rules that govern this world on your Screen. You lucky dog! Everyone else is playing Trial and Error!
EFFECTS
Gain affinities from others by increasing World Anchors
Very nice. Very wordy, Meaning? No fucking clue.
I felt like kicking myself. This was definitely a Harry Potter universe, but it wasn’t the Harry Potter Universe of the books. Or movies for that matter. The age difference was the most obvious one, and I had no doubt there’d be more to go.
And then there was this again.
Memory Infusion and Segregation Complete
Spiritual Matrix Determined
Set
Activating all functions…
THIS IS GONNA HURT!!
“Holy!” I began.
And then darkness.
“....rry?”
The voice called out to me in the darkness. It was lucky I didn’t throw my pillow at it.
“...rry, mate! You awake?”
Blearily opening my eyes, I looked up and found a tall, lanky redhead— Ron Weasley peeking through the door. Beside her, was a girl — Ginny? — her head some inches below Ron’s. Harry would have been glad to see his friend, and friend’s sister, I supposed, but all I felt was apprehension. I was a fraud, and didn’t believe for a second I could act enough to fool both of them, even with the full set of Harry’s memories.
“Good to see you, mate! Ginny overheard Pomfrey talk to Sprout that you’d woken up! We were worried as hell!” Ron shifted on his feet as he entered the room, with Ginny in tow.
I quickly did a thorough rundown of both of them. Ron was tall and lean, like the books portrayed, but Ginny, Ginny looked mesmerizing. Red-hair, freckles, with a slightly darker skin than her brother, with wide hips, thick thighs, and an ample chest with curves.
A woman’s body.
No wonder Harry Potter nailed her in his sixth year.
“Uhm, mate?”
Then I realized they were waiting for an answer from their Harry Potter.
“You know,” I tried to be casual, “Just enjoying the peace. Where’s Hermione?”
Ginny bit her lip in concern, which was already leagues ahead from the butter-dish girl that I had memories of from Harry’s— from my second year. Damn, this reincarnated Outlander thing made grammar really difficult.
“Uh mate, you don’t remember?”
Something told me I wasn’t gonna like this. “Remember what?”
“Back at the Willow,” Ron replied hesitantly, “ When Professor Lupin changed… Don’t you remember?”
Of course I did. I— Harry, was talking to Sirius about how I could go to live with him after Pettigrew was imprisoned and Sirius was a free man. And then Lupin— curse that moron— had changed into a werewolf and Sirius had attacked him to save Ron and—
I froze.
No. Not Ron. Hermione. Sirius had tried to save Hermione, who was chained to Lupin and Pettigrew, but it was too late. Lupin had gotten to her.
“Hermione. She was bleeding.”
That did not tally with what I remembered from the books and yet, that was the story Harry remembered. Lupin had slashed her with one of his claws. Slashed by a werewolf under a full moon. That my head was swirling with sweet memories spent with the bushy-haired sexy bookworm, and even thinking of her bleeding arm made me feel all kinds of wrong inside. I remembered running after an injured Sirius down the forest towards the lake where the dementors would come flooding in, the place where I’d cast my Patronus and try to save him.
See, it wouldn’t be wrong to say that the memories were clouded, though more because of a lack of time to go through them than trauma. The subtle things and nuances— I still couldn’t remember them, not unless they counted for something important in the books. I recalled the wonder upon seeing Diagon Alley for the very first time, meeting Ron on the train, and Hermione performing a repair charm upon my glasses. All those events were still there, somewhere fudged up in my head, but for the emotional impact they had on me, I might as well have been watching a very detailed movie of someone else’s life, which in this case, was none other than Harry Potter. It made me feel superficial and bitter, like even the tiniest joys that I had experienced weren’t mine.
But— but if the last thing I remembered was being ambushed by dementors by the lake then…
“... Sirius,” I croaked, “What happened to Sirius?”
This was crazy. If this was the Harry Potter world, then how were things so different? Why was I sixteen and not thirteen? And Sirius? What the hell happened to him?
“RON!” I barked, “What happened to Sirius?”
“Harry…. Mate!” Ron said, flustered, “I— that is—”
“Stop stammering and tell me!”
“Snape found your bodies at the lake.”
“Yes obviously he found us at the lake, but what happened to Sirius? Is he in Flit—” I caught myself midway. “I mean, did the Ministry take him? You told them about Pettigrew, right?”
Please say yes. Please say yes. Please say ye—
“Harry,” Ron gulped. “Snape— he found your bodies at the lake. You were breathing. Barely. Sirius…he’s dead.”
“...dead?” I croaked. How? Why? A million questions bombarded my mind. “And— and Lupin?”
He shrugged. “He err… resigned.”
Of course he did. The useless bastard. Knowing him, I’d never see his morose face ever again. Especially with Sirius dead.
“Wonderful!” I muttered. “Absolutely wonderful!”
Sirius was dead. Hermione was a werewolf. Pettigrew was free. I was stuck in Harry Potter’s body. And Voldemort would start gunning for me from next year. Could this get any worse?
“Can I… go see Hermione?”
Ginny frowned. “Not in two days. They’re releasing her the day after. Mcgonagall said she’d get a private room. You know, for her condition.”
“She bloody should!” said Ron, “there’s no saying how the curse’s affected Hermione. Mum says that the curse twists them, makes them beasts.”
I arched an eyebrow. Ron Weasley biased against werewolves? The books hadn’t shown this side of the Weasleys. Certainly not in their behavior towards Lupin. Another divergence perhaps?
“We should leave now, mate!” said Ron, looking around. “We aren’t supposed to be here. Pomfrey would throw a fit if she saw us.”
I chuckled. “That she would.”
I traded glances with Ginny who looked concerned, her hesitation to leave the room seeping through her distant demeanor. No doubt she was thinking about how low I was feeling about Sirius’s demise and Hermione’s affliction. After a moment of inner struggle, she strode up and wrapped her arms around me, pulling me into a hug. Harry would have been uncomfortable with the affectionate gesture, but I, feeling her young body up close, her incredibly soft breasts against my chest and her aroma filling my nose, was beset with arousal. I couldn’t help but cop a feel of her soft bottom, my fingers caressing her asscheeks before jumping back to her waist. I knew Ron was standing right there, looking around cautiously, but I didn’t care. I felt her stiffen at my touch, but otherwise didn’t react, even when I dug into her neck, smelling her hair. She shivered at my breath against her neck, before stepping back, her sharp, bright brown eyes watching me as if seeing me for the first time.
Both of them were about to leave, before Ron paused again, and turned around.
“I almost forgot. Lupin asked me to hand this to you…”
He held up a folded piece of parchment.
“— this.”
I stared at his hand, slack jawed, realizing what it was he was holding in his hands. The Marauder's Map! The magical map that could give me the location of every single point in the entire castle, excluding the unplottable points. A thief’s tool, one that could tell me where every single person at Hogwarts was at every single moment.
I tried not to fondle it. At least I wasn’t stupid enough to open it in front of him and reveal its secrets.
“Well… what’s it about?” He asked.
“Huh?” I replied, marveling at how the Map would be oh-so-useful to me. “Nothing. Just a souvenir from, you know, when he was teaching me the Patronus.”
Ginny’s eyes flashed. Did she know what the Map did? Knowing what kind of sneaky bitch she was, I would put my money on her seeing the twins use it. Would she tell? Or was she wondering why I lied to Ron? Either way, I’d be seeing her real soon.
“Well, erm, bye then,” Ron replied awkwardly, patting me on the shoulder and walking out, with Ginny following right after, eyeing me on her way out.
The door closed.
I dropped down upon the bed, ruffling my hair. It had been a close one. Maybe next time, I’d try using that Meta-Luck thing.
“One step at a time,” I told myself, staring at the now closed door. “Now, where were we with those world anchors?”
WORLD ANCHOR SYSTEM
You do not belong in this world. Be thankful, the World Anchors are here to save your ass.
A World Anchor is a Bond you share with existences that are part of this reality. OUTLANDER allows you to establish new World Anchors and solidify existing ones, granting you affinities from your anchors as well as Meta-Luck.
I was conflicted between outright laughing and throwing something at its face. Not that it’d work. No one could see or interact with the screen but me.
Big deal, I thought. “Show me my anchors.”
You have no existing World Anchors
“Okay, how do I create them?”
Perform a Sanctum Invocation with a Ley Line
“No clue what that is.”
Visit a Library!
I rolled my eyes. “Fine. No need to be an arse about it.”
Arse? Oh right. British. I wasn’t sure what was worse. That I was already saying ‘arse’ instead of ‘ass’ or that I’d have to live with this perversion for the rest of my life here?
“Any other options?”
Create a Horcrux
I swallowed. Fantasy world or not, I wasn’t sure if becoming a full-fledged murderhobo, throwing killing curses and creating horcruxes was the way to go.
“Anything else?”
Pussy!
Perform a Tantric Sex Ritual with another entity, sharing your magical energy while receiving a minor portion of their affinity in return.
I blinked.
Then blinked again.
Nope. Reality was still broken.
“You’re— you’re being serious?”
Absolutely!
“And I’d have to just fu—” I paused, looking around just in case someone could hear me, and continued the conversation mentally. According to this, I’d need to grab the nearest female and fuck her brains off, and I’d get this anchor thing?
And receive a minor portion of their affinity
“Great! Tell me more!”
The screen shook a little, before new information appeared on it. It looked like a small essay, titled–
WORLD ANCHORS AND TANTRIC SEX
The more I read through it, the more I realized how fucked up this place was. Long story short. I’m an Outlander, an existence outside this whiny bitch called Reality, which is why I need World Anchors to tether myself to this world. And I can gain those by fuck— by having sex with beautiful, tantalizing, loin-stirringly hot women.
Eh, the last bit was my own exaggeration, but who cares, right?
No kidding. And thanks to my Child of Prophecy perk, my chances of meeting new and interesting people are always high. Sounds like the start of an erotica? You ain’t heard nothing yet.
It isn’t just about the sex. Fucking new girls would get me started on anchoring myself deep within them, physically and magically, but that was half the job done. I had to develop emotional bonds with them, and make sure they value and trust me. Well that, or fuck them frequently enough to keep myself fresh in their minds. Plus, I’d get affinities from them, and the higher the affinity, the easier a particular brand of magic was for me. I wasn’t sure how fucking translated to an increase in magical strength and prowess, but I ain’t gonna start looking at a gift horse in the mouth.
Wait, I’m Harry Potter. So gift-hippogriff then? Nah there's something about a gift horse that just sounds right.
Anyway, if I fucked enough girls, and used my affinities to gain an arsenal of new and exciting and powerful magic, I could become the strongest wizard in existence. The Potters were an old family if Rowling were to be believed, which meant old money. Gold, status, fortunes. Everything would be mine. In a world where magic could convert truth into lies and lies into truth, where a spell could tear into the mind of another, where existed the Deathly Hallows that could conquer Death itself– my growth was infinite. My potential was unlimited. I could do anything, learn anything, and gain anything I wanted.
I shivered.
“Dear me,” I said, quoting the words of Vespasian, the Roman Emperor, “I think I’m becoming a God!”
Chapter 2: Fuck or Fade?
Chapter Text
BOOK 1 - OUTLANDER
Poppy Pomfrey came in for her timely inspection sometime after breakfast. I was feeling healthy as a hippogriff, so there was no real reason to hold me back in the Hospital Wing. Naturally, she told me I'd have to stay for the next two days just so she could be sure I was fine.
I escaped an hour later.
Finding my wand—holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches–I trotted past the Hospital Wing, doing my absolute best to not gawk at everything. My feet knew the way, so I had no problem heading towards the unused corridor of the Third Floor, where Dumbledore had made Fluffy stand guard over the secret door. I wasn't ready to be Harry Potter unless I could cast spells to see if it really worked.
Grabbing the closest door I could find, I yanked it open and stepped into a rubbish bin.
Okay, not exactly a rubbish bin, but broken chairs,tables and spiderwebs do not a classroom make. The candles on the chandelier flashed at my entry, bathing the room with an eerie, crimson light.
Seriously, where were the light bulbs?
I leveled my wand ahead and spoke as clearly as possible.
"Lumos!"
I barked out a laugh seeing the small, intense, white light illuminate the wand tip. It grew larger with every passing second, and I spent an entire minute gawking at it like an imbecile. Unsure about what to do next, I cast the counter-charm, which came to me instantly, like it was resting on my lips.
"Nox!"
The blob of white popped out.
As did the candles on the chandelier.
….Crap!
…
…
Two hours of spell slinging from memory and studying the screen told me that Harry Potter was an idiot. He hadn't given two fucks about improving his magic, elevating his arsenal or simply even testing his potential. The kid had a natural talent for martial magic, or Defense Against the Dark Arts as the subject was called, and his entire repertoire was basically Expelliarmus.
No wonder Fate ditched him for me. I knew how to use his talents better.
Leveling my wand, I focussed on the invincible feeling that had risen within me when I had first cast the lighting spell. I thought of the emotions stirring in me at what I could– what I would achieve in this world. I thought of Ginny's hair and the softness of her arse, the desire to see her writhing beneath me in ecstasy already hitting downstairs. Filling myself with all of that, I reached for the well of magic within me.
And it answered.
"Expecto Patronum!"
Magic blasted forth from the tip of the wand, exploding into blazes of brilliant white light, twisting and turning into a bonfire of silver miasma around me. The power felt physical and sent wind roaring around me in a gale.
But the Patronus didn't form.
What the fuck? Why wasn't it forming a stag? No wait, that was because Harry's dad was a stag. I wasn't Harry, not really, and didn't give two shits about James Potter or his hot wife. I wanted riches., wanted power, and sex. All three of them. I pushed more power into the spell, but all I got was more mist. I couldn't follow everything that happened. Energy was exploding around me, shadows flashing through the brightness, seeking escape, screaming.
I stood amidst it, my mind brilliantly lit by the magic coursing through me. It burned me, but it felt wonderful. Some part of me screamed out in joy that it did. My robes flapped and danced in the gale, spreading out around me in a scarlet and sable cloud. You can read all you want about magic, but trust me, the feel of it was… indescribable. It wasn't power, wasn't energy, wasn't emotion, and wasn't thought. It was….
Magic.
And I was casting it.
Bringing it into this world. Making my imagination come to life.
Then it happened.
First came the front legs. Then the hind ones. The body was enormous, almost as large as a horse, only thicker, with claws for feet. A silvery tail stretched out of its back, as a giant, avian face burst out of the front, unleashing a pair of extremely large wingspan on either side of its body. And just like that, I knew what it was. A half-horse, half-eagle. A creature that symbolized both power and protection.
A hippogriff.
I stared at it.
"That's really impressive!"
The sudden voice caught me off-guard, and with that, the feelings empowering my Patronus vanished really hard. I didn't know why or how, but the sudden flux of energy choked me, like someone had taken my magic and slammed hard on the brakes. My arms were twitching as I dropped to the floor. I couldn't get a breath, couldn't think, and knew somewhere amidst this pain that things had gone very wrong. Whoever had done this to me was going to get fucked with a shoe. I turned around, ready to snap at the intruder with some choice words about his family, his mother's occupation, and the length of his dick, but the identity of the person left me gawking for words.
"Du– Professor!"
Albus Dumbledore stood before me, all tall and grandfatherly, with a bowl of lemon drops. A comfy, squishy chair lay just behind him, probably conjured out of thin air.
"That was most impressive, my boy. I knew Professor Lupin was teaching you the charm, but to see a third-year cast a fully corporeal Patronus is… extraordinary."
Yeah. I'd have felt impressed as well had I not been seeing stars and hearing bells in my ears.
"Ah, yes," Dumbledore frowned. "That is prone to happen from time to time, my boy. My sincere apologies."
He held out his hand.
Groaning, I took it and stood up.
"What… went wrong?" I asked. "I cast the spell—"
"I'm sure you did, but a corporeal patronus requires an unwavering mindset. Perhaps my oddly timed words distracted you, and the charm exploded in a backlash."
That… made sense. Rowling had been silent about Patronus lore, or any lore. For all the massive world she crafted, she was lazy as shit with lore.
I coughed again.
"Easy, Harry," He said. "Maybe you should have gotten a bit more rest."
"I'm fine."
"Physically perhaps, but not emotionally. But I understand."
I frowned.
"I had a most illuminating talk with Remus, and a somewhat biased one, with Severus. What happened with Sirius was… most unfortunate. And Miss Granger…"
"Stop!" I said, making my words sound as bitter as possible. It wasn't very difficult once I pulled on the memories. "I don't want to talk about it."
"Why so miserable, Harry? You should be very proud of yourself after last night."
"Proud?" I echoed as panic set in. Albus Dumbledore was a Legilimens on par with Voldemort. There was no telling what thoughts he could—STOP THINKING ABOUT IT!
Swallowing, I dove into Harry's memories. Watching Sirius offer him—offer me a home. My hopes of having an actual family. My horror at seeing Hermione injured. My fear at seeing Remus Lupin transform. My frustration at my inability to cast my patronus, and finally my dread at being surrounded by those dementors as she circled over us, and that cold, empty feeling as the dementor slowly unfurled its hood to reveal the empty, gaping—
I threw up.
"Harry!" Dumbledore exclaimed, getting off his chair and helping me stand up. With the barest flicker of his hand, a wooden chair popped into existence. The Headmaster pushed me into it, before taking a step back and watching me in concern.
"No, no!" He muttered. "You're definitely not well."
"The dementors…" I croaked, the absolute wrongness from that memory making me feel like I had been force-fed sewage. It definitely wasn't compatible, but it provided what I needed. A way out. "Whenever I think of—of—"
"Rest, Harry," Dumbledore replied kindly. "what happened was unfortunate. Extremely so. There are no words to express the trauma that you went through. It's unfortunate that there's nothing I could have done to keep it from happening."
I suppressed the urge to look at him. Canonically, Dumbledore could have ensured things ran differently. He could have advised Hermione and me to go back in time and set things right. But I was unconscious for days, and Hermione herself was wounded, so assuming time-turners only went back by six hours for some god damned reason…
"I just don't want to talk about it."
"There's no shame in what you're feeling, Harry," said Dumbledore. "On the contrary, that you can feel pain like this is your greatest strength."
I clenched my fists. Dumbledore was laying a trap. I just knew it. And the wrongness pervading me wasn't helping matters.
"My greatest strength, is it?" I asked, my voice cold and unforgiving. "You haven't got a clue, Professor. Pettigrew betrayed my parents. He's the reason I grew up an orphan. He's the reason the Dursleys tortured me all my life. And I let him go free. Sirius wanted to kill him, but I didn't let him. And now Sirius is dead, Pettigrew is gone, and Hermione—"
"Harry, suffering like this proves you're still alive! This pain is part of being human."
"I don't care!" I snapped. Power flared around me. "And if you really want me to be happy, stop sending me to those Dursleys!"
Call me paranoid, but I had this weird feeling that this conversation was heavily shifting towards that explosive version that happened at the end of the fifth-year in the books.
"Harry, the Dursleys—"
"Are not my family," I replied as coldly as possible. "They've never been my family. I do not consider them my family. They call me a freak and hate every single thing about magic. You can force me to go to the Dursleys, but I'll just ride the Knight Bus and rent a room at the Cauldron."
Dumbledore looked at me, amused.
Damn it. He isn't taking me seriously, is he?
"Harry, Peter Pettigrew is on the loose. Is it really that difficult to understand why I'm interested in your protection? I understand the Dursleys—"
"Don't care about me!" I was practically yelling at this point. Raising one's voice always gets the point across. "I told you. You send me there. I leave. I know my parents left me a freaking fortune. Let me use it bloody once before someone gets lucky and finishes me off!"
Come on. I begged inwardly. Accept my point, damnit. Just leave me freaking' alone. Just what do I need to do to convince him? Drink a potion of Felix Felicis?
…
…
I froze.
Felix Felicis. The potion they call Liquid Luck. I didn't have it, but guess what? I had something just as cool.
Meta-Luck.
Twelve goddamn points full of it.
Do you wish to use Meta-Luck?
Yes. Goddamn it. Yes. a hundred times. As long as I get the independence, I want.
Dumbledore frowned. "Is that really what you want, Harry?"
I scowled at him. "You want me to swear an oath?"
Meta-Luck is being deployed
Yes. Do something, damn it.
Dumbledore sighed. "I suppose there is no other option then. I'd have really preferred you live with the Weasleys, but with their eldest children being back, I'm afraid that isn't an option either. Fortunately, your parents left you a suitable alternative."
….what?
"I remember your father moving into an apartment in London with your mother during their seventh year at school, after he was selected by the Puddlemere's as a Chaser. That was before the war took a nasty turn, and they had to shift to the cottage in Godric's Hollow. I believe the apartment is on Tottenham Court Road, unless my memory is failing me."
"An… apartment?" I croaked. Was this really happening? Had James and Lily Potter really left an apartment for Harry—for me? The books covered none of that shit. Or was this the effect of Meta-Luck? Had this… had Meta-Luck just conjured something that didn't exist in the books simply because I had wished for it?
Had I just discovered the greatest power in this universe?
"Why yes," The Headmaster replied. "You are turning seventeen in two months. I think it's about time you had a place to call your own. I can get someone to accompany you to Gringotts and get it sorted." He scratched his beard again. "Perhaps Filius might be interested…."
"I — that is, thank you! But there's no need to disturb Professor Flitwick. I can just do that by myself," I croaked out. An apartment? Free from the Dursleys and Dumbledore's interference? It was the greatest news ever. There was no telling what would happen to Grimmauld Place now that Sirius was dead, but with this, I'd have an entire summer to test out everything.
Fuck Magic. I was going to elevate this Meta-Luck as much as possible. All I needed was to figure out the mechanics first.
"Good, good," Dumbledore bobbed his head. "My only request is that you take it slow for now. Few witches and wizards can even keep their sanity after what you've been through. To see you so active already is a sign of great mental fortitude, Harry. Sirius, wherever he is, is proud of you."
Nundu pucky! I thought. Another weird wizard expression. Still, I guess I'm stuck with them. Can't be lucky with everything, can I?
Consumed Meta-Luck Units: 10
Remaining Meta-Luck Units: 2
Damn. Just two. This was going to be an uphill climb.
Dumbledore coughed.
"... sorry, sir. I was just… thinking."
"A good sign," The Headmaster murmured. "It's been lovely chatting with you, Harry. But it is getting late. Best not be roaming the hallways alone. Pip-Pip!"
And with that, he disapparated.
I watched him leave. Even in the books, Dumbledore could both apparate and portkey in and out of Hogwarts. Maybe I too could try gaining a skill like that? All it'd take was some luck—
Meta-Luck Deployment Complete
You have altered Fate! Congratulations, Destiny has your attention. You might not be glad that you did.
That… was ominous.
BANE Activated
Minimum World Anchorage required - 15
Hold on! What the fuck was happening?
Current World Anchor Analysis
World Anchor — 0
Required World Anchor — 15
And that wasn't all. The icy feeling on my chest made my heart quiver and my gut squeeze as more information appeared.
Current World Anchor Balance is negative
You have 24 hours to gain 15 World Anchors before you are deleted from existence!
Enjoy your last day in this reality!
"...FUCK!"
There was a party in the Gryffindor Common Room, celebrating my speedy recovery and, as the twins put it, my legendary act of disarming Snape and flinging him away. Both of them had genuflected before me right away, calling me their inspiration and an honorary marauder.
The perils of irony.
I'd have cared if I wasn't too busy panicking. You know, about my last day in this world. Unless I established World Anchors by finding a girl, fuck her nice and hard and not get expelled. I had tried to master a confusion hex, but I was no good at it and an Imperius was hilariously above my paygrade.
The screen had great fun pointing that out.
That left the normal way.
But whom to fuck?
My boner lobbied for Ginny Weasley. She was charming, and downright sexy, and harbored a titanic crush on Harry. Me. I had already made a move earlier, so maybe I could push things to first base. Maybe a little fondling if I got lucky. But pushing it would spoil things between me and the entire Weasley brood. Not a great loss, but better to avoid suspicion.
Who else? Hermione? She was hospitalized for fuck's sake, and probably had the hots for Ron.
There was a girls' group on the other side of the Common Room, seating around the stone-topped bench. Angelina and Alicia were taking turns at pouring butterbeer and firewhiskey and handing over the mugs to the other girls. Lavender and Parvati were engaged in an animated discussion while Romilda kept throwing glances at me when she thought I wasn't looking. Seriously, it was like she was obsessed...
The thought vanished as it hit me like a brick.
Romilda Vane.
Canonically, Romilda had tried to drug-rape Harry in his sixth year. She had used Amortentia, the most powerful love potion. Certainly not to just attract his attention. But could I really make a try on her?
"Knut for your thoughts, stranger?"
I looked up and found Ginny Weasley sauntering towards me with a mug in each hand. The joyful glint in her eyes and the flash of her smile made her impossible to look away from. The amber-coloured liquid sloshed around in the mugs as she added an exaggerated sway to her hips. Not that I minded in the slightest.
"Too many," I replied. "Try a few galleons?"
"That's too bad," she pouted, placing the mugs on the stone bench beside him. "Haven't got a galleon."
She bent at the waist, giving me a front-row seat to her cleavage, the open first button curtaining her glorious assets like a wizard's cloak hiding secrets. I wanted to look, but also I didn't want to spoil the magic.
After a dozen seconds passed — more than needed, I was sure — she cast a cooling charm with her wand, put it away and straightened up. I watched with rapt attention as she brought the mug to her lips, slid the cold beer along, licked it with her tongue, and trailed it down the side of her neck and over her chest.
"It's so hot," she said casually, as if she didn't know what she was doing to me.
I shifted a bit, attempting to hide my growing erection, but I couldn't help but look at the seductress that was Ginny. Her full lips glistened with moisture, and the trail of wetness down her neck all but begged me to lap at it with my tongue. Like it was a painting of numbers where my tongue was the brush, and she the canvas.
And then she did the unexpected. She licked the mug and then held it out for me.
"Thank you." I took a sip without hesitation. "Damn! That's good butterbeer."
"I'm glad you like it." she smiled. "I figured we shared some common tastes."
Her words left me wondering about her meaning. I openly ogled at her body as she took another drink, and I saw her eyes drift down to my crotch. The fire in them was all the proof I needed. Maybe I had been reading it wrong earlier? She didn't doubt me. She was really into me, and my actions earlier had emboldened her.
Ginny was intelligent and sexy, with a body that never had to pursue others, preferring them to throw themselves at her until she deemed them worthy of her attention. Unless, of course, you were Harry Potter.
But again, she was Ron's sister, and that made her a risk. Question was, should I take it?
I glanced at the girls' table again, just in time to see Parvati throw up on Romilda's shirt, much to the latter's horror, with Alicia trying to salvage the mess, waving her wand only to make Romilda's jacket disappear.
"Jee—bloody hell! Look at them!"
"You have been," Ginny said, "All evening."
I tried not to give her a guilty glance. "Um."
"Is this about… you know," she hesitated, "whatever happened with the dementors?"
I blinked, caught in a whiplash. "... Err.. what?"
"The dementors tried to suck out your soul. Dad told us stories about how Aurors posted in Azkaban became… desperate. One of my cousins got imprisoned for Third Degree muggle baiting. Mum and Dad went on like rabbits for the next two days after they visited him there."
I gagged. Imagining Molly Weasley making out with Arthur Weasley on a creaking wooden bed was not an image I wanted.
Ginny giggled, flipped her hair, and spoke a bit more seriously. "Dad told me. People exposed to dementors crave physical intimacy. More than usual."
Her hands crawled on mine.
"I could feel it, you know," she said, "the pressure inside you. When you…"
She trailed off at that. We both knew what she was talking about.
"I've got it buttoned down," I said, taking another sip. I didn't need to flirt with her, not when she gave me an alternate opening herself. "Don't worry. I'm not going to… take anything from you."
Ginny slowly placed her mug on the table, edged closer, and said in a small voice. "If it's given, freely offered, you really can't take it away. All you're doing is accepting a gift."
Oh, how I wanted that! Ginny was willing. Eager even. And I needed a quick solution. Fast. I opened my mouth to reply and—
"Hey Ginny!"
Fuck! I turned around and saw Romilda striding towards me. If sashaying her hips while smiling at me could be called striding. Ginny turned to face her, and I was sure I saw the shadow of a scowl forming on her face for a moment. Romilda looked utterly uncaring that she wore a half-wet shirt. She embraced Ginny with a massive bear-hug, somehow emphasizing her melons at me.
"Oh, Hi, Harry. What's up?"
So that's how she wanted to play, was it? Nice. This could be interesting.
"You know, the usual. Making sure no one's up to mischief."
"I don't get up to mischief!" She grinned. "And does that mean you were checking me out?"
I glanced at her nigh-transparent shirt and the crimson bra beneath it.
"Someone has to," I replied.
"Excuse me!" Ginny snapped and walked out. I could see her fisting her palms as she walked, probably cursing Romilda all the way. I watched her leave, my eyes feasting on her ass.
"Hmm!" Romilda scoffed. "Some people just can't handle a bit of competition."
I arched an eyebrow at that. Maybe I was overestimating the difficulty of my situation. Romilda was being blatant to where her next step might as well be to strip right there, jump in my arms and yell, 'Do me, Harry!'.
"It's…" I looked at Ginny's leaving figure. "It's complicated."
Romilda shrugged. "You were watching us, girls. She felt anxious and tried to latch onto you. But when I came in, she felt insecure and ran out. Seems pretty simple to me."
I blinked. "I—"
"Wasn't watching me? To see if I got into mischief?"
The accusatory tone didn't match the humorous glint in her eyes. She was fucking with me.
Very well. Two could play that game.
"Yeah, I was watching you."
"You were." She smiled. "Well, what do you want?"
There were so many ways this could turn out. But I didn't have the advantages of second chances. One day, and that was it.
"A happy memory."
"Say what?"
"A happy memory," I repeated. "You heard about my recent date with the dementors? They liked me so much that one of them broke boundaries and kissed me."
"Get out!" She exclaimed, stuck between gagging at the image and being horrified by the insinuation. "You're not serious!"
"Dead."
Pun intended.
"Or well, would have been seriously dead, if not for Snape saving my arse at the last moment. Since then there's this gloomy aura-of-despair all around me, making me feel all suicidal and empty. If I don't get rid of it soon, I'll—"
She placed a hand on my forearm. "What do you need?"
"I told you," I replied, unrepentant. "A happy memory."
"And you thought of… me?" She asked quietly. "I'd have thought you'd have gone to Granger."
I smiled. "Hermione's injured, too. And who else should I turn to but the one girl that spends breakfast, lunch and dinner eye-fucking the shit out of me?"
Romilda looked like a deer stuck in the headlights. "You, uh — know?"
I gave her a smile. "I'm not that oblivious."
She flipped her hair to another shoulder, rubbing her fingers through it. "This is blowing my mind. But I—"
"Hey Mil!" yelled a drunk Seamus, "whaddya doin' with Po — Harry!"
He raised his mug of firewhiskey.
Cursing him in a dozen ways mentally, I raised my mug as well. Romilda took that opportunity to yell a loud 'Coming!" and with an apologetic look, quickly rushed to him — her boyfriend, I assumed, she was about to say.
Guess things were really as difficult as I thought.
I saw Romilda grab Seamus's arm and put it around her shoulder and slowly drag him away. Meanwhile, Ginny was nowhere to be seen, and the party seemed like it was mostly over, with people leaving for bed. And that'd mean my only possible chance to screw someone was in the morning and if I failed then—
Then I was done for.
I fisted my hair and hissed, "Fuck!"
Chapter 3: Late Night Surprise
Chapter Text
BOOK 1 - OUTLANDER
Sleeping was difficult. I lay on my bed, reliving the disaster that was Ginny and Romilda. It was an absolute waste of time that was going to bite me in the arse if I didn't get another opportunity come morning. I knew of no confounding spells, and I couldn't bring myself to imperius anyone. I'm not the most scrupulous guy out there, but rape is beyond me.
The girls were back in their dorms, which meant the entrances would prevent males from entering. And I knew better than to even think of using Luck — the two points would probably get me in a half-assed place and drop another motherfucking Bane on my head. Thank you very much!
"Tomorrow's problems!" I told myself. Ron and Seamus were both snoring loudly, so I cast a silencing charm around myself. I had found out that I could cast every spell Harry could with remarkable ease, but anything more than that was completely on me. I pulled the covers, closed my eyes, and forced myself to sleep.
Almost as soon as I closed my eyes — or at least that was how it felt — the bed shifted under me. A hand trailing up my leg confirmed that I wasn't alone on my bed as I had been. I pushed myself up onto my elbows to get a look at my uninvited guest, but the pale moonlight was casting shadows across her face, giving me a view of pale skin and dark hair. Before I could say a word, a pair of lips pressed against mine and a very naked body pressing against me. I instinctively kissed the girl back as my hands found her hips, pulling her against me. She moaned into my mouth as our tongues danced, as her slender fingers ran up and down my arms.
After kissing for a solid five minutes, we both separated, sucking in great big gulps of air. My heart hammered in my chest in excitement and arousal. I had zero clue who my visitor was, and part of me hoped it was Ginny, but calling out the wrong name would be horrifying. Also, somehow, I didn't expect Ginny to be the type to climb into my bed like that.
"I'm sorry about how I left things earlier," she whispered, and I knew who it was.
"That's alright," I replied. "You've got a boyfriend."
That got a laugh out of her. She straddled my waist and sat up, giving me a fantastic view of her naked breasts that jutted out of her chest. The moonlight from the window illuminated Romilda's face just enough for me to see her biting her bottom lip and eyeing my naked chest hungrily.
"We're seeing each other, but it's been more fun than serious."
"And?"
"He's not You," she whispered into my ear. "And I really hope you've had enough sleep."
I grinned, not knowing how long I had been asleep for. Instead, I looked at my fellow dorm-mates. None of them were making a sound.
"What about them?" I asked.
"Petrifying hex," Romilda waved off. "It'll last for an hour… I think. They're all drunk, so they'll pass it off as hangovers."
"Witch!" I claimed. I knew Romilda could feel my cock rising against her motions. She rocked her hips back and forth slowly, and slid the lips of her pussy along my still concealed shaft, leaving the fabric of my shorts wet to signal how well and truly turned on she was.
Now I'm not sure if this was the Child of Prophecy perk saving my ass, but I'd die before I let this chance fizzle out. I pulled her into a hard kiss once more, battling her tongue with increased intensity. Her nails scratched my back while my fingers marked her spine, falling swiftly down to her puckered hole. Romilda moaned as I poked around with my thumb, humping my cock — still within my shorts, against her wet and very naked pussy. "You're overdressed!" She hissed and pulled away from me, her fingers tugging at my waistband. I let go of my shorts as my painfully hard erection sprang forth and slapped against her stomach. Romilda moaned and gave me a clear glance at her small, shaved pussy, with a fine sheen across them, spreading all across her thighs. I wasted no time and pushed two of my fingers into her slick folds while mauling her breasts.
"Oh, fuck!" Romilda screamed, her voice shaky. "That's so good! Merlin, yes, fuck, keep doing that! Keep going! Keep going!"
I smirked. The silly girl had no idea whom she had joined. Despite her aggressive play at the start, she had done nothing except kiss and grab my shaft and maybe hump over it. For the virgin Harry Potter, it'd probably have worked. Too bad he isn't there anymore. I dug two fingers into her folds and wiggled them around, searching for the magic spot that would best elevate her pleasure.
And elevate it did, for Romilda threw her head back and screamed her lungs out.
"Yes! Yes! I'm gonna cum! Yes! Yes! Yes!" she continued to chant, but that wasn't what I wanted her to do. I grabbed her by her hair and pulled her down until her mouth was around my penis, with her soft lips licking against my shaft, asking for more. Her warm mouth engulfed my cock while I went back to eating her out.
"Oh! Oh!" she breathed. "Fuck! Oh, this is so! Oh! OH!"
This was so easy. Romilda was well-endowed for someone her age, more than Ginny. I'd give her that much. But for all her forwardness, she had little experience to draw upon. I slapped her arse so hard that it stung, and Romilda tensed. Her back arched, and I felt her thighs tighten on either side of my head as her first climax ripped through her body. Romilda shivered, her one hand gripping my cock while the other pulling my head deeper.
Romilda wasn't just a screamer, she was a squirter, too. The proof lay all over my face and my fingers as she lay, with my cock pressed against the side of her face while I gripped her hips in place as I attacked her pussy with renewed fervor, increasing the length and intensity of her orgasm.
"Wow!" she breathed. "Nobody's… nobody's done that to me! I don't even — Oh!"
It was at this point that a movement by the door caught my attention.
There was a figure standing in the doorway. Feminine, but I couldn't tell who she was. She stood there, watching Romilda and me, but I knew her eyes were on me alone.
"Keep going," Romilda pleaded. "please! Don't stop!"
And then I realized. The silencing charm was still holding, and between her exertion and her orgasm, Romilda hadn't noticed this newcomer. My eyes went back to the door, at the figure who had stepped closer. Her dark robes opened down the front, showing a tantalizing view of her skin beneath. Her firm breasts stood out, nipples erect and begging to be sucked. Crimson hair framed her face, but it was the glint in her brown eyes that made my knees weak.
It was Ginny Weasley.
I stared at her tantalizing form, indecisive, my mind trying to memorize her sculpted form and realizing the implications of her presence at the same time. Ginny had come to me, all but naked, ogling me as I fingered Romilda, a perverse glint in her eyes. Part of me wanted to leave the bed and get her, while the other wanted to drill deeper into Romilda until I had anchored my cum within her.
Romilda moaned again.
Grabbing my wand, I transfigured my shirt into a blindfold and put it over her eyes, causing her to shiver in excitement. I didn't care about Romilda, but she had a killer body and was willing to put through any kink I had in mind. Besides, if Ginny wanted to watch, I'd give her a show.
Pulling her until she was on her knees, her breasts raising and falling with her breaths, I stroked Romilda's smooth pussy a few times and massaged her juices along the tip of my cock. Then pressed it to her entrance. She arched her back, angling her hips to give me better access to her warm tunnel, so I took that as all the invitations I needed. I slipped the tip of my manhood inside her, making sure not to hurt her. She was so wet and worked up that I encountered little resistance as I pushed myself inside her on the first thrust.
"Oh, fuck!"
I slapped her arse in return and started pumping my hips, with Romilda mewling and cursing all the way. She must have still been feeling the effects of her first orgasm since she dropped down upon her stomach, her arms out to either side, clutching the bedcovers. The arch of her back and the angle of her hips made her firm arse stick up nicely, and I grabbed a hold of her taut cheeks for leverage as I started pounding her harder and harder.
"Oh! Fuck," she groaned. "Pull my hair!"
I complied with her wishes and planted one of my feet on the bed beside her to lean over and gain better leverage and power for each stroke. I grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her head back hard while I pressed my other hand into the small of her back to keep her in place as I plowed her pussy hard.
"Oh fuck, fuck, fuck!"
Her cunt squeezed my cock in a vice-grip, and I had to stop my thrusting as the sexy creature began climaxing on my dick. There was nothing like a gorgeous girl having an orgasm while you were inside her. Her pleasure being given by what you have and her taking it so willingly.
"Yes! Fill my pussy! Make me your whore!"
I did precisely that, pounding into her pussy as soon as she relaxed a little. The dirty talk made me go harder, but my eyes were on Ginny's silhouette, and her eyes on my manhood drilling into Romilda. And then Ginny took a step forward, dropping her robes, and leaned against the doorframe with her legs apart and began touching herself.
It was painfully slow at first, her sharp eyes watching me before slipping two fingers inside herself. Even in the moonlight, I could see the wetness in her fingers as she pulled them out and sucked them. I growled in lust and slapped Romilda's arse harder than before, making her yelp and asking me to go harder.
I was going to have so much fun with this girl.
Ginny spread her legs further apart, giving me an unobstructed view of her breasts as she fingered herself to the pace I set with Romilda. Her other hand was groping at her breasts, pinching and twisting her nipples hard as she bit her bottom lip to keep quiet. Rowling had always gushed about how Ginny was perfect for Harry. I would have probably shipped them too if I read the striptease chapter.
My muscles were aching now. I felt the sudden rush of my climax coming and gave her a look.
Ginny nodded.
An undeniable need to finish, to fuck her to completion possessed me. I wanted to finish inside this girl. I let go of her hair and grabbed her neck, pulled her backward, shooting my cum straight into her pussy. Ginny shuddered and squeezed her thighs closed in what I suspected was a silent orgasm. The look in her eyes was of pure lust as they roamed my naked body and rested on my cock, slick with Romilda's juices. She took her finger back in her mouth, sucking them clean before winking at me and gathering her fallen robe.
Then she slipped away.
Romilda just moaned.
And right then, the Screen popped up with a notification. One that I was most eager for.
You have gained World Anchor
Romilda Vane — 17% World Anchorage
Current World Anchor Analysis
World Anchor — 17
Required World Anchor - 15
Congratulations! You get to live!
Meta-Luck — 4
And that wasn't all. More screens followed.
Gained Affinities from World Anchor — Romilda Vane
Alchemy +4%
Charms +2%
Perk Accumulation Unavailable without +50% World Anchorage
Would you like to view your existing skill sets?
I dismissed it for later, falling back, watching Romilda as she slowly crawled up, my cum trickling down of her well-fucked cunt. She shot me a tired smile. With her hair in disarray and her body drenched with sweat, she looked utterly desirable. She dug her own finger into her pussy, before lifting the digit up and sucking on it. I watched her smile at me lustfully as she climbed off my bed.
"Tell me," she whispered, "how was that for a happy memory?"
"One I'd not mind having again."
"That makes two of us," she whispered in a sultry tone, "but first, I need a shower."
I probably needed a good long shower myself, but I didn't want to get up. The wonderful sex, coupled with the constant tension hanging over my head like a sword, had exhausted me. I cast a scourgify at myself, climbed into the covers, and fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.
...
...
I awoke the next morning with a throbbing headache. There were no classes, so I lay in bed for a while before dragging myself to the bathroom for a nice, hot shower. The water felt amazing on my skin and even lessened the throbbing on either side of my temples. Once I was done, I shut the shower off, glancing around for a towel but couldn't see one, which was… odd. I distinctly remembered towels hanging it just moments earlier.
There was a knock on the door.
"Who's there?" I called out.
"You forgot your towel."
I froze. That was Ginny's voice. I glanced up. The cubicles were all sealed, making it impossible for her to throw it on my side.
"I can give it to you if you open the door. Don't worry, I won't peek."
I caught the amusement in her voice. I cracked the door to let her hand the towel over, but she simply pushed into the room and placed the towel on the stand like it was a normal thing. She was fully clothed, and yet just being naked in front of her made my cock rise. Ginny took a few steps in my direction, then pushed a hand against the door behind her, closing it. The door latched as she cast a locking charm at the knob, sealing us both within the cubicle.
"Let's see what we can do about this," she said, brushing her fingers around my erection.
"Ginny—"
"What?" She looked up at me questioningly. "You didn't have a problem earlier."
"Why did you come to my dorm last night?"
"Why do you think?" she asked, raising a perfectly arched eyebrow.
"I think you thought I was alone."
"Look at that." she half-smiled. "You've got me figured out completely."
Her sultry tone aroused me further, and I slid my hands down her body, groping her amazing bottom. I hadn't consciously made the move, but I was glad I had. Her arse felt amazing in my hands and I had to fight every fiber in my body to not lift her robe and take a hold of her glorious bare cheeks.
"Mmmm," she moaned. "Your hands feel good."
"You feel good," I admitted, "but Ron—"
Ginny scowled. "I'm here with you, inside your cubicle, grabbing your cock. The last thing I want is to talk about my brother, Harry."
She wasted no time and dropped to her knees before me, taking my manhood in her soft hands. I leaned against the wall and let her work my tool between her seemingly well experienced hands. Gasping once more when I felt the warm wetness of her tongue slide along the length of my shaft, and over the tip. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the sensations running through my body as Ginny milked my tool, sucked my tip, and fondled my balls.
"Wow!" she breathed, giving me a long lick. "You shouldn't have hidden this gem from me all this while. Look at how long we wasted."
And then she was back to slurping my cock.
Not gonna complain, but if the Hogwarts students were this sexually active, it made sense why they were so many of those broom-closets all over the school. Rowling had probably cut out the erotic parts to make it more child-friendly.
Somewhere along that line of thought, I realized Ginny had, in fact, stopped.
The absence of her touch and a rustling sound caused me to open my eyes and look down at the sexy minx. She had tossed her robes over the stand, along with her bra. Her perky breasts jutted out from her slender figure and her nipples begged to be tweaked, twisted and sucked on. She wasted no time though and got back to her task of working my tool like she was racing to finish on time. Being the good friend that I was, I gave her a helping hand.
I placed a hand on her head to guide her movements, and one on her shoulder as I began rocking my hips back and forth. Ginny gave me more freedom as I began pumping my hips, simply keeping her mouth open for me and swirling her tongue around the tip of my cock each time I pulled back. I debated for a moment whether I should push her against the wall and fuck her, but that might come across as a bit too forward. Besides, she hadn't removed her leggings, so I guessed she was content as she was for now.
"Give your mouth up to me," I growled through a moan of pleasure.
Ginny looked up at me with her beautiful brown eyes and nodded. The scene was incredibly erotic, with my cock between her lips and her tits on display for my viewing pleasure. I had to struggle to not shoot my load down her throat.
I started pumping her throat once more. She took it like a champ, pressing her nose into my pelvis each time I ended my long thrust, and she moaned around my dick constantly. After only a minute or two, I was enjoying her mouth and throat completely. Seriously, what was it with these girls and amazing sex? Even last night, I had gone on for longer than I could have back in my past life. Did magic somehow amplify one's libido?
My back arched, and I grasped her head, taking handfuls of her wavy hair in my hands as I instinctively tried to fit more and more of my rod into her mouth. The ginger beauty obliged by working my cock deeper into her throat until it was completely gone—vanished like a magic trick—her nose touching against my pubic hair.
This girl had skills.
"Holy fuck!" I whispered to the room. Her throat squeezed my cock impossibly tight. I looked back down to see her staring up at me. She must have been waiting for me because as we locked eyes, she slowly drew herself up off me. I watched in awe as my dick appeared from inside her pretty little mouth, drenched in her saliva. Once freed of the intrusion, Ginny sucked in a gulp of air, spitting onto the tip of my penis before using both hands to work my straining muscles.
"This is… this is so good!" she said, expertly working my shaft with both her hands. My eyes fixed on her magnificent tits as she pressed them together with her arms as her hands worked me. I just wanted to grab them and fuck the shit out of those fun bags. I didn't, letting her lead. After a few minutes of stroking my dick, Ginny shuffled back again, dipping down to take my head into her mouth once more. I desperately wanted to grab a fistful of her hair and hammer my cock down her throat again, but I let the seductive girl work me over. Her tongue flicked over my sensitive tip while her hands worked my shaft and balls. I had already enjoyed Romilda during the night, so even I was surprised by how quickly she brought me to orgasm. Before long I was clutching at her hair, hips buckling, toes curling as I grunted, pouring my seed into my Ron's sister's willing mouth.
"Ugh! Oh fuck!" I got out as her lips tightened around my pulsing dick, her hands milking me for all I was worth. A few seconds later, I was completely spent, but Ginny kept my cock in my mouth and gave my length a few more strokes, hoping to drain a few more drops from my balls.
"That was fucking amazing," I breathed out heavily.
With an audible pop, Ginny released her lock on my dick and licked up my length, kissing my tip, never once breaking eye contact with me. I felt her fingers dig into my arse cheeks, pulling me hard against her and forcing my cock down her throat. I gripped a fistful of her hair so tight I was sure it must be painful, but Ginny only moaned louder. After what seemed like several minutes, the redhead finally slipped my dick from her throat and began kissing, licking, and sucking my tool.
She cleaned my cock thoroughly for the next few moments before climbing to her feet. She checked herself in the mirror, tidying herself up with a few flicks of her wand, before pulling her bra and robes on.
"Next time you need a happy memory," she said, eyeing my cock as she opened the door, "you know whom to call."
And then she left.
"... Damn!" I muttered, looking at the closed door. Surreal or not, I had fucked Romilda Vane, and Ginny Weasley had given me a blowjob. Within twelve hours. If that wasn't magic, I didn't know what was.
As if to confirm my thoughts, the Screen came alive.
You have gained a World Anchor
Ginny Weasley — 22% World Anchorage
Current World Anchor Analysis
World Anchor — 39
Required World Anchor - 15
Somebody's active!
Meta-Luck — 6.2
Well. What did you know? Turns out even a blowjob was enough to establish a World Anchor. I supposed it had something to do with her swallowing my body fluids.
Gained Affinities from World Anchor — Ginny Weasley
Dark Arts +7%
Transfiguration +1%
Charms +2%
Perk Accumulation Unavailable without +50% World Anchorage
Would you like to view your existing skill sets?
I laughed. "Go on."
Chapter 4: Hermione
Chapter Text
BOOK 1 - OUTLANDER
“And then I woke up, with Snape looming over me. I thought I had died and gone to hell.”
“Must have been something,” Hermione teased me, “at least you didn’t attack him this time around.”
“Oh, come on,” I complained, “Not you too! Ron and the twins were enough!”
She chuckled bitterly. “At least Ron has been spending time with you. I haven’t seen him since… that night.”
That shut me up.
I was sitting with Hermione in her room. McGonagall had shifted her belongings to this special dormitory citing a grant of ‘privacy’ until she could revert to taking classes normally. It was just a cover. Being slashed by a morphing werewolf under the full moon, even though he hadn’t quite bitten her, and thus, her status as a ‘witch’ was in jeopardy. Until Pomfrey was confident that Hermione wouldn’t be sprouting fur and tail and fangs during the next full moon, she was to be quarantined in this private room, provided with a personal bathroom and other necessities.
“How’s your arm?”
Her eyes hardened, as she rolled up her sleeve. “Perfectly healed. See.”
And that was it. Lycanthropy was a diabolical dark curse, but had its benefits, an accelerated healing factor being one of them. Her arm should have been amputated, but instead, she had healed. It only spoke of the corruption the curse was causing within her. Maybe not today, maybe not within a month, but eventually, she’d become fully infected with the curse.
Become a werewolf.
Hermione snorted, fell silent and squeezed my hand with hers. Her grip was small and strong and warm. “Madam Pomfrey said that I’d severed half the nerves of my right arm. Just the treatment should have taken days and the healing months. And that’s the best-case scenario. Instead, I was fine within a couple of hours. I guess, there’s no point in denying it anymore. I’m a werewolf.”
“But he didn’t bite you.”
She exhaled and laid her head against my arm. We were sitting on the couch in her living room. McGonagall had partitioned the place into a proper living room with a single bed, a couple of couches for visitors, a bath and a study. Her brown hair, clean but bedraggled, fell over my shoulders. It’s hard to keep yourself styled and upbeat when you know you’re cursed. No makeup either.
And she looked tired. Hermione Granger found the lack of work during her ‘recovery’ exhausting.
“He didn’t bite me,” She agreed with a small voice, “and that’s the worst bit. At least then I’d know what I’ve become. I wouldn’t have to wake up in the middle of the night, and look into the mirror if my eyes had gone crimson, or if my fingers had become claws.”
“A werewolf is still… “
“A werewolf, Harry,” Hermione refuted. “You don’t have to make me feel better. I did my research on Lupin. I know you’d say that I’m the same witch you knew.”
“You are,” I shot back, “You’ll just have… a condition, maybe. Once every full moon.”
Hermione chuckled mirthlessly.
“And there’s where you’re wrong, Harry,” She said, her voice becoming not so quiet as… dead. “It’s not just the healing factor, or the strength and speed. It’s not about morphing into a beast either.”
She locked eyes with mine. “The change is in here, Harry,” She pointed at her temples. “In the mind. Perception. You look at Malfoy, Ron and Professor McGonagall, and you have a hundred thoughts about each of them. Me? I’ll look at them and think — Food, food, and food.”
My brain locked up for a good ten seconds at that.
“I know what you’ll say,” Hermione went on, “Lupin wasn’t like that. Lupin was like any other wizard. The thing is Harry, Professor Lupin was a really, really sorry excuse of a werewolf. He fought the curse, rejected his werewolf nature, and the werewolf rejected him in return. It weakened him, as a man, as a wizard, as a werewolf. All he could do was run away, and that’s what he did. He never once tried to contact you. Even during this entire year, he shared nothing about his Past. He can call it his shame all he likes, but the truth is, running away has become his reality. And it shows, even as a werewolf.”
That… made sense. Even after marrying Tonks, Lupin’s instinct was to leave and flee. Canon-Harry had interpreted it as the man’s lack of courage to face his fears, and he was true. Only the truth had been far more diabolical than that. Facing his fears was something Remus Lupin avoided at all costs. Come to think of it, he probably considered it a better deal to have perished in the battle of Hogwarts than try to raise a child.
“How… did you know all of this?”
Hermione’s dark eyes regarded me, a dark amusement hiding in them. “You didn’t go through the reading Snape assigned us, didn’t you? I think he was giving us a hint. You, I, Ron, we all stood there and watched as Lupin transformed. Had it been any other werewolf, we’d have been quaking with supernaturally induced fear.”
I frowned. “What happens now?”
She sat up and regarded me. “I’ve… had a lot of time to think about it, Harry. I — I thought they’d throw me out at first, you know, for my affliction. But Madam Pomfrey said the curse might take time before I become a full werewolf. She said I’m a… hybrid. As long as I don’t turn during the full moon, they’ll allow me here.” She paused. “Living in separate quarters like this.”
“And after that?”
She snorted again. “Then I leave. Figure something out with my life. Ron knows this,” she paused again, and I felt something break in her voice, “maybe that’s why he’s avoiding me. His parents must have told him the reality of being a werewolf. I don’t blame him.”
I blinked at her. “I do. Ron’s our friend. He cannot just ditch you because you became one.”
“He hasn’t… ditched me,” she said, “The first couple of days he was there in the Hospital Wing. I heard him demanding Madam Pomfrey to see me. But then as I healed, things changed. He didn’t come. Neither did Ginny nor anyone else.”
“Well, bollocks! You don’t see me leaving you.”
Her expression flickered with comprehension and pain. She folded her arms over her stomach. “And that’s why you’re Harry Potter. Though… even you can change, it seems. Why else would you suddenly spend time with Ginny?”
I mopped my face with my hand. I was extremely aware of her hawk-like stare, her eyes, her body. She was watching me wolfishly, ready to pounce at the slightest hint of weakness.
“How—?”
“Enhanced olfactory senses,” She said with a mock cheer, “another benefit of signing up for lycanthropy.”
“... It’s complicated.”
My answer amused her. “Must be.”
I turned away, not wanting to show how much it rattled me. Damn! I wasn’t Harry Potter and Hermione wasn’t my best friend. But I had thousands of memories — moments spent with this girl. And I was wearing the body that belonged to her best friend. Someone she trusted. Someone she’d die to protect.
The memories in me wouldn’t let me rest if I just damaged things with her right now. There she was, in her most vulnerable state, expecting the support from her best, and dare I call it — her only friend at Hogwarts. Trying to avoid her wouldn’t just break her heart, it’d shatter her from within.
“That night… It changed things for me too.”
She folded her arms and pushed herself onto the couch. “Explain.”
It was my turn to play. Hermione Granger was an incredibly perceptive witch, but that perception often came with its own share of bullheadedness. She would not accept just any reason I threw at her, not unless I backed that up with cold, hard facts if not empirical evidence. The cold, psychopathic part of me pointed out that Harry’s emotional bond with Hermione was probably higher than anyone else. It was why Romilda, despite toe-curling sex, had just 17% attachment to me, while Ginny showed a 22% rise, from a mere blowjob. If I could land Hermione in that list then…
“I’m still waiting.”
I met her eyes. “What do you know about heightened dementor exposure?”
Hermione frowned. “They generate feelings of extreme depression and despair in a person if they’re in proximity. And if they’re close enough, they can suck out a person’s soul. If that happens, you’ll exist. As an empty shell, with your soul gone forever.”
“Now you know what happened to me.”
She stood up, scowling. “Don’t be crazy, Harry. If you’d have your soul sucked, you’d—”
“I didn’t die. But only just. I felt them drag my soul out of my body, felt all that… wrongness invade me. I’m not sure how I’m still alive, but Snape saved me.”
I tried not to think of Harry’s memories of that eventful night. Just talking about it made my heart slow down. My hairs rose sharply, and an icy fear formed above my chest.
“Harry—” She whispered, touching my face.
“I — I still have flashbacks to that… night. And it haunts me. Fills me up with a horrible vacuum. I just… I need something to feel better.”
“Like sex?”
I looked at her in surprise, not expecting Hermione Granger to be this blatant.
She laughed. “I’m a girl, Harry. I know all about feeling better too. When you told me Lupin was teaching you the Patronus charm, I read all about it. It’s supposed to be really, really difficult to cast. Also, Madam Pomfrey’s made it compulsory for all girls to be on the potion.”
“Huh? What for?”
Hermione giggled. “Eating chocolate is one way to counter the dementors’ effects. Being… intimate is another.”
“Having sex,” I concluded. “Think I should put up a banner and a signboard expecting volunteers?”
“You probably should,” Hermione snorted. “Your fan club would love it.”
I chortled. Hermione’s theory had its merits, but it was wrong in my case. Not that I was going to correct her.
“I might even have to,” I played on, “it isn’t like I have someone dependable to go have sex whenever I’m feeling low.”
“What about Ginny?”
“I didn’t sleep with her. Not yet. She err… used her mouth on me.”
To my surprise, Hermione didn’t react out of jealousy or embarrassment. Instead, she cupped her chin and considered my predicament with the air of a scientist. “Well, you probably should ask her if she’s willing. Though… she’d need to have lots and lots of practice first, and learn how to coordinate her… climaxes with you, for maximum pleasure.”
“I can’t believe I’m having this conversation with you.”
“Grow up,” Hermione said bluntly, “this too is a path that many witches and wizards get to, eventually. Not everyone is interested in dark arts, Harry. I overheard Angelina talking about it to someone earlier this year. I was curious, so I looked around. Turns out most books on healing magic have this stuff elaborated.”
“You know an awful lot about it.”
“I read, Harry. You should try it sometime.”
I shook my head in exasperation. “Well, now you know what happened. Aside from asking Ginny to be my full-time sex buddy, any other advice, oh master scientist?”
Hermione threw a pillow at me.
We laughed.
“There is something else,” She replied, a flush growing on her neck, “This condition you have, it requires study. Possibly under controlled conditions rather than trial and error. You know, someone you can trust and is also willing to commit to these experiments. Someone that understands why they’re doing this, and should keep testing until we have enough data to go ahead with…”
“If you’re thinking Ginny’d agree to have sex in your presence, you’ve another thing coming.”
Hermione snorted. “I’m not an idiot, Harry. I’m a werewolf, and I think Ginny hates me a little for hogging so much of your time. And I don’t think my nose could take all that sexual aroma and keep it cool. But no, I wasn’t thinking of Ginny. I was thinking of….”
Her face went red, as she pointed at herself with a finger.
My jaw fell.
“Well…” She blushed, “it’s in the name of science.”
“You’re… serious?”
I didn’t think it was possible for her to blush deeper but she did. The red had gotten down her cheeks to her neck. “I mean, we need to really sort this out. Who knows what other side-effects the dementor exposure could have on you?”
She was really going to make me say it, wasn’t she?
“And this is… not because you want to have to sex with me.”
“I — it’s not just that, Harry. This werewolf curse, there’s just too much energy within me. Bestial instincts that want out. It makes me… perpetually crave for… intimacy.”
“… Intimacy.”
“Close, rough intimacy.”
Becoming a werewolf had made her horny. I certainly hadn’t seen that one coming.
Her eyes locked with mine. “I want hard, aggressive, physical intimacy, Harry. You’ve… you’re my best friend, and I smelt Ginny on you the moment you stepped in. You’ve no idea how territorial that got me. How difficult it was for me to… to–”
“Tear my clothes off and use me shamelessly?”
“... Yes.” She looked flustered as she sauntered up to me, squeezed my hand with hers, and inched closer. She rested her head on my shoulder, and I wrapped an arm around her, pulling her even closer.
“I’m glad you’re here,” She whispered, “Please never leave me.”
“I won’t.”
“Can I… kiss you?”
The hesitation in her voice was clear. And with reason. Hermione was carrying the curse, even though it wasn’t communicable unless it was under the full moon. But even then, she had the traits of a werewolf and that could prove dangerous, especially if she were to lose control of her inhibitions with me.
It would be dangerous, but it was worth a try.
For Hermione.
“Harry—”
I cut her off and pressed my lips against hers. It was soft to begin with. I was testing the waters, but she automatically returned the kiss. Within a few seconds, our tongues were battling for dominance as we forgot ourselves and simply enjoyed the moment. I wasn’t sure when it happened, but Hermione pushed me down against the couch, and swung a leg over, straddling me. My hands found purchase on her hips as her fingers ran through my hair as she pulled me into her. Her hips rocked against me, and my hands guided her movements before I let my fingers trail under her top, and up the smooth, bare skin of her back. I felt her moan into my mouth as her body shuddered from my touch, making me want to touch her more and more. I was drunk on the feeling of her body and addicted to the sounds I was drawing out of her.
We came up for air after what felt like an eternity. Her hair hung about us like a brown curtain, blocking out the outside world. Our chests heaved with heavy breathing as we struggled to calm out beating hearts, and I felt the length of my hard-as-iron rod nestled between her legs.
“Holy—” I began, but before I could finish, Hermione forced herself away, physically separating us with her hands.
“I can’t,” She breathed, “I can’t!”
“Can’t what? And why? Hermione it’s—”
But she’d not have me finish. Instead, she grabbed my collar and brought her face inches close to mine. “I can’t have you, because you’re smelling of someone else.”
She pulled me up and dragged me towards the bath.
“Come,” She said, lifting the hem of her t-shirt over her head and throwing it across the room in one smooth motion. “Come with me.”
Chapter 5: Pheromone Passion
Chapter Text
BOOK 1 - OUTLANDER
I was standing in the shower, with Hermione in front of me. The beautiful brunette turned to face me, unclasping her bra, revealing her completely naked top. With another graceful motion, she undid her skirt and panties, standing before me in the nude.
She closed her eyes.
“I’m ready for you, Harry.”
I stepped up to her, wrapped my arms around her waist, pulling her into me as our lips met. Hermione moaned as soon as my hands touched her skin, a moan that picked up in intensity the longer I held her, and the longer I kissed her. Her body seemed to vibrate in my arms as I pulled her into my very soul.
Was this… perhaps, because of the bonding between Harry and her?
I turned on the shower, and sandwiched her naked form between myself and the wall. My cock had refused to play ball with me and stood to attention as soon as I began helping her wash. I could tell she was still a little nervous and awkward with being naked in front of me, so I tried my best to make her feel good, and let her know she was in control of how far we went tonight.
I helped soap up Hermione’s back first — spending more time than was necessary on her glorious pert behind and washing over her hips — before she turned to face me. She gave me a shy look and almost crossed her arms over her breasts by instinct. I kissed her, and her body melted into me. Our kiss was hot and passionate while staying slow and sensual, her body pressed against mine, trapping my erect dick between us. The mixture of hot, steamy water and her naked flesh was making my head spin and my cock throb so hard I was sure she could feel each pulse.
“Turn around,” I said once our kiss finally ended.
Hermione bit her lip and nodded. As soon as her back was to me, I pulled her against my chest, wrapping my arms around her body, cupping her right breast with my left hand, and grabbing her hip with my right hand. I would have gone straight for the hot spot between their legs with anyone else, teasing and fingering them until I had them squirming against me. Not with Hermione. I had to work her up to the heavy stuff.
“Are you okay with this?” I whispered into her ear.
“Yesss!” Hermione hissed, pressed back against me.
I momentarily released my hold on her as I lathered my hands with soap, then returned them to her body. Hermione let out a little squeak at the cold but immediately moaned as I started massaging her breasts, stomach, and over her hips. All the while, my cock nestled nicely between her butt cheeks. Precum leaked from the tip of my cock as she moved her hips pleasurably, causing her butt to wiggle against it.
I cleaned her front as much as I had her back. I was very thorough and let my right hand drop back to her stomach, just above her pubis as I fondled her breasts some more with my left hand. Almost as soon as my right hand stopped on her stomach, Hermione’s hand shot out and grabbed my wrist. For a split second, I was worried I’d gone too far, but she quickly showed me I hadn’t gone far enough. My best friend parted her legs slightly and brought my hand to the small patch of pubic hair above her clit. I wasted no time as I ran my fingers along her slick folds, teasingly pressed into her just enough to get a gasp of pleasure and adding a bit of pressure to her clit before kissing at her neck.
Hermione moaned loudly as my fingers probed at her. Her whole body was vibrating, and I felt her legs go weak as I held her to my body. I was already so horny that it felt like I hadn’t had sex in months, even though I’d fucked Romilda and had Ginny give me a blowjob earlier. I could have easily bent Hermione forward and slid into her. Hermione must have read my mind because she reached behind herself, grasped my cock, and created enough space between our bodies to angle it down and in between her legs before clamping her deliciously soft thighs together. From here, all it would take is a slight angle change and I would penetrate her.
I didn’t.
I’d rather have her take that last leap.
I started thrusting between her legs as I groped at her breasts. I wasn’t inside of her like I really wanted, but I could feel the warmth from her pussy gliding along the length of my shaft with each thrust. Hermione seemed to enjoy herself since she hardly stopped moaning. I felt the angle change only for a split second, but it was enough for the tip of my cock to graze her clit, sending her over the edge instantly.
Hermione’s body vibrated and trembled in my arms as her orgasm rocketed through her. I held her against me, turning her face to the side so I could kiss her. The look of sheer ecstasy on her face triggered my climax, bringing forth a torrent of seed against her firm behind.
The next thing I remembered was leaning against the wall of the shower, Hermione facing me as she rested her head against my chest. We were both breathing heavily as we came down from our euphoria.
“Does it always feel this good?” She said, sounding very out of breath.
“Maybe…”
We kissed softly for a while as the hot water washed away the fatigue in our muscles. Then we cast a scourgify on each other as we shared more touching and kissing. Hermione seemed to be far more comfortable with her naked body around me now, not even attempting to cover herself as I led her to the bed in the living room. I felt my cock twitch once more as Hermione snuggled up against me, but even she was too exhausted to party anymore.
Something tickled my balls, and with a start, I jerked awake.
“Mmph!” somebody groaned, and as I sat up, I realized I’d just shoved my dick an inch into someone’s throat. I had almost called out Ginny’s name, before I recognized the mop of brown hair on my chest. Hermione — I couldn’t fucking believe it — was taking it like a trouper, gagging only slightly and keeping her head down, panting through her nose until I pulled back. And then she resumed rhythmically pumping my shaft in her hands and sucking on the mushroom head as if I’d never interrupted her.
“Soooo... good...” she moaned.
My eyes fluttered for a brief second, giving me just enough time to see her head bobbing up and down in my lap. A fleeting concept of an idea about saying something briefly fluttered into my head, but she chose that moment to deep-throat me, causing bursts of pleasure to explode in my brain, and all I could do was fall back on my pillow and groan in exquisite agony.
“Did I do something wrong?” She looked nervous. “I’ve always… wondered how it felt.”
“You’re doing great!” I smiled.
“Thanks,” She smiled, her fingers tracing the underside of my shaft, sending a shiver through my body, as she brought her lips back to the tip. I rested my right hand atop Hermione’s head, held it for a bit before sliding down to stroke her hair and caress her cheek. I heard her moan at my touch, the vibration of her voice causing wonderful things to happen to my dick. And then she caved in her cheeks to give me even more intense suction.
“You taste really good,” Hermione smiled at me. “I thought it’d taste gross,to be honest. From what I’ve read it’s supposed to have some kind of fishy taste..”
“Glad you enjoyed it!” I laughed. Who’d have expected? Prim and proper Hermione Granger, straddling me and sucking my cock like a pro. I slid both hands up her thighs, held her hips for a few seconds, gripping them for leverage to thrust upward a couple of times. She whimpered as I did so, clearly enjoying the sensations, but I didn’t let my hands linger. I slid my hands further upward, feeling my palms cupping her breasts. She moaned and raised her own hands to cover mine, directing me to squeeze and fondle her mammaries, something I did with a happy sigh.
‘This is fun,” she replied enthusiastically, “Why didn’t we do this sooner?’
I laughed at her excitement, wondering if she always had this passionate streak or if it was the lycanthropy that was affecting her libido. I was still tweaking her nipples, rolling the tips between my thumbs and forefingers, when she suddenly bent forward in my direction. Grabbing her, I sucked at her neck, perfectly happy to grab hold of her juicy round buttcheeks and squeeze and fondle those instead. Hermione mewled like a kitten, rubbing her breasts against my chest with greater urgency, while her folds pressed harder against my pelvic bone. She wrapped her arms around the back of my head, pushing forward so that instead of her boobs being crushed against my chest, her boobs were now mashed right up against my face. I could barely breathe, being smothered by her mammaries. But if I was gonna die tonight, oh what a way to go.
Neither of us said a word. There were no whispered endearments or whimpered requests to do her harder, squeeze her boobs, or anything else like that. As much as I wanted to, I didn’t tell her how amazing it felt to be with her, or how beautiful she looked draped across me. We simply held each other, grunting and groaning as we humped each other like crazy teenagers trying not to get caught.
Hermione came first. Gritting her teeth, she bit down hard to stifle a scream while squeezing my head so hard against her tits I literally couldn’t breathe. Her hips slammed down hard, but eventually her trembling body went limp and she collapsed flat on my chest.
It was my turn next.
I gave her a moment to recover, not enough for her but an eternity for me. Then I swiftly rolled us over, a movement that disengaged our loins.
Our eyes met.
She nodded.
I fisted my cock, centered it on her cunt, and slammed myself in.
And just like that, I was in Hermione.
She groaned at the sudden penetration but remained passive beneath me. She splayed her limbs out to the sides as I hooked my arms beneath her shoulders and started laying down the lumber. I luxuriated in the feel of Hermione’s snatch surrounding every inch of my solid shaft, but seeking to get even deeper, I reached back to grab hold of her legs, hooking her knees over my elbows before leaning over her to pound her once again.
Eventually, her eyes could focus on me once more. Again, she didn’t speak. She merely stared at me, eyes hooded with obvious lust. But she did silently mouth the words, “Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me,” taking care with her lips to shape every syllable so that there would be no doubt of her meaning.
I fucked her.
I really fucked her.
And yeah, physically it felt fucking good.
Really, why on earth Harry Potter let such a lascivious creature go to Ron Weasley, I’d never understand.
Hermione stared up at me with an expression of mixed wonder and curiosity, like a child staring into the vastness of the night sky trying to count the stars. She reached up with both hands to rub my pecs, traced her fingers down across my washboard abs, and finally held my shoulders while continuing to look at me with deep adoration. I could feel her clenching her cunt muscles and doing her best to match my rhythm with her own, thrusting her pelvis forward to meet my every thrust.
We didn’t get the timing right every time. We were not familiar with each other’s cadence, and I couldn’t predict what she’d do next. I actually got a little frustrated with her and grabbed both of her legs, hooking them over my shoulders as I got to my knees and grabbed her hips to keep her pinned in place so I could just jackhammer her at my pace.
Turns out, she liked that quite a lot. Hermione clenched her eyes shut, grit her teeth, and started tossing her head left and right while I went to town on her poor pussy. She whimpered and moaned, an aria of arousal that fed my motor, giving me extra energy to keep up the pace far longer than I would have normally done. Her hands had originally been holding my shoulders, but now they flopped back beside her head, half-propped against the headboard.
I could feel myself getting close, and only then did it occur to me I did not know if she was on the potion. So I grunted in worry, “Are you safe?”
“Yes... yes... yes...” she moaned with her eyes still closed, but the rhythm of her responses matched my thrusts, so I wasn’t sure if she’d actually answered my question.
“Hermione...” I warned, getting closer. “Do I need to pull out?”
“Cum in me... I wanna feel it,” she crooned.
That wasn’t exactly a confirmation of birth control, but I was too far gone to care anymore. Gritting my teeth, I put every ounce of energy I had into pounding the hell out of my best friend’s little pussy, rapidly reaching the point of no return.
Her lower lip quivered, her chest thrust upward as she arched her back, and suddenly she was stifling another scream. Her cunt clenched down hard at the same time as the brand-new climax tore through her body. The incredible sensations milked my cock for its creamy cum, and my balls responded to fulfill her silent request. Both barrels fired, blasting away with heavy spurts of spunk that swiftly stuffed her snatch with steaming-hot semen. Hermione shuddered suddenly, as if she could feel each impact deep inside her, and she couldn’t stifle a loud moan as the sensations swallowed up her sanity for just a moment.
I couldn’t control the volume of my groaning either, fireworks of pleasure lighting up my brain as I poured what felt like gallons of sperm into her body. Twice more I jerked, digging my toes into the mattress to cram another two inches of cock into her cunt as I spurted the last few times. And then I collapsed, letting her legs fall away to the sides as I buried my forehead into the pillow beside her head and crushed her big bosoms beneath my chest.
And right then, my Screen pinged.
You have gained a World Anchor
Hermione Granger — 52% World Anchorage
Current World Anchor Analysis
World Anchor Generation — 91
Required World Anchorage - 15
Meta-Luck — 11.4
Gained Affinities from World Anchor — Hermione Granger
Alchemy +9%
Transfiguration +6%
Charms +10%
Psychomancy +2%
Magical Analytics +6%
At 50% World Anchorage, you’ve gained a Perk!
A perk? This was good news.
PERK — LIBRARIAN OF KNOWLEDGE
Walking-Breathing Hard Drive. That’s You!
EFFECTS
An ability that makes it possible for a clear recall of knowledge from memory even if the information perceived in the past was not consciously acknowledged at that time.
This— this was—
Librarian of Knowledge? Eidetic Memory. Hermione’s ability to memorize and recall information manifested into a perk. Her greatest talent was mine for the taking. All because of me fucking her.
—And who knew? Maybe there were more perks like that. Hermione was a talented witch, as was Ginny. As were other witches out there. All I needed was to keep bedding them, and keep giving them what they needed and soon, the women and their perks would be mine.
Fuck Horcruxes. I’ll be fucking my way to Godhood.
You have chosen the Path of the Incubus!
Perk PHEROMONE added!
Hermione kissed my cheek, wrapped her arms around my neck, and raised her legs to cross her ankles behind my arse, hugging me tightly. She nuzzled into my neck, her hands reaching over my back as she pulled me deeper into her. “I don’t know what I’d done without you, Harry. I love you. I really, really, really love you.”
PERK — PHEROMONE
Why bother fighting, when you can seduce instead?
EFFECTS
Ability to dissolve the wariness of men and women alike, with +25% increased carnal desirability of the Host in the opposite sex, so long as the Host makes no mistake in the approach of the conversation, and can probably even obtain intelligence from the innermost circles.
As if to confirm that statement, Hermione dragged my right arm and placed it on her breast. I grabbed them tightly and mauled them, making her moan in pleasure and pain, as I pushed myself into her for one last time.
Oh yes, this was going to be so much fun.
“Yes,” I smiled into her ear, “I love you too.”
Chapter 6: Gringotts
Chapter Text
BOOK 1 - OUTLANDER
Turns out Hermione was right. Not all witches and wizards are interested in the Dark Arts. Some of them actually decide to go for a variety, and no, putting your head into your arse and pretending things are all jolly is not considered a variety. That’s just the Cornelius Fudge syndrome.
There are three paths that diverge from the path of standard witchcraft, at least, from what the Screen tells me, with each of them marked by one, specific trait. The first and foremost, is the Path of the Incubus , chosen by yours truly. It is a path where the aspirant journeys into the magics of lust, sex, hunger and manipulation. Not very high in terms of power scaling, but terrifyingly dangerous to others nonetheless. A path where one chose to prey upon others, stealing their powers for their own. Veela, from what I understood, were descended from Incubi-spawn, specializing further down that path.
The second, was the Path of the Necromancer. Harnessing the powers of the dead, and finding ways to anchor oneself to Reality. These were the ones that walked in the Valley of the Dead, and yet, Death would never touch them. This was the path that Tom Riddle followed, and by the looks of it, it turned out to be pretty advantageous as well.
The third, and final way was the Path of the Sorcerer . Perhaps the most difficult route of them all. It involved establishing something called a Nexus with a Ley Line, and using its power to massively boost one’s own. I wasn’t sure who or how one traveled along this path, but given Dumbledore’s ‘Grand Sorcerer’ epithet, I guessed he might have chosen the third path.
All three powers led to great power. All three of them attained their zeniths in their own ways. All three of them brought immense changes to the world.
I had chosen the path of the Incubus, possibly the least powerful of them all, and at the same time, possibly the most influential and thus, dangerous. With the right application of my seductive powers at the right time, I could probably influence the Ministry of Magic, the Wizengamot and maybe even the world. And this summer would give me the opening I needed.
Now here’s the twist. Any sod could have chosen any of the three paths in life. But once you choose something, you cannot change tracks to the other path. Incubi traveled the way of Lust, and Lust was one of the few things the Valley of the Dead had no place for. Necromancy was a Taboo, and there was no way a Ley Line would allow a sorcerer to use its energy to create a Taboo. In turn, the tremendous energies that a sorcerer channeled on a daily basis required a mind so rigid and unbendable, that no incubus worth his salt would ever fathom to have.
And this was where the Outlander Perk really shone. Because I was an Outlander, the laws of Reality which were absolutely stringent for everyone else, were a little… relaxed for me. Should I desire it, I could travel along all three paths. All I needed was to arm myself with enough teeny, tiny, seemingly inconsequential things called Perks.
Functions that upon activation, resulted in drastic changes in the magical constitution of the bearer. Some perks were passive, like the Child of Prophecy, always ensuring that I’d never suffer a day of boredom in my life. My newly gained Pheromone perk fell into the same category, making me supernaturally more desirable to the female folk.
And then there were perks like the Horcrux, which was a one-off, guaranteeing me a single pass from Death, as well as shoot my Dark Arts affinity to a hundred. But one thing was certain— every witch, wizard and magical creature had these perks and affinities, only they never realized it, much less visually interpret them in terms of numbers. Instead, they simply thought they were talented at something and worse at others, never realizing the mathematical relevance of affinity involved.
In that respect, I could somewhat understand why the Purebloods preferred to marry their offspring with other purebloods. Given the significance of blood in magic, it was a no-brainer to think that perks could be genetically inherited by future offsprings, shaping a family into following a specific Art. It was a better option than marrying a muggleborn that might or might not have a perk in the first place.
And then there were muggleborn like Hermione Granger— blessed with stuff like this.
PERK — LIBRARIAN OF KNOWLEDGE
Walking-Breathing Hard Drive. That’s You!
EFFECTS
An ability that makes it possible for a clear recall of knowledge from memory even if the information perceived in the past was not consciously acknowledged at that time.
In simple terms, Eidetic Memory. The ability to recall information with near perfection. It was what allowed Hermione to hoard a reservoir of spell knowledge, incantations, wand movement and theory — allowing her to guzzle her way through spellbooks while other students toiled to master even a few, limited spells. With a perk like this, there was no way Hermione wouldn’t have landed a research position at the Department of Mysteries or something equally promising.
Well, no more. All those doors closed the moment Lupin slashed her.
Muggleborn and Werewolf. Two classifications that the Ministry was biased against, and Hermione was both. She was literally the lowest rung on the social ladder. You could step over her rung. I doubted the Ministry would allow her to return to her parents, citing dangers of letting a werewolf amongst muggles. It’d be a PR nightmare for Fudge if things went south. Hermione would either have to live at a werewolf coven, or be forced to live in the slums of Knockturn Alley, scraping by for a living.
But if someone were to provide her a shelter, a chance to continue her education and a place to return to, there was no doubt Hermione would be forever indebted to him or her. And fortunately, I was in the right place, at the right time, about to access a home exactly like she needed. Because apart from being Harry’s best friend and most loyal supporter, I recognized the potential that she had. With the increased rejuvenation, speed and strength of a werewolf bolstering her reflexes and combat potential, and her Perk allowing her to remember and in time, master hundreds of spells, Hermione could become a devastating opponent on the battlefield.
Or, an impossibly formidable acolyte. Especially if I could take advantage of her tendency to bow down to authority. For someone so bullheaded, Hermione had a submissive streak a mile wide.
Some part of me wondered if Albus freaking Dumbledore had mentioned this apartment because he knew I’d take Hermione in. Sure my use of Luck had changed the game, but the wily old man was eerily clairvoyant in such matters. Maybe he had a perk that allowed him this facility?
“Come on, move in already!”
I ignored the man on my right and looked up at the massive, snowy-white, multistorey edifice that was Gringotts, easily one of the most remarkable pieces of real estate in Wizarding Britain. It towered over all the shops on either side, an imposing construction on pure white marble that housed the one and only magical bank for witches and wizards.
And run by goblins. Snarky, calculative and greedy as fuck.
I traipsed up the stairs and stepped past the large bronze doors, into a large antechamber tapering into a long hallway, leading to the main entrance of the bank, flanked by javelin-wielding, armor-plated goblins. I recalled reading somewhere that goblin-made armor was enchanted to deflect everything but the most esoteric of curses. Goblins couldn’t do the regular magic that wizards could, but their ability with metal was second to none.
I passed through the ornate doors into a familiar, extravagantly large entrance hall, way more majestic than the one featured in the motion picture. There were twelve, no— thirteen rows of counters, each of them manned by a single goblin teller, each of them having their back facing a door. The entire chamber had, fascinatingly enough, thirteen ionic pillars, and thirteen passages that led into the interiors of the establishment. Arithmantic significance or not, the goblins were in love with the number.
I briefly recalled Harry’s memory of walking into the bank during his third year, and pulling my hood off my face, strode up ahead. “Harry Potter,” I said, deepening my voice, “I want— want an accounting of my fortune.”
The goblin wrinkled his nose. “And your key, Sir?”
I handed him the tiny golden key. The goblin all but snatched it from my hands, peering at it, and scowling before returning it back to me. I wondered if the scowl was because he couldn’t call the key a fake and throw me into some pit of despair.
“Very well,” He said. “Please revisit our premises after a hundred and forty two hours. We'll reserve a slot for you with Gornuk.” The clinical and friendly tone made his words sound even more snobbish. “Would that be all, Sir?”
Clearing my throat, I tried again. “Is there any way to… expedite the process?”
The teller narrowed his eyes. “Ten galleons for instant accounting. Seventeen and a half if you want all documents arranged and delivered to your premises via owl before you leave the bank.”
So that was how.
“Fine,” I said, “lead the way.”
I’ll give you this one — When a goblin gives you his word, he’s good for it.
For the next three hours, I had my meeting with an accountant called Gornuk, a meeting that involved a growing stack of folders and parchments that steadily rose from the floor, several dozen documents that he had me sign, several acknowledgement slips he had me verify and another dozen security mandates that I had missed, courtesy of being underage and unaware of the bank’s customs. That had followed up with a quick visit to Vault no. 687, belonging to the Potter family. Reading about it was one thing, but actually seeing those mounds of gold and silver before my eyes, I was suddenly glad I had made this trip by myself, despite Dumbledore wanting to send someone with me. Hastily shoving several dozen galleons and some sickles into my pouch, I returned to the cart operator and brought back to Gornuk’s cubicle to get a formal accounting.
And what an accounting it was!
“Among House Potter’s major investments, you have an annual thirty-six percent royalty from Sleekeazy Products Inc, and an annual ten percent revenue from Slug & Jiggers Apothecary, and an annual twelve point five percent from Firebolt Broom Company. Including gold and other liquid assets, counting for Insurance and House Costs adjusted for inflation, House Potter stands at eighteen million eight hundred and seventeen thousand galleons, nine sickles and four knuts.”
I blinked.
Then blinked again.
“Eighteen million….” I croaked.
“Eight hundred and seventeen thousand galleons, nine sickles and four knuts, yes.”
I coughed. “Go on.”
The goblin looked at me apprehensively before returning to his paper. “A twenty thousand galleon deposit from the Wizengamot, for the Order Of Merlin, First Class— for role played in the death of the Dark Lord,” — I winced at that— “eleven thousand galleons and five sickles for various bounties placed by independent contractors on the Dark Lord, and a three thousand four hundred and fifty seven galleons and nine knuts from Lily Evans’ personal Vault, plus property at 17, Tottenham Court Road, London.”
I perked up at that. “That property, it’s a flat, right? Can I move in?”
The goblin peered at him. “It is your property.”
Ignoring the urge to pump my fist into the air in exhilaration, I calmly responded. “What about protections? Wards? I’m just a student, and can hardly craft proper protections.”
Gornuk perked up at that. “Gringotts offers a wide range of enchantments and ward-builders. I can arrange for a warding scheme brochure if you like. If you’re willing, our employees can visit the property and fortify it.”
I considered that for a moment. “I’d like that, preferably before the end of term. I’d like to move into that apartment.”
“Easily arranged,” the goblin said, before taking yet another piece of parchment and peering at it. “There has been a recent addition to your Vault, that is pending acknowledgment. A ten thousand galleon bounty on Sirius Black, offered by the Ministry of Magic on July 3rd, 1995.”
I grimaced. While I had no attachment to Sirius Black, Harry did. The idea that I was getting the bounty for the death of the person that had escaped Azkaban to save Harry from Pettigrew felt both ironic and wrong. Ignoring the sudden flip that my stomach made, I focussed on the goblin.
“What else?”
Gornuk looked at me calculatingly. “There is also the last will and testament of Sirius Orion Black, Heir of the Black Family, bequeathing everything to you in case of his demise.”
I blinked.
“...Say that again?”
“Mr. Black visited Gringotts on December 7th, 1995 to make changes to his account. It was on his instruction that Gringotts altered his will to hand over all monies, properties and other fortunes of the House of Black to Harry James Potter.”
I leaned back on the cushioned chair and tried to digest all of it, mentally reviewing what this could mean.
“And… what does that entail?”
“Vault 1187, belonging to Alphard Sagitarius Black, name transferred to Sirius Orion Black, current monetary assets of three hundred and seventy-four thousand galleons, nine sickles and one knut. There is also the possession of a farmhouse in Espelette, France and… an enchanted muggle vehicle, loaned to one Rubeus Hagrid.”
I cleared my throat. “How much is that… in terms of British pounds?”
A shadow of something dangerous flickered on the goblin’s face. “Why do you ask, wizard?”
“Curiosity.”
“Muggles have an expression, ‘Curiosity killed the cat.’”
“I’m well aware,” I said. “But I’m also looking to invest in the muggle world,” I paused and then added, “through Gringotts’ facilitating it, of course.”
The goblin narrowed his eyes. “Nothing. We care nothing for those bits of paper muggles call currency. If it isn’t in galleons, sickles and knuts, we do not care for it.”
I frowned. That was weird. Just what did muggleborns do when they got their letter? Surely they had to exchange British pounds for galleons?
Maybe I should ask Hermione about this later.
“Fine… please continue.”
Gornuk frowned, and lifted a single package and carefully placed it on the desk before me.
“What’s this?”
The goblin gave me an inscrutable stare, before pulling out another piece of parchment from his drawer. “Harry James Potter. Son of James Potter, and through him, his father Fleamont, and grandfather Charlus, you’re descended from Dorea Potter, formerly Dorea Andromeda Black, daughter of Cygnus Black II and Violetta Bulstrode. Sirius Orion Black, last recognized Heir of House Black, named you his Heir in return.”
“...”
I was floored. Did he mean to say that—
“Regardless of Mr. Black’s status as a fugitive from Azkaban, House Black has a Special Circumstances Provision with Gringotts, authorizing us to continue financial matters with House Black members irrespective of the Ministry mandate. Which is why Gringotts recognizes Mr. Sirius Black’s authenticity as the Lord of House Black, regardless of the Ministry’s stance on the matter. The hiccup only arrives when conferring the title to you.”
I knew where he was going. Or at least, I thought I did.
“The current Regency of House Black rests on Lucius Malfoy. His son Draco Lucius, is the other Heir of the Black Family, through his mother Narcissa Druella Malfoy, formerly Black. Offering the mantle of House Black to you goes against Ministry Law, which I’m sure you’ll agree, is too much of a pain to deal with.”
I empathized with the creature.
“I imagine you have a solution?”
Gornuk’s teeth showed. “You’re a celebrity, Mr. Potter. If you were to, say, be an active promoter of Gringotts for the next… ten years, it’d go a long way in countering the negative press from the Ministry’s side. As a token of thanks, we could expedite the process for Mantle transfer to you. Gringotts can confer Conditional Lord status, with a period of no more than one year, from this day, to prove the innocence of Mr. Sirius Black, as he so-claimed upon his visit to Gringotts back in December.”
Wow. I was really getting pulled into the plot, wasn’t I?
“If you can prove that, and have the Ministry revoke Mr. Black’s status as a fugitive, Gringotts can confer the title of Lord Black to you. That includes Assets of Vault 19 belonging to the House of Black, including liquid assets worth twelve million, one hundred and twenty-three thousand galleons and six sickles, counting for Insurance and House Costs adjusted for inflation. We do not currently have an accounting of the non-liquid assets, but that is irrelevant for now.”
It probably said something that I was able to hear the outrageous figure and not twitch a muscle.
Then it clicked.
“I’m sorry, did you just quote the Black fortune as lower than that of the Potters?”
Gornuk tilted his head. “Our statements show heavy draining of the accounts during the period of 1973 to 1981. In fact, the fortune reached an all-time low of seven million and eleven thousand galleons, before the Bride Prices from House Malfoy and House Lestrange raised it back to ten million, five hundred and fifty seven thousand galleons. The raise after that has been due to the efforts of the current Black Regent, Lucius Malfoy.”
I whistled. Guess this was why House Black married Narcissa and Bellatrix to those families. In that light, Andromeda cost the House a hefty loss by eloping with Ted Tonks. No wonder she was cast out. At the same time, it seemed dear Lucy did work to expand the Black resources for when his son took over.
Too bad things wouldn’t turn out that way.
“–red to that, the Potter family has been a neutral family, apathetic to the events and focussing on its own business growth. In fact, James Potter almost got thrown out of the family for funneling sums of gold for war-funds.”
I did a double take. That, I had not seen coming. Guess this was why even Draco Malfoy considered the Potters as ‘respectable’. Not just in terms of finances, but also in mindset. Compared to his progressive father, his grandfather Fleamont Potter was a staunch pureblood, possibly raised by the same ideals as Dorea Black.
“That’s… good to know.” I considered the numbers again. The new information made me wonder if trying to get Sirius proved innocent, posthumously or otherwise, would be worth it.
“Say, what if I cannot prove Sirius’s— I mean, Mr. Black’s innocence within a year?”
“Then Sirius Black’s directions will be ignored, costs subtracted, and the mantle of Lord Black, along with its monies and assets shall be offered to Draco Malfoy, the next in line after Sirius Black.”
Wonderful. The goblins were dead set to throw me right in the middle of the mess while they sat collecting profit.
Greedy bastards.
Still, it wasn’t like I didn’t have anything to gain from the Black name. A veritable mountain of gold, if nothing else.
“I can agree, upon one condition.”
Gornuk looked at me with condescension. “I do not think you understand your situation right now, Mr. Potter. Gringotts has no dog in the fight. Whether the mantle goes to yourself or Draco Malfoy, it makes no difference to us.”
“I wasn’t born yesterday, goblin,” I shot back, “if you had nothing to gain, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. Lucius Malfoy wouldn’t give you a grateful nod for siding with his brat, and oh yes, if I reject the deal, the promotion is off the table as well.”
“As is the Black fortune,” Gornuk replied slyly.
“True,” I shot back, “but you have me confused with a greedy gold-loving bastard.” His eyes grew to flints at my not-so-subtle insult but I continued before he could retort. “You want this ship sailing? Then sweeten the deal.”
Gornuk hissed something low in his throat.
“Here is what I want,” I went on, “The Black townhouse in London. Number 12, Grimmauld Place.”
Gornuk scowled. “How do you know about that property? It’s unplottable.”
“One of my many talents. Asking annoying questions is another. That was the house Sirius grew up in. Shouldn’t I inherit that property?”
Gornuk’s eyes widened with every word I spoke, and at the mention of Sirius’s name, he flinched as if I’d struck him. His stature seemed diminished by the time I was done, and he settled back into his chair.
“The inheritance of the property in London is… complicated. As per the Black Charter, the inheritance of Number 12, Grimmauld Place and all treasures within it are to be governed by Feodum Talliatum, or in simple English, Entailed Estate. Are you familiar with the term, Mister Potter?”
I shook my head.
“It means that the possessor, or monarch of a property has the absolute title in his name, and can bequeath it or otherwise dispose of it as he wishes, whether to perpetuate his bloodline, family name, honor or armorials. By keeping the estate intact in the hands of one heir alone, in an ideally indefinite and pre-ordained chain of succession, the net wealth, power and family honor would be dissipated amongst several heir candidate lines. Any disputes over the cases of succession are usually handled as per the Black Charter’s guidelines.”
I got what he was saying. In simple terms, only a single Heir would gain everything while everyone else would be under his or her command. And the Charter was the final say on who won the lottery.
“As the recognized Heir, the House is Sirius Black’s to give away. On the other hand, the Charter puts you in second place for succession, while Draco Malfoy, direct blood to Narcissa Black, is given first priority. Also to be noted is the fact that neither yourself, nor Draco Malfoy is part of the male descendancy from the main line. There is also the issue of the property at Number 12, Grimmauld Place being registered as the official seat of power for House Black. We are at a crossroads.”
“I want unrestrained access to that property,” I said coldly, drawing on my magic. “Draco Malfoy isn’t the Conditional Lord. I am. What’s the point in having the title if it’s filled with blanks?”
The goblin’s lips twisted in distaste. “The residence in question is very high priced. Handing it over means—”
“An extra three percent on Gringotts commissions when I make the transition to Lord Black on paper.”
“Fifteen.”
“One.”
“That’s not how bargains work.”
“Bargains? I thought we were playing lets-be-unreasonable games.”
Gornuk scowled. “Perhaps Draco Malfoy would find it more reasonable?”
I scowled. “Five percent.”
Gornuk grinned toothily. “Eight and we've got a deal.”
“On condition that this stays under the table. Speed and discretion, as they say.”
“Fine,” Gornuk said, “Do we have a compact?”
I smiled. “What’s in the damn package?”
Gornuk revealed his fangs and laughed. “The Black Lord ring. devoid of enchantment. If you’d like, Gringotts can offer its enchantment services for you, at a most nominal fee.”
“Of course,” I gritted my teeth and put up my best fake smile. Of course you will.”
Chapter 7: Little Steps
Chapter Text
BOOK 1 - OUTLANDER
“In Gringotts’ defense,” Hermione said, “they are sort of asking you to do what you’re good at.”
I blinked. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“You have a tendency to notice things that are normally ignored by others, Harry,” she said, “And you have a tendency of being in the wrong place at the right time.”
“Or the right place at the wrong time?”
Hermione chuckled. “No, I think my version fits better. Remember the first year? You, me, Ron— all of us got detention. We were with Hagrid the whole time and nothing happened. But you and Malfoy not only met Voldemort feeding on the unicorn but got saved by Firenze!”
“It was probably the scent of unicorn blood.”
Hermione snorted and pushed herself into my chest. We were sitting in her room, with me sitting on the couch and her in front of me, my legs around the side of her hips as she sat facing away from me, strategically positioned between my legs.
She turned to face me, my chin touching her temples. “Fine,” She said, “Second year. You were the only one who could hear the basilisk in the pipes.”
“Only because I can speak parseltongue—”
“What about the Diary? What about interrogating Aragog? And this year, you were the only one who noticed Pettigrew—” she retorted, “the point is, you have this knack for finding things, especially when working under pressure. If there's anyone I'd trust to capture Pettigrew within a year, it'd be you."
I arched an eyebrow.
"Well, that's my humble opinion," Hermione defended. "It really depends on what you want. Sirius was innocent, and deserved better. But…”
“But?”
“But he’s dead. Innocent or not, it doesn’t matter any longer. Not anymore. So if you’re doing this for Sirius, ask yourself this. Would Sirius want you to risk your life to try to capture Pettigrew? And if not, does having this Black Lordship mean anything to you? You’re not the greedy sort, so unless you want to claim Draco and his mum as your relatives—”
“Technically, they are my relatives.”
“Harry,” She stressed, “As far as purebloods go, everyone is everyone’s relative. And I know you, Harry. You don’t seek power. Or popularity. You just ask, is the matter right in itself? And then you do it, no matter what the cost.”
That shut me up. Hermione was right. Or rather, she would have been right if it were Harry Potter she was talking about. Me on the other hand? I lusted for both, and the Black name would grant that to me. But I couldn’t obviously say that to her, or try to convince her that my motivations had changed. Jaded or not, Hermione would probably consider it as un-Harry-like behavior and a suspicious Hermione was the last thing I wanted.
So I tried something different.
“Hermione, Sirius wanted me to have it. The Black Lordship. And if I don’t do anything about it, who do you think will gain the mantle?”
Her lips curled in distaste. “Malfoy.”
“Exactly,” I began laying the trap. “You know the prophecy that Trelawney made. The Dark Lord will rise again, stronger than ever. And when he does, Malfoy will use all that gold to fuel his purpose. Armies require funding, Hermione. The Black Library supposedly has one of the largest collections of ancient magic books in the Wizarding World. All that power, all that knowledge, all of that will be Voldemort’s for the taking. Unless I— unless we act now.”
Hermione frowned. “You want to hurt him economically.”
“That bastard took everything from me. If there’s anything I can do to hurt him, I will.”
“But Harry—”
“No Hermione,” I stressed, “Think of what Malfoy calls you. A mudblood. His father has the ear of the Minister, and that’s why he could remove Dumbledore back in our second year. He put Hagrid in Azkaban. He controls the Wizengamot. For all we know, Lucius Malfoy conspired to deny Sirius a trial. And now, he’s gonna get the Black fortune and he’ll use it to bring Voldemort back!”
Hermione was silent now. My words were getting to her.
“What does Dumbledore say about this?”
“I haven’t asked him.”
That surprised her.
“Why?”
I didn’t answer. What was I going to say? That I wouldn’t trust the old Headmaster as far as I could throw him? That I was not Harry Potter and I knew what schemes the man had? Granted, he had good intentions, but his pathological need to keep secrets was more than irritating to me. Still, I needed to stay in his good books until I had gained enough skill and power to make a difference.
“Harry?”
“Sirius was best friends with my dad,” I spoke after a thoughtful minute. “And my Mum. And Lupin. He fought the good fight. And yet, he never got his trial. Why didn’t Dumbledore didn’t find that out? He’s the Chief Warlock. He could have helped. No one did nothing to even try to know why my dad’s best friend betrayed him. It’s like… like witches and wizards are ostriches and the whole world is sand.”
“Hmm,” She said after a while, “you’ve given this a fair amount of thought. Any ideas on how you want to go about doing it?”
I scowled. “Nothing concrete as of now. I did look a bit about owls and their ability to find people, but that’s easily stopped by a basic owl-diverting ward. I thought about throwing a bounty like the Ministry did for Sirius, but even that won’t work.”
“Huh? Why?”
“Because all bounties need to get registered with the Department of Domestic Communications and there’s no way Fudge’s allowing a bounty on Peter Pettigrew. Not while Malfoy’s there.” I replied with a scowl. “And even if they do, there’s always Polyjuice, and that’s assuming he’s even in Britain right now.”
I had also considered the idea of hiring muggle born witches and wizards into a strike team. Maybe take advantage of their grudge against the Ministry bias and the purebloods and use it against Malfoy and his ilk. Unlike the Order of the Phoenix, this task force would concern itself with systemic elimination of the top Death Eaters, probably through a mix of magical and muggle methods. I had put this plan on the backburner until I gained more practical knowledge of the world and of course, the Black fortune that’d be instrumental in funding this task force.
But again, not an option for catching Pettigrew. No, so far the only thing that I was sure, or mostly sure, was to let the events of canon run its course, and encounter Pettigrew in the graveyard. How I’d manage to capture him and bring him back without Voldemort killing me was another problem altogether.
“Can we talk about this tomorrow? I’m exhausted,” I murmured, burying my head into her freshly cleaned, bushy hair. She smelled of jasmine and parchment as I dug into her neck. Hermione bristled a bit, but I grabbed her waist.
“What’s gotten into you?” She asked, clearly caught flat-footed by my reaction. My mind was already aflame with sensual thoughts about her, and her constant pushing and shuffling inevitably rubbed against my shaft, making it grow back to full size in quick order. My hands went up her stomach, beneath her shirt, caressing her above her bra, causing her to squirm a little. I could tell she was breathing heavily now, eyes closed and aroused.
“What can I say?” I whispered into her ear, “you bring out the animal in me.”
“Weren’t you feeling exhausted?” she asked cattily, which was a rare attitude for her.
“Tell me, Hermione,” I asked, moving my right hand and running my fingers over her thick, hard nipple. Hermione let out an audible gasp of pleasure as she gave in fully to the moment, leaning her body against mine allowing me complete access.
“Yeah?” She whispered.
“How would you feel about moving in with me?”
That pulled her out of her moaning. She pulled off and looked me in the eye. “What’re you talking about?”
“I have an apartment now,” I said, pulling her back. “In London. Very protected. I'll be living there from now on. So I was thinking… you could live there with me.”
“That would be dangero—ah!” She moaned, as my left hand slipped down over her left breast. Grasping the bottom of her shirt and with the assistance of my already involved right hand, I pulled her shirt up, leaving her in just her bra. I pushed her forward, and undid the clasps, letting her soft lumps free, exposing them fully to me. With Hermione’s body pressed into mine, I cupped each breast and looked down at her gorgeous body, her hard nipples standing out prominently from her chest as my hands caressed and pleasured her.
“You were saying?”
Hermione scowled. “I’ll hex you, Harry Potter!”
I snickered. “Fine. Fun first, talk later.”
And I pulled her right over my shaft. Hermione gyrated her hips using her lower back and top of her arse to work my cock. Remembering our earlier tryst, I pinched each of her big, eraser nub nipples in my fingers and twisted a bit, pulling them away from her chest. The loud gasp of pleasure escaping her lips let me know that I was on the right path, so I continued to massage her breasts and tease and pull her nipples. Her head was close to mine at this point, as our bodies pressed tighter into each other. Her neck lay exposed, so I angled my head and softly began to kiss her skin, running my tongue along her tender flesh. Another soft moan escaped her lips as she reached behind her with her right hand finding my hardness and squeezing me, even if a bit awkwardly.
Not wanting to be outdone, I slid my left hand down the front of her body, under her shorts and over her tightly trimmed bush, finding the hard nub of her clit. I could only just reach the hood of her pussy, but I could tell she was extremely wet. I couldn't get to her fully, as her frustrating hip motions indicated she thought the same thing. Hermione shifted her position, twisting towards me and throwing her left leg over mine and reached around my neck with her left arm so she was semi facing me. This gave me full access to her wet pussy with my left hand, which I immediately slid two fingers into her.
"Yes! Oh Merlin! Yes!" She moaned into my ear as she pulled me closer. At that moment, we were looking straight at each other as I slid my finger into her tight, wet cunt, both fully into the moment. I continued moving my fingers in and out of her, trying to find the key spots to get her off. Hermione continued staring at me as if considering something, and then she pulled me close and kissed me fully on the lips. The initial moments of that kiss felt tentative, perhaps even a little odd, before she passionately sipped her tongue into my mouth as muffled cries of pleasure were drowned out in our mouths.
When we broke the kiss, I looked down at her breast, but couldn't quite get the angle I wanted. Seeing my predicament, Hermione used her free right hand to lift her left nipple up to my mouth. I swallowed in as much flesh as I could, sucking hard and running my tongue over her nipple in my mouth. Her nipples must have been extremely sensitive as another long gasp of pleasure escaped her. The sound was so sexy, fuck, the whole moment was so sexy. I had two fingers inside her, while sucking her tits and she was dry humping me. How the fuck could it not be sexy?
Hermione kissed me down the side of my head and softly bit my ear, which sent a jolt of pleasure down my spine.
"I need you inside me now," she whispered.
Not wanting to disappoint, I helped lift her off me and while standing in front of me, she deftly ran her shorts down her body and stepped out of them in one motion, and she was fully naked before me. Reaching down, she struggled with the buttons of my shorts, only briefly, and practically ripped them down off my body. When my cock sprung free, she looked at it with an almost animalistic desire.
She mounted me then, dropping her left knee to one side of me on the couch and then swinging the right knee over to the other side, reaching down, she grabbed my dick and guided it to her as she sat down on it in one smooth motion. Her tight wetness felt like soft velvet as she pushed herself fully down on to me. Hermione was soaking wet, but also very tight as she started her long, slow up and down motion.
"Fuck yes!" She screamed as she started to increase her pace, her breasts lifting and dropping in my face with each thrusting cycle. I grabbed one of her breasts and pulled her nipple to my mouth as she continued to drive down on my cock. Hermione reached around my head and pulled my head into her pillowy breasts as I sucked her nipple. "Fuck me, Harry!" She ordered, wrapping both of her arms around me, getting into a steady, but hard pace.
I wasn't going to last long at this rate, I was already so worked up as it was. Wanting to savor the moment a while longer I grabbed her hips and locked her down on me. Then, with my hands, I started to rock her hips back and forth, grind my cock into her at a different angle, hoping to hit her g-spot. I seemed to be on to something, as she took over grinding, now rotating her hips at the same time, not lifting her body, just letting my cock move inside her.
This gave me a moment to regain some stamina, as my cock was buried into her tight pussy, the motion steadying me, instead of bringing me to completion. I could hear the pace of her breathing quicken, felt her grab onto my cock tighter and she pulled me into her as she worked her hips a little faster.
"I'm cumming!” She squealed, “I'm cum! In!” She arched her back and let out a feral scream of pleasure as her body burst and shuddered in a powerful orgasm. Her body convulsed in several repeated shudders, I could feel her pussy tighten with each one. When she finally finished, Hermione leaned down and kissed me fully, and passionately. Breaking the kiss, she pulled back and said, "That was great. Your turn!"
She went back to her furious up and down riding, starting slowly at first, then building to a strong pace. Her pussy, awash with her own cum, felt incredible. Her breasts were heaving and falling with her violent fucking. I grabbed her hips and pushed her down on to me hard with each downward thrust and the slap of our bodies producing a loud, smacking sound. I felt myself build to climax and flew my head back.
"Yes, cum in me, Harry! Cum for me!” she yelled. I grabbed her hips one last time and screamed as I exploded inside her. My body convulsed with each spurt into her and I had to hold on tight to prevent myself from falling over. I filled her pussy in burst after burst of cum, the buildup of the day finally unleashed. As she slowed, I could see my cum leaking out of her and down my cock.
When I finally finished, breathless, I pulled her tightly to me, holding her in a tender embrace. She let the weight of her body fall against me, exhausted. Both of us were speechless, breathless and utterly spent.
“What have you done to me, Harry?” She moaned, “A week ago, I was a normal girl. And now, I have your cum oozing out of my clit.”
“You must have been bored to death being a normal girl.” I replied, pushing into her again.
“I blame the werewolf curse. It’s… making me do this.”
I snorted. “It’s just decreasing your inhibitions. Admit it, you always had this wild side. You just kept it hidden beneath your bookworm facade.”
Hermione gasped, scandalized, but before she could say anything else, I leaned over and captured her lips again, my tongue invading her mouth domineeringly. Hermione let out another moan before I pulled off, only to insert three of my fingers— drenched with her own cum— into her mouth.
“And believe me when I tell you,” I whispered into her ear, “This is just the beginning.”
Chapter 8: Tricky Maneuvers Part 1
Chapter Text
BOOK 1 - OUTLANDER
I could describe the next week in detail, but as interesting as they were, they did have a certain routine to them. I would wake in the morning and find Hermione naked and draped over me, her bushy hair all across my face and chest. After that, she and I would have a little… spar. First with spells, then with fists until it devolved into a passionate love-making in the shower. With every passing day, it became painfully clear that Hermione was developing an inhuman physical strength — she had bruised a pair of my ribs just by wrapping her legs around me when I made her cum — and was getting faster too, given how she could just dodge through my attacks without bothering with a shield. The only thing she lacked was magical power, which I supposedly had in spades, but her inventiveness and enormous arsenal of spells was more than enough to bend the odds in her favor.
It was a little humiliating at first. But I persevered. The amazing facilities that the Outlander perk gave me would sooner or later, elevate me to degrees that most witches and wizards couldn’t dream of, but Hermione– for all her strength and skill, would reach her apex. Granted, the combination of werewolf physicality and her Eidetic Memory would grant her a higher apex than most, but eventually, it’d reach a plateau.
But for me? It was exponential. Infinite. The only resistance to my ascension would be my demise and… perhaps my arrogance. Which was a far more dangerous threat than people gave it due.
A part of me was actually thankful that Hermione was too busy trying to cope up with her own troubles. Or else she’d have probably tried to force me through her long-winded lectures about the perils of keeping feelings bottled up. The fact that I was way more casual and relaxed than the brooding Harry Potter of fifth year helped matters, a good thing since I did not particularly enjoy being talked over.
After our morning exertions, I’d leave Hermione in her room and get to the Third Floor corridor– my hideout so to say, and start firing out spells non-stop until I was too tired to cast anymore. The constant sex I had been having — with Romilda in the unused classrooms, and of course, with Hermione in her room, my stats were steadily increasing. And then there was Ginny who liked to surprise me— sometimes in the Gryffindor showers, sometimes in the broom cupboards on the corridors and even once in the Great Hall during breakfast. Ginny was a mischievous and daring little pixie, I was learning.
But as is with all things, this was coming to a close. The results would be out sometime later today, and by this time tomorrow, we’d be boarding the Hogwarts Express, traveling back to our homes. I had just gotten back from the Quidditch gym — yes, Hogwarts had a gym for the Quidditch players to keep themselves in shape, not that the staunchier purebloods used it, claiming they didn’t need filthy muggle facilities to keep them in shape when they had magic. I had hiked about two miles up and forward on the elliptical machine and could barely walk straight. Sweaty and exhausted and thinking about a shower, I almost didn’t see it when a pair of hands grabbed me from my left and pulled me into an abandoned classroom.
It probably said something about me that despite my exhaustion, my wand was out there in my palm, a blasting curse on my lips.
A pair of very familiar brown eyes blinked at me, the aggression in them wiped out by having my wand pointed between them.
“Ginny!” I asked, flabbergasted, putting my wand away, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Me?” Ginny yelled, “what the hell do you think you’re doing? Fooling around with Hermione like that?”
This… wasn’t how I expected things to happen. I mean, Hermione knew about my dalliances with Ginny and Romilda — which I continued under the official cover of ‘needing positive impulses to counter the dementor exposure’ but Hermione was a special case. Ginny on the other hand, was an entirely different bag of worms.
“What are you talking about?”
Her eyes blazed. “You know what the fuck I’m talking about. I visited your bed twice this week and you weren’t there. Romilda did the same and she said you weren’t there either. And Hermione– her face lights up whenever we talk of you.”
“Hang on a minute,” I replied, trying to make sense out of the entire conversation. “You know I’ve been fucking Romilda, and by your words, you two set up some kind of schedule between yourself. So why do you care if I’ve been spending time with Hermione?”
“I care because she’s my friend.” Ginny snapped back.
“And Romilda isn’t?” I asked. “Is that why you’re taking turns with her to fool around with me?”
Ginny only glared instead of replying. I knew exactly why she had come to my dorm room for two nights during the past week, and why Romilda had done the same. Ginny had been fooling around with me, flirting and teasing me and generally doing anything to get a reaction out of me. She hadn’t minded when I was fucking Romilda, but something about Hermione ticked the hell out of her.
Could it be…
I crossed my arms. “I think you’re just jealous.”
“Fuck you,” she whispered, “I didn’t think you’d be the playboy type. Fucking around with girls because it’s fun!”
“Haven’t I been doing exactly that with Romilda?” I asked, matching her gaze, only I was calm and composed compared to the smoldering flints that were her eyes.
Ginny folded her arms under her breasts and continued to glare at me for a dozen seconds before replying. “That’s… different.”
“How?”
“Because…. Because…” she stammered.
“Because you don’t see her as competition,” I finished for her. “I can mess around with Romilda all I want, and you wouldn’t bat an eye. But Hermione’s my best friend. The person closest to me in this entire world. Seeing me fucking her makes you feel jealous. Anxious. Like you’re a second choice.”
It was probably my easygoing and friendly tone that made it all the more effective. Ginny faltered, as if physically struck. I wasn’t seeing the self-assured sexy girl that got whatever she wanted out of others. I was seeing someone afraid of rejection. Could her infatuation with me be more than just pure sexual attraction? Did she still have lingering feelings for the ‘Boy-Who-Lived’ in her dreams?
It’d certainly explain why she was acting this way.
“Maybe you just want me all to yourself.”
“Get fucked!” She replied, but it lacked a lot of hostility. “And st—”
I interrupted Ginny's sentence by grabbing her hips and pulling her towards me. Our lips met and I felt a tiny bit of resistance before her mouth welcomed mine. Her tongue darted into my mouth and we fought for dominance as I slid my hands over her hips to grope at her impressive orbs. Ginny moaned and pressed her whole body into mine as her hands ran under my shirt and she raked her nails across the flesh of my back.
She melted into my body as we continued to make out in the unused classroom without a care in the world. I lifted the back of her skirt to get a better feel of her ass, and my hands ran over bare hips to cup her exposed cheeks, before putting two of my fingers into her mouth. This girl had come down here to confront me without wearing any panties. Had she been hoping I'd notice and take advantage of the situation? Ginny was a smart girl, so she must have had that in mind.
“Stay away from you, is it?” I whispered into her ear, “is that what you want?”
Ginny looked like she wanted to retort but before she could, I walked her across the room—my fingers still in her mouth—and pressed her up against the wall. I felt every curve of her chest against mine as she pulled me against her like a starving woman getting her first meal in days. And I planned to give her more than just a taste.
I released my hold on her arse with one hand and slipped it between her spread legs. Her pussy was incredibly wet. I teased her clit gently and stroked her labia to spread her lubricant around her pubis before slipping two fingers inside her. She moaned loudly as our lips parted and clung to me tightly as I worked my fingers in and out of her. Her moans were loud, but before I could tell her to keep it down, she bit into my shoulder and growled in pleasure. I didn't mind a little pain, so I let her go as I continued to fuck her with my fingers. I felt the walls of her sex constrict around my fingers as her body started shaking with her climax. She bit down harder into my shoulder and all but screamed in pleasure.
“You’re years late to the party, Ginny Weasley. I already fucked Hermione. Several times. Every single day of the last week. Way more than I fucked Romilda. You want me to stay away? Maybe the other girls will appreciate what you don’t.”
“No—”she grabbed my wrist, panic vivid in her eyes. “No I didn’t mean—”
“Didn’t mean what, princess?” I asked, pulling my fingers,now soaked in her cum, and pushing them into her open mouth. Ginny sucked on my fingers, employing her tongue to lick her own fluids off them.
Don’t— I don’t want you to stop this.”
“Even if I keep fucking other girls?”
“You don’t need to—-”
She whimpered as I slapped her right breast.
“Oh sorry, I thought you’re commanding me.”
I grabbed her left nipple and pulled. Ginny screamed.
“I—” She whimpered, “I’ll prove myself better than the others. Better than all of them.”
I smirked. “Well, that counts as boldness, I suppose. I’ll have so much fun breaking you.”
"So…" I asked, "which will it be?"
Ginny calmed down enough to release her hold on my shoulder, and she slumped against the wall. I pulled my fingers from her mouth and brought them to my lips to have a taste. There was a musky, strong tone to her that when mixed with sexual arousal made it even more appealing to me. When I was done, I held my fingers to her slightly parted lips, and she eagerly took them in her mouth to clean them off. She even moaned as she tasted herself.
"Come to my room tonight," I said softly. "I want to have all of you."
I expected a retort. Instead, she only nodded in response. Her eyes were filled with lust and desire.
“And don’t say a word about this to Romilda,” I whispered, “this is our secret.”
I gave her one last kiss before I turned and left through the door, leaving a drenched and utterly spent Ginny Weasley behind.
The burst of white light had blasted out of my wand slammed against the chair-sized three-by-three rubix cube I had painstakingly crafted as a transfiguration practice project. I watched as the energy beam vanished into the slab, stayed in there for like half a second before the individual cubes popped out with tremendous force in all directions. All twenty-six cube components fell apart, with none of them harmed in the slightest.
A perfectly controlled execution of the Confringo spell.
“Yes!” I pumped my fist into the air. No really, believe me when I say this, spells are hard to learn. They weren’t the kind of thing you learnt over the course of an afternoon or during your weekend off. They were stupidly complex things that could end up killing you if you so much as made a single mistake.
There was a reason why Hogwarts didn’t so much as teach a single elemental charm, or anything more than a low-powered flipping jinx for the lower years. Hell, even Everte Statum was something taught to fourth years as part of the Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons. In that light, that Malfoy had learnt a fourth-year spell back as a second year was more than a little surprising.
After you memorized the correct pronunciation of a spell’s incantation, the theory behind its execution and copied its wand movements, you had to practice it. Not just once or twice but literally hundreds of times, over and over again till it became a reflex. You didn’t have the time to stop and think in a fight, since even a split-second wasted could get you defeated or worse, killed. You had to act without thinking so any spell that you cast needed to be called upon instantly, and it was only then that you could claim to have mastered it.
Harry Potter had an unnaturally high attunement to Martial Magic, or as they called it, Defense Against the Dark Arts, which made those particular types of magic easier for me to learn. Even the high-level spells in that territory weren't out of my grasp. It was why Harry, as a third year, had grasped the Patronus, a spell that even Aurors found difficult to cast.
Yeah, I was absolutely not looking forward to applying it on people.
Well, maybe a little.
The point is, even with all those advantages, it took me an entire week to fully learn this curse. For two weeks, I had spent hours every single day, working on this single spell and it still took me seven days just to cast it successfully without fail. The next week I spent throwing this curse at boulders, slabs, doors, walls, broom cupboards— you get the idea, and then practicing my Reparo charm and getting them back together.
Stretching my hands and legs a bit, I prepared myself to cast the other variations of the curse. Turns out, there were three registered spells, which while working on the same basic principle of explosion, were created for specific purposes. I had mastered Confringo – commonly known as the Blasting Curse in dueling circles. Its execution lay more along the lines of undoing the forces of attraction within objects, causing individual bits to split apart. The second variant Bombarda — operated by creating an actual explosion of energy, and then directing the blunt force from it to directly impact an object. The third, and perhaps the most popular variant because of its use in dueling, the Reducto spell, aka the disintegration curse, operating on the principle of pure disintegration of the object to the tiniest possible fragments.
I leveled my wand at one of the walls and yelled, “BOMBA–”
“Please stop destroying parts of the castle. I’m rather attached to it.”
I was so caught up in the spellcasting that the sudden interruption caught me flat-footed, causing the gathered magic within me to go all haywire, exploding out of the wand and throwing me back against the floor. Coughing, I pushed myself up and glared up balefully, only to meet an amused Albus Dumbledore looking down at me through his half-moon glasses.
“Profess–”
The grimace from Dumbledore’s visage abated for a moment as he peered at the books I had set upon the table. “Confronting the Faceless? Extreme Incantations? Those are rather advanced books for a third year. Perhaps you could ask Filius to lend you some advice before trying to perform these spells?”
I kept my eyes down. “I’m just trying to do something I’m naturally good at before my time goes out.”
Dumbledore frowned. “I’m afraid you have me at a loss, Harry.”
I stood up and dusted my robes. “Tell me professor, say you wake up one morning, and find yourself transported into your favorite story.”
The imagery I was using was too close to the truth, but for Dumbledore, it was so bizarre coming from the mouth of a child that he’d never consider how close he was to hearing the real truth.
“My favorite story…” He began, but I cut him off.
“You wake up. Maybe even as a character you like. Or dislike. Doesn’t matter. There’s an almost guaranteed fact that you are never getting out. So what do you do? You know the story, and you know how things end. So do you try to make the best of it, despite knowing very well what happens in the end? Or do you laugh at the stupidity of it all, and just do whatever the hell you want?”
I picked up my wand that had rolled off the floor. “Because that’s what I feel, Professor. Professor Trelawney said the Dark Lord will rise again. So whether I fight him, or run away and save my life, it doesn’t matter. No matter what I do, he will rise again. And he’ll come for me. You know he will. So what does it matter? When everything is prior ordained through prophecy?”
Dumbledore flinched, albeit for a moment.
I chuckled. “Except this isn’t a story, and yet, I’m aware of how things end. The Dark Lord will rise once again, and he’ll be more powerful than ever. And I, like an idiot, let his servant go free. If it were just my fault, I’d understand. But if it’s prophesied, then that means– that means that I don’t even have free will. That my successes and my failures only exist because someone up there wanted it to happen, and nothing I say or do will change that.”
My voice had gone so bitter that I could actually taste it. I was no Master of Mind Magic. But words, as Dumbledore had himself quoted in the books– words were a source of magic too. With the right words, I could make someone laugh and someone else cry. I could turn the tides of the world by saying the right things to the right man, and the wrong things to the wrong. And for Albus Dumbledore, who used idle chit-chat as a way to disarm people, this was my counter.
“And if that is indeed the case, then am I really to blame for whatever wrong I do? Is Voldemort? If all our actions are the product of some higher force, making us do things– then are we even responsible for our own actions? Should I instead not… hate this higher force that decided it was necessary for my parents to die just so Wizarding Britain could get a Boy-Who-Lived?”
“You underestimate,” Dumbledore spoke at last, “You underestimate the power of choice, Harry. The consequences of our actions are always complicated and diverse. But believe me, you did a very noble thing in saving Pettigrew’s life.”
“A noble thing that will help Voldemort return to power.” I spat.
Dumbledore shook his head. “Pettigrew owes his life to you, Harry. You have sent Voldemort a deputy who is in your debt. When one wizard saves another’s life, it creates a certain bond between them… and I’m much mistaken if Voldemort wants his servant in the debt of Harry Potter.”
“Wonderful!” I retorted, “I had a connection to the man that murdered my parents. And now I have another with the one that betrayed them in the first place.”
Dumbledore shook his head. “This is magic at its deepest, its most impenetrable, Harry. But trust me, the time may come when you’ll be very glad you saved Pettigrew’s life.”
I couldn’t help it. I looked Albus Dumbledore in the eye. “How do you know that? How can you be so sure about it?”
The moment I did that, Dumbledore stiffened, and I cursed myself inwardly. Dumbledore raised his wand, and an invisible barrier formed around us. I had no idea what the barrier did, but I was certain I couldn’t fight my way through it if it came to that.
I swallowed. Had he seen through my deception? Had that moment of brief eye contact been enough for the man to delve into my memories and find out everything about me? The holly and phoenix wand in my hand almost slipped through my fingers, as Albus Dumbledore raised his wand in my direction, probably realizing that the boy he was talking to was not Harry Potter.
Damn it. And things were going so well too.
Chapter 9: Tricky Maneuvers Part 2
Chapter Text
BOOK 1 - OUTLANDER
Fear can literally feel like ice water. It can be an icy feeling that you swallow, that rolls down your throat and spreads into your chest. It steals your breath and makes your heart labor when it shouldn't, before expanding into your belly and hips, leaving quivers behind. Then it heads for the thighs, the knees (occasionally with an embarrassing stop on the way), stealing the strength from the long muscles that think you should use them to run the hell away.
I swallowed a mouthful of fear, held my wand tighter, my eyes on the horrifically dangerous wizard in front of me, with the mythical Elder wand pointed in my direction. If Dumbledore had indeed found out about my true origins, then this was probably my last moment in this new world. There existed no spell, no perk, nothing that could protect me if Albus Dumbledore came after me. While I was sure he might not exactly kill me, he'd probably extract everything from my mind, and then send me packing to the weirdos of the Department of Mysteries.
Instead, Dumbledore lowered his wand.
"Do not be afraid," the Professor said, "It was not my wish to frighten you. It's just that the answers to your questions require a bit of… privacy."
I clenched my wand tighter and looked around, at the transparent barrier all around us, my inquisitiveness getting the better of me. "What… is this spell?"
"Cave Inimicum," he answered, pronouncing it at 'cah-vey-un-nimi-kuhm', "a powerful protective charm. It creates a boundary around the caster, keeping others from perceiving what's inside, blocking all five senses."
I blinked. That was a surprisingly useful spell. Wait, hadn't Hermione cast something similar back in the seventh book to hide their tent from Scabior?
"Before the idea even appears in your mind, no, you may not try to learn this spell. It is a NEWT-level spell and way beyond anything you've tried."
Given what I knew about spells, I conceded that point.
Dumbledore gave me a tentative nod, as though deeming me worthy of his time, and I released the breath I didn't know I was holding.
"You're right," He said, his eyes distant and nostalgic, "Saying that you'll be glad to have saved Pettigrew's life feels empty boasts. One that suits muggle fortune tellers and false prophets. The truth is Harry, my family – the Dumbledores, we are blessed with a strange prophetic condition. A strange, albeit limited clairvoyance that expresses itself in the most wondrous of ways."
I knew what he was talking about. A perk. Albus Dumbledore's perk.
"What… kind of ability?"
"Probability," He replied. "I have an ability that allows me to manipulate probabilities, to a very small extent. In practical terms, it translates to occasionally having very precise hunches about things. I might not know what lies around the next bend, or the right moment to strike or retreat, but occasionally, my instincts demand that certain things be done, certain actions be taken, even if those actions and things might not make any sense at that moment. But somehow, those actions always, always end up with outcomes like I had predicted."
"That is… some power," I admitted,a little stunned as I tried to wrap my head around the full implications of such an ability. Unless Dumbledore was lying, such a power definitely explained a lot of things. His allowing Hermione to have access to a Time Turner, regardless of the fact that she'd use it for taking extra classes. In fact, the more I thought of it, the more sense it made. Dumbledore made weird and surprising moves, handing Harry with just enough information to keep going and yet hiding away the more relevant portions. Hell, he hadn't even helped the boy learn any martial magic. Were all of them actions made by a man under the influence of a prophetic condition? Or was this simply an excuse he was using to make me believe him?
"You think that my saving Pettigrew–"
"Will it help you in the long run? Yes. I'm afraid I can't tell you how, but it will."
It certainly did in the books. But it was nothing compared to getting him captured or even better, killed.
"You cannot fully know the future, Harry. Even true prophecies have a chance of being proved wrong. On the other hand, significant events have a… resistance to them. The more significant it is, the greater the chances of that event coming to pass, regardless of what you do."
"Voldemort will rise in power again," I sighed.
"He will, and it will be greater than before. But that does not mean he's undefeatable. It is almost impossible to kill him as he currently is. But when he gains a corporeal form…"
"We can kill him?"
Dumbledore looked at me strangely and then said, "yes."
My mind raced, wondering what this meant for me. I certainly didn't remember the Dumbledore of the books sharing this information with Harry. Which meant, his sudden visits, this discussion, his willingness to share information, all of this showed towards a future that Dumbledore thought was in his favor.
"Professor…" I said at last, "If Voldemort comes back to power, he'll come after me. Then… Can you teach me how to be better?"
Dumbledore smiled. "I believe I have told this to you in the past, Harry. Help will always be given at Hogwarts to those that ask for it."
It took an entire two seconds for me to fully grasp what the man was telling me. And then I glanced back at his face and found his blue eyes twinkling behind those half-moon spectacles.
Dumbledore nodded.
I grinned.
The exam results came out later during the afternoon. Ron, Hermione and I had passed every subject. Surprisingly, Snape had given me an Exceeds Expectations in Potions. I figured that with Sirius dead, the sadistic man was probably maddeningly blissful. Plus, seeing Harry Potter nearly dying probably affected the man a little, what with Lily Evans' son and all that.
Silver linings and all that.
The term was now officially over, and the Hogwarts Express would pull out at the Hogsmeade station tomorrow, so everyone was busy packing and chattering away with their housemates until late at night, making me wonder if Ginny would try to come to my dorm room at all amid all the commotion. I lay on my bed, waiting until the sounds had died down, discounting Ron's snoring which had gone up, but Ginny was a no-show.
One hour.
Two hours.
There was still no sign of hers. Hell, she hadn't even left her dorm room as per the Map. I reasoned the girls were probably still awake in the room, in which case, Ginny would probably not get the chance to get out. Besides, I had to get up early the next day and decided that getting some shut eye was probably for the best.
It was then that I noticed.
Footsteps.
On the map.
Ginny was climbing down the stairs of her dormitory towards the Common Room. With a flick of my wand, I sent the Map folded and packing into my trunk. I had already cast the Silencing charm just to be safe. I didn't want to show that I was in fact, waiting for her and so I closed my eyes and pretended to be asleep.
That made all the difference.
Around five minutes later, I felt the doorknob turn ever so softly that it barely made a sound at all, with someone pulling it back. I squinted my eyes, only to see a wand peeking out as someone whispered–
"Petrificus Totalus!"
Before I knew it, my body had gone stiff as a log, completely unmoving despite my best attempts. I couldn't move my arms, and my wand was underneath my pillow. I couldn't do anything more than squint at her, and even then my vision was blurry. Damn these glasses! Seriously, I needed to find a proper optometrist and get my eyesight fixed, no matter the cost.
The door opened further, and Ginny Weasley stepped into the room. I grew anxious as she raised her wand a second time, but luckily, it was at Ron and the others and whispered, "Morpheus!"
The sleeping hex. I knew Ginny was supposedly good at curses, knowing her infamous Bat-Bogey hex, but seeing her cast was another thing altogether. There was no actual difference between the other boys since they were already fast-asleep.
And then she strode towards me until she was looming over me.
I lay motionless, my body cold from the hex but my heart already beating like mad. I knew the theory behind the petrifying hex, and how to undo it. It was just that without access to my wand; it was going to take longer.
"Harry?" she whispered, "Harry, oh you're awake!"
She grabbed the covers and pulled it off, her hand feeling through my shorts. She gasped as her shaking, tentative fingers brushed against my cock, which already had blood flowing through it.
Guess there were some bodily actions that the petrifaction hex didn't cover.
"Oh! You're… hard!"
Of course I was. Sure I was wondering what the deal was with the petrifaction, but the sound of her breath on my chest and her fingers jacking my cock was enough to make me wait and see what she wanted. I slept without my shirt on, and Ginny pulled my pants off, revealing my body for her viewing pleasure. She dragged her tongue from the base of my shaft, lovingly tracing the line of my vein. She then licked my balls and let out a deep, deep moan.
Sliding her hands against my waist, Ginny slid her mouth down my shaft, opening her throat to try to fit it all. She straddled my naked thigh, and I could feel that she was naked from the waist down, her cunt wet and warm and shaved. And then, she slid downwards.
"Ugh!" She gasped, pulling her mouth up, saliva and pre-cum dripping from her lips, "I'm… Oh!"
I didn't respond. I couldn't.
So, I focused on my magic. The petrifaction hex was a simple one, and a sudden outburst of magic was more than enough to disperse it off. Gathering my magic, coalescing it together, almost like a taut bow. I flexed the power, and internally prepared myself to cast the general counter-spell, only without a wand. Power flooded through me, and the hex was broken.
But I didn't react, or let her know. I wanted to see the limits she had set on her debauchery. That is if she had any.
Ginny leaned back and took her shirt off by the hem, sliding it off her body in one smooth motion. I regretted not being able to look at her breasts, nor grasp them as she straddled me, but that anticipation, and knowing that I had to free myself while not letting her know, only made me harder.
And then she slid her leaking pussy across my chest until it was right in my face. Obviously I couldn't lick it because of the hex, so instead I watched her rub her pussy all over my face, smearing it with her juices while her thighs squeezed around my head, her body writhing in ecstasy as she bobbed her head on my cock. Then she turned over and asked, "Harry? Harry, are you angry?"
I didn't respond. I could have, but instead, I wondered. Just what part of Ginny Weasley was this? Petrifying me and having her way with me? Nothing about the girl– whether from the books, or Harry's memories, suggested that she had a rape fantasy. It only made me wonder just how different was this world than how Rowling painted it to be.
Guess I'd find out soon enough.
"Oh!" She muttered, "You're trying to fight it! As expected! But… oh, this makes it so much better you know!"
She began to slide her moist hips around, rubbing the head of my cock against her wet pussy. The head poked easily into her snatch.
"Oh…!" She sank it down on it, all the way, her arse quivering all the while, the muscles on her thighs gripping me right. My cock slid into her as easily as a greased piston, and yet she was so tight, and tense like a coiled wire. I was fully inside her, and then her whole body shuddered. I had filled her.
I suppressed the urge to grab her.
"Oh!" She groaned, "Oh fuck!"
She pushed down into my chest, her arse rising up until my cockhead was perched just at the entrance of her body, and then she let herself drop back down, her arsecheeks resting on my balls. "Ahn..." she gasped. Her hands slid up my chest again, to my neck, and her thumbs dug into my throat. "Don't fight it, Harry!" she pleaded. One hand slid up my face and dug into my scalp. She raised herself up and slammed herself back down on top of me. She groaned again, her grip tightening on my neck and scalp. Her pussy gripped my naked member.
"That's it," she grunted, shifting herself forward with me still inside her. She didn't rise up this time but moved her hips only, gyrating in my lap as she shifted my cock around. The bed creaked and strained as Ginny used her powerful hips to grind on my cock and hit all of the places in her love canal she wanted to touch. "Ahh..." she gasped. Her toes curled against my calves. Her grip tightened around my neck. She rocked back and forth, soaking the base of my shaft in her cum.
"Oh fuck…!" she gasped.
She arched her back, sliding up, and slammed her arse down on me. "Ahn..." she grunted as softly as she could. She did it again, the slam of her asscheeks on my thighs a wet, dirty sound. "Ah...!"
A quake started in her belly that radiated throughout her skin, shaking her breasts, vibrating her ass. She reached between her thighs and began to play with her clitoris. She had her toys, and she was using them, finding the limits of her pleasure.
Ginny used my body. As fast or as slow as she liked, she did all the steering, shivering and shaking both from the waves of sensation rising from her pussy as much from the exertion of lifting her big, beautiful arse - again, and again, again. She fell into a rhythmic pounding, digging her palms deep into my chest as she slapped her pussy down on me. I wondered if this was in response to my actions earlier in the morning. Had I perchance, incited an animalistic vindictiveness inside this secretively spiteful girl?
Another part of me reflected on the fact that the silencing charm was probably going to fade in some time, and if that happened, her sounds would be unmistakable. But I wasn't going to tell her to stop.
Free to try every position without fear or need for consent, Ginny gave each and every one a go as she impaled herself on my stiff member. She turned at one point, riding me with her hands planted on her knees and her legs together in my lap. She pulled me out and faced me again, and then rolled me back and forth inside her, reaching down to fondle my balls as they wedged into the crack of her ass.
She bent down and dragged her moist tits against my now naked chest. "Don't be angry, Harry," she said, her eyes shining in the moonlight, "I… Your cock feels so nice. I want to do this over and over, so please don't be angry with me. Please?"
She grunted again, her fingers digging into my hair as she humped furiously on my cock. "I promise to never do this again, I promise. Ahhh!"
Deciding it was enough, I moved, plunging into her, driving my hips up.
Ginny never saw it coming.
One moment she was humping against my cock, the next moment, I grabbed her waist, shocking her enough that she failed to react when I drove my hips up, mercilessly screwing her with my shaft. She was lucky she was already drenched, or else she'd have been hurt. Her mouth opened to say something but I was past listening. I threw her next to me, and rolled over her, and began drilling into her mercilessly, robbing her of any more words. When she opened her mouth again, I grabbed her by her hair and pushed her into my pillow.
"Ha— ugh!" She groaned as I smacked her ass, and used my left hand to grab her neck and push her down into the pillow. Ginny was desperately trying to grab the bedsheet, the pillow– anything within reach really, which was when I pulled my wand from beneath her, and with a flick, cast the incarcerous charm, tying her hands to the sides of my bed. I took a moment to reapply the silencing charm, before grabbing her arse and raising it upwards.
And then I really gave it to her.
She moaned unbridled, as I fucked her even harder. The slap of my pelvis into her thighs was loud and getting even louder. Ginny kept screaming about how she was sorry over and over again, but I didn't listen.
Instead I fucked her like a dog.
"You like that?" I asked, my voice hoarse, "You like that you little whore?"
"No, Harry– please! Please let me–"
I did not know what part of her twisted personality I was encountering now. This was the girl that intercepted him in showers for surprise blowjobs. This was also the same girl that had petrified me to pull off her rape fantasy. And now she was behaving like I was taking advantage of her against her consent.
I slid my hand down her ass, slathering my thumb in her copious juices and then ringing around her puckered asshole. "Oh!" She gasped. "Don't– not there!" I popped my thumb in, and her hips slithered in every direction.
"No– don't–"
I didn't care, and instead fucked her harder than ever, and I knew she was loving it. My balls hit her thighs and our sweat mixed with each other and flowed down to the pits behind her knees. "Uh!" Ginny gasped as I bent her further, pushing her asscheeks up and smacking them left and right. I scooped her breasts up into my palms, squeezing her hard as I continued to cum inside her, my teeth biting into her neck. She rocked with me, reaching up to grab the back of my neck as I took her hard, her other hand holding my left hand that was still on her breast. I collapsed over her, exhausted and sweaty and definitely spent, in a heap of wet sex.
"Ugh!" Ginny groaned, "That… wasn't quite what I had planned. But it was… exactly what I needed."
"Did you… now?" I panted, slapping her right asscheek. "Tell me, does your mum know her daughter has rape fantasies?"
Ginny let out a moan at that, choosing to snuggle into me. "No… No, she doesn't. It's just something I always wanted to do."
I arched an eyebrow. "Always?"
I could feel her snuggle further. "Not… always. It started last summer. You know, after what happened with the Diary. I'd get lucid dreams of Tom … sometimes he'd make me play with myself. He'd… he'd make me do all kinds of twisted things. And I'd do them. It felt… nice. I'd wake up drenched, and thinking of…"
I clenched my teeth.
She paused. "I thought I was just suffering the effects of possession. We couldn't afford a mind healer, so I kept my mouth shut. I didn't want to do what Tom was making me do. I… He'd denigrate me, treat me like a dog. I wanted to… I wanted to be in control. I wanted to be in total control. Like… just own him."
Own Tom Riddle? Fat chance of that happening. Still, that made me wonder. Harry had destroyed the Diary horcrux back in his second year with the basilisk fang, so why was Ginny still suffering from it? Had Tom Riddle left lingering traces of his presence in Ginny's mind? Could that– could that mean–?
"It went on for the entirety of this year," Ginny went on, oblivious to my thoughts. "Until… until that night."
"What night?"
"When you, Ron and Hermione went after Sirius Black. And you nearly died."
I froze. Harry had died that night, and I had been put in charge. But what did that have to do with Ginny?
"That night, when I dreamt, Tom changed. He…" She spun around, and met my eyes. "He turned into you, Harry."
I blinked.
Of all the things, that was something I never expected.
"The dreams were the same only, only if it was you doing those things to me. Denigrating me. Hurting me. Fucking me like a bitch in heat."
I could taste the bitterness in her voice. "I'm–"
She shook her head, and I got the impression she didn't want me to interrupt. "And then you woke up, and you– you felt me up. You know I was already infatuated with you. You saved me from Tom. You got me out of the Chamber alive and you– you're Harry Potter. Between that and my dreams, I couldn't hold myself back. I– I had to have you. So I came to you that night."
And saw me with Romilda.
"I– I was surprised. I knew Romilda would make a move, but to see you fucking her like that, it drove me wild. I wanted to curse the heck out of her. I wanted to be in her place, having you carve out my pussy. Just like in my dreams."
"And you surprised me in the shower."
"I mean," she continued, unable to look directly at me now, "I just kept thinking about it the whole night. I knew I snatched you from Romilda even when you were fucking her, but… but it isn't the same as you doing me directly. Merlin, the idea of cumming and then having you shoot it within me…."
She shifted slightly, and I realized my sleeping cock was still within her.
"You're right. I was afraid when I found you were fucking Hermione. She's… she's your best friend, and smart and awesome in every way. She's been with you from the very start. I was only Ron's stupid sister that needed rescuing. Part of the background. I thought– I thought you'd forget about me, throw me away like used goods, now that you had her."
"I wouldn't."
"I know, but…" She exhaled, "I thought I'd let you fuck me in that room. Show you who's better. Guilt-trip you and then fuck the hell out of you. Just like in my dreams. Instead, you dominated. Like Tom did. You left me drenched and alone, and defeated in that classroom. It–it made me angry. I wanted to get back in control. So I—"
"Petrified and raped me."
Ginny flinched at that. "I'm– I'm sorry–" She pushed herself away from me and tried to get up, but I pulled her back into my arms, holding her by the waist until she stopped trying to squeeze out of my grip. Eventually in exasperation, she quit struggling and collapsed back on my chest.
"You're stupidly strong."
"Like in your dreams?"
She groaned.
I chuckled. "Ginny, it's okay."
"It's not!"
I reached down and gently hooked her chin under my finger. "Believe me. It's all water under–"
"Stop babying me!" She snapped. "I know you think I'm a freak!"
I blinked. "I don't–"
She actually pouted at that. "I could be a freak."
She was, but no way I was saying that to her face. "Doesn't matter. You're stuck with me either way."
It probably said something about the Screen's timing that it decided to pop in with a notification right then.
World Anchor – Ginny Weasley has gone up by 24%
Current World Anchor Analysis
World Anchor — 121
Required World Anchor - 15
Meta-Luck — 14.4
Gained Affinities from World Anchor — Ginny Weasley
Charms +2%
Transfiguration +6%
Dark Arts +11%
Martial Magic +6%
At 50% World Anchorage, you've gained a Perk!
That perked me up. Pun intended.
PERK — CURSE BORN
Born a female in a family cursed to only bear male children, Ginny is the crystallization of hopes and dreams of the Weasley family.
EFFECTS
Increased resistance against curses
Your curses have 10% greater resistance to counter-curses.
Finally! I had been waiting for this moment over the last two weeks. Even in that post-coital state, I couldn't help but imagine the potential benefits of this newest perk. Unlike Hermione's Eidetic Memory, this one wasn't a literal boost to my stats. Instead, it momentarily heightened my resistance when dealing with curses. Something like this would be unequivocally useful in dealing with Voldemort's horcruxes. Especially if the Diadem of Ravenclaw was indeed hidden in the Room of Hidden Things. I still hadn't forayed into the Room of Requirement, or the Chamber of Secrets for that matter, lest I fell into the suspicious category.
Something for my fourth year.
Besides, the current conversation was giving me all sorts of ideas. Maybe I should start experimenting a bit with Ginny. Like if she still had access to Parseltongue. And if she did, then what it meant for her. Both as a witch. And as an ex-vessel for Voldemort.
"Thank you," she said, oblivious to my thoughts, "I know you must think I'm dirty. Come to think of it, I am more full of your cum than you are right now."
My cock twitched at that. "Did you always talk this dirty?"
"Only in my dreams," She whispered, "and now, when you make me feel dirty." She slid over me, resting her hands over my chest, now sticky with her juices. "Fuck my wet pussy, Harry," she gasped, "I need to be demeaned. Like a bitch."
I smiled. I would tell you how many times I pounded her that night, but truthfully, I lost count.
Chapter 10: On the Express
Chapter Text
BOOK 1 - OUTLANDER
The Hogwarts Express was a gleaming scarlet engine, with clouds of steam billowing from it, fitting the book description to the tee. Hogsmeade station was teeming with students and trunks and cages filled with owls and toads and what not. As I walked through the train trying to find my compartment, I could feel eyes on me, though the emotions in them differed. Most of them looked at me with awe because of the entire Boy-Who-Lived thing, while the Slytherins looked at me with varying degrees of suspicion, jealousy and interest. I wondered how meeting Draco Malfoy would be, given his bi-annual visit to my compartment on the Express. Seeing Romilda and Parvati giggle as I passed by, I wondered if Romilda was as much of a gossip as the Indian girl. I passed the one where Cedric was sitting with his girlfriend Cho Chang, another difference between the books and this world, and finally, past a group of Slytherin girls that didn't so much as look up as I passed by.
"So," Ron said, his voice hesitant, "Wanna join Dean and Seamus for Exploding Snap? I'm going!"
I had no desire to join him. Other than that, I had fucked Ginny until the early hours of the morning and was finally feeling the lack of sleep get to me. I didn't want to leave Hermione alone. Also, I knew that the game was simply an excuse. Ron was conflicted between his newly found prejudice against werewolves, and his friendship with Hermione and often invented excuses to avoid being with her. His loss, really. I knew what kind of gem Hermione was, and with Ron out of the equation, she was mine to mold in whatever fashion I thought best.
"Uh, maybe later," I said. "I want to catch up with some sleep first. Couldn't get any 'cause of your snoring!"
Ron chuckled, but gave him a lopsided grin, probably understanding what I really meant to say.
"You could go with him," Hermione replied as we put our trunks on the racks. She opened up her copy of the Standard Book of Spells, Grade 3 and said, "I wouldn't mind."
"Sure you wouldn't," I replied with an amiable smile. "We're going to be staying together, anyway."
Hermione flushed at that. "I still don't think that's alright, Harry. I feel like I'm taking undue advantage of you."
"Oh you are, you definitely are!" I mocked, relaxing into my seat, kicking my boots off. "Maybe I should start charging rent."
She chuckled. "I don't have a job."
"Nor should you, filthy beast, that you are!" said a voice in the doorway.
Draco Malfoy. An exact look alike from the books, only smarmier with condescension and disdain, literally dripping off him. Behind him stood Crabbe and Goyle, just as Harry remembered them. Evidently, he had heard of their conversation through the compartment door.
"Don't remember asking you to join us, Malfoy," Hermione replied coolly.
"What was that?" Malfoy asked, "The beast's moving in with you? First Weasleys and mudbloods and now a beast?" He looked at me, "Every time I think you can't sink any lower, you prove me wrong, Potter. Look, even Weasley's got enough sense to leave you."
Harry Potter would have gotten angry at this. Trouble was, I wasn't Harry Potter. Draco and his minions thought they were making me angry. It was sad that they were doing a piss-poor job of it.
"What happened?" Malfoy challenged, "Kneazle got your tongue, Potter?"
"Not really," I said. "I agree with your words. She," I pointed at Hermione, "was cursed by a werewolf, and Ron left me to join Dean and Seamus to play Exploding Snap."
He sneered, possibly from a loss of things to say. Malfoy had expected a rebuttal, not an agreement with his words.
"At least you have the sense to accept your mistakes," He went on, his words feeling hollow with every passing second.
"Good," I said, looking away from him. "Is that all? I really want a nap before the train reaches Kings Cross."
His face flushed. "Don't act high and mighty, Potter. You aren't. We know how you quivered and cried helplessly before Professor Snape rescued you from those dementors. You cried, didn't you? Like a baby for his mudblood whore of a mother? Probably before the dementor was about to kiss you and that fugitive Sirius Black—"
I exhaled. I glanced at the furious look on Hermione's face and the evidently pleased expression on Malfoy's, no doubt feeling smug about getting a rise out of me.
He expected me to get angry. I was not.
"Yes," I said, "My mother was a woman born to non-magical parents. Everyone in Wizarding Britain knows that. Unless… you just discovered it today?"
Draco stared at me as though I had two heads. Behind him, the trolls cracked their knuckles threateningly. Goyle let out a smug laugh, which sounded like the rumbling of an antiquated engine.
"Watch your tone with me!" Draco adopted an arrogant expression. "I'm your superior. My blood is purer than yours!"
And finally, the blood purism line. I was waiting for that one. Fact is, even then, he'd be wrong. The only valid point in favor of Blood Purism was the accumulation and inheritance of perks in future offsprings. As it stood, I already had way more perks than most adults out there, pureblooded or not.
"If you say so," I replied, still polite, even though I was laughing at the comedy happening around me. "Also, and this is becoming repetitive, but are you done? I need to get some sleep."
I put the pillow provided by the train on one side, and prepared to lie down, when with a flick of his wand, Malfoy sent the pillow tumbling down to the ground. I looked at the now soiled pillow and back at Draco, grinning at me smugly.
"I never said I was done with you yet."
"That," I exhaled. "was a mistake. I'm willing to forgive that one if you leave us right now."
My words enraged him even more.
"You Fool! You have no right to speak to me like that. Your mudblood Granger is now a werewolf. You know the laws here? I'll send her packing. She won't get a place in Hogwarts. Father will ensure she gets cast out from seeing her parents! She'll be a hag whoring herself for a living and even then, people won't touch her because she's a — ARGH!"
Before he knew it, Draco was down, his cheeks bruising against the dusty floor. He bellowed in pain, clutching his left knee and beating the floor with his other hand. Goyle, caught by surprise, rushed towards me, his hand fisted like a troll. I cast a quick Jelly-Legs on his right leg, making him lose control and drop over Malfoy's already broken knee. Malfoy howled in agony, while Crabbe tried to push the heavy Goyle off Malfoy in vain.
I slipped my wand back into my robes and crouched down before him, my feet just inches away from his face.
"That was just an example of what I do to people who annoy me," I told him politely, before aiming at Crabbe's hands and firing another curse. Both of his lower arms turned into smooth, leathery gloves. The boy roared in panic and fell over and unsuccessfully tried to get up.
"Silencio!" I whispered.
Then, after a moment of thought and a sideways glance at Hermione, I cast another curse at Malfoy's right elbow.
No sounds came out this time around. Or maybe that was just the Silencing Charm in action.
"Don't bother," I said. "That was the Confringo spell, by the way. A very weak version, mind you. The full thing would have shattered your knee apart, and your elbow too, I suppose. All I did was cause the bones to separate. No blood loss. No broken bones. A muggle physiotherapist could have fixed you up in a jiffy, but I doubt you'd go to any of them."
Even Hermione winced at my clinical and polite tone.
"See, the thing is, Malfoy. There are really three things that matter. Gold. Power and Skill. You have gold. I'll give you that one, but you lack power and skill. Which means, regardless of how wealthy your father is, and how many people he knows up in the Ministry, not even all the gold in the Malfoy vaults can stop me from doing… this."
I flexed my wrist.
Malfoy opened his mouth and screamed.
But no sounds came out.
I looked into his eyes. They had fear in them.
Good.
"Understand this, Draco. You can hide behind your father's skirts all you want, but if you annoy me, I'll teach you pain. This was simply an example."
With a flick of my wand, I banished them out of the compartment. All three of them slammed against the train wall on the opposite side, groaning and screaming soundlessly.
And then I closed the compartment door to their faces.
"So," I asked a shell-shocked Hermione, "About that rent?"
The apartment at 17, Tottenham Court Road, was in a small building on a big lot.
The building was three storeys, not huge, though it sat amidst much larger structures. The lot it stood upon was big enough to hold something a lot bigger. Instead, most of it was landscaped into a manicured lawn and garden, complete with water features and a modest wrought-iron fence. The building itself showed a lot of stone and marble in its design, and it had more class in its cornices than the towers nearby had in their entire structures. It was gorgeous and understated at the same time; on that block, it looked like a single, perfect diamond being displayed amidst giant jars of rhinestones.
There were no signs outside it. There was no obvious way in, beyond a set of gates guarded by competent-looking men in dark suits. Expensive dark suits. If I didn't know that these men were actually goblins under an illusion spell, I'd have wondered exactly what kind of money James and Lily Potter had thrown on this construction back when they were alive.
"Mr. Potter," said one guy as he walked up to me. He held out what looked like a completely ordinary key, but one that I knew allowed the wielder, and whoever, was with him to cross through a dozen layers of lethal magical wards between us and the front door. Say what you will about goblins, but they are anal-retentive with security. Gornuk had charged me a solid chunk of gold, but the enchantments and protections he had added to my apartment were top class.
"I expect everything's done?"
"Of course," said the guard, "we were expecting to hand over the key and report to Gringotts. You will find the interiors to your liking, sir."
"I certainly hope so," I laughed, and grabbed the key.
"Harry?" Hermione asked, "Who was that?"
"Long story short, I paid Gringotts to renovate this place. Put some protections and make the place magical."
"But…. don't you own a single flat?"
"I… might have done a bit of an impulse purchase recently," I grinned.
Hermione narrowed her eyes. "Don't tell me–"
"Yep. This building is now ours."
It wasn't an impulse buy. I simply did not want to have to face non-magical neighbors and explain things whenever something weird was going on. I had goblin renovators rework the entire structure of the building on all three storeys, ending up with thirteen bedrooms, a proper office with Floo installed, with all the necessities that a magical house contained, compete with a dueling court, a mini library, a workshop for spell casting, a potions lab, and finally a medieval dungeon with chains and cages just in case Hermione got a little excited on full moon nights. There was also a swimming pool on the terrace and a two-car garage holding a limo below right behind the outer entrances. I'd have invested in a pair of crups for protection, but I felt Crookshanks would feel strongly against it. I still planned to get some for Grimmauld Place in the future.
With the guards popping away into thin air, Hermione and I slipped into the building, and found it dark and cool. I stopped for a moment to marvel at the miracle of air-conditioning in the summer. Magic and technology didn't get along, and the aura of witches and wizards plays merry bell with pretty much anything developed after the Second World War. There was a reason the Dursleys put Harry in the cupboard. Apart from being the abusive creatures they were, little Harry was also a source of constant electrical fluctuations and appliance damage, costing the Dursleys a heavy bill almost every other month.
But in this apartment? Things were different. Weather charms, incredibly complex ones, were inscribed along the walls through runic enchantments, allowing the residents to control not just the temperature but the amount of sun entering the premises. The goblins had installed a ward stone that connected to the nearest Ley Line, draining more than enough magical power to ensure that the enchantments worked perfectly unless they suffered heavy spell damage. Kind of like living in a smart house. The furniture was mostly muggle, and as fashionable as it could have been in 1996. My only sorrow was that I couldn't use the Internet, since a dial-up connection would probably get fried faster than they could install it in this place. At least they got us a radio to listen to the Wizarding Wireless.
On second thoughts, maybe I could look into developing wizarding tellies? Or any of the gadgetry from my time in my original life? It wasn't plagiarism if it wasn't invented yet, was it?
We moved into one of the living rooms, which was, inevitably perhaps, the size of a basketball court, with eleven-foot ceilings. There was a little bar separating the kitchen from the rest of the open space. There was a fireplace on the right, with a mug of Floo powder, with what looked like a handmade living room set around it in one corner of the room, and a second section of comfy chairs and a desk tucked into a nook lined with built-in bookshelves. From a door on the side, I could see a small gym room packed with a weight bench, an elliptical machine, both of them expensive European setups. The floors were hardwood, broken up by occasional carpets that probably cost more than the floor space they covered. A couple of doors led off from the main room. They were oak. Granite countertops. A six-burner gas stove with a modular kitchen. Recessed lighting.
"So?" I asked, "What do you think?"
"What do I think?" Hermione asked, looking around in awe. "I think this is spectacular. And expensive."
I shrugged. "It's home. My very first. I had the gold. Might as well spend it on the minor comforts."
"How much did it cost you?"
I gave her the number.
Hermione blinked. "That's..."
"Don't worry," I said dismissively. "My investments will regain the amount in a year. Hardly a matter of concern."
"Someone's loaded," she teased. "I never thought I'd see you be this flippant about money."
"Motivations change, Hermione," I said. "I learnt quite a few things about the world that I didn't know about. Things that make me choose to do things differently."
"Things like the way you handled Malfoy?"
I looked away from her. "You disapprove?"
"You could have seriously hurt him."
"Yes," I agreed. "I could. But I didn't. That was just an example. A weak spell. A full-powered Confringo would have blasted his leg apart and then some."
"You've changed, Harry."
"So have you. Change happens to everyone."
"Mine results from a dark curse. You… you're choosing to change."
"Mine too results from the same, Hermione. Seeing my godfather die before my very eyes. Nearly getting my soul sucked. And oh, the curse of Voldemort hounding me." I met her eyes. "I plan to live, Hermione. My parents died to save me. Sirius tried to protect me. Everything I've gotten from them, this life, this fortune, this… everything, I plan to use it. Regardless of what Wizarding Britain or anybody in it thinks about it."
Hermione sat down on the couch and asked in a low voice. "Even if it means hurting others?"
I smiled at her. "Especially if it means hurting others."
Chapter 11: Couch is in session
Chapter Text
BOOK 1 - OUTLANDER
Okay, it’s official. Hermione’s lycanthropy is driving her crazy.
I swear I’m not making this up. Ever since we started living together, my relationship with her opened up to experimentation with all things sexual, something I could never expect from the bushy-haired, bullheaded and somewhat snobbish bookworm. Over the past week, Hermione just couldn’t get enough of it, and had been open to just about anything and everything. Starting from quickies in the shower, followed by intense make-up sessions. We had been fucking like rabbits every time we had the chance, with Hermione always wanting to try something new.
I was currently sitting on the couch, with her on the knees, wearing nothing but a pair of hot red panties and fuck-me heels, her hair tied into a single ponytail, her tongue licking me from my balls up the shaft to the tip, running her tongue around the tip before closing her lips around it and sliding her mouth down onto my rigid cock. She took about half of me into her mouth, sucking on the shaft and running her tongue around it, bobbing her head up and down on it several times. So far, she had never quite managed to take all of it so I decided to help her a bit.
By shoving her face into my lap and driving my dick into her mouth all the way until her nose pressed against my abdomen, with Hermione deepthroating me with ease. She held her head there for a moment, and I felt her swallowing around my cock. Then she slid her mouth back up my shaft until just the head was in her mouth, pausing there for a moment to swirl her tongue around it before she deepthroated me again. When she came back up this time she released it from her mouth with a soft 'pop,' then looked up at me and smiled.
"Didn't know I could do that, did you?" she asked, gripping my shiny wet cock with her hand and pumping it slowly, smiling up at me.
"No, I didn't, but I'm sure glad you can!"
"I didn't get a chance to suck your cock in the jacuzzi a few nights ago, so I wanted to show you what I could do before we got down to business."
“Business indeed!” I grinned at her.
"Well, are you gonna take charge or what?" she asked. I immediately reached out with one hand and grabbed her by the hair, twisting my hand in it and then shoving her face down towards my cock. Hermione quickly opened her mouth and pointed my cock at it, then moved her hand out of the way just in time enough for my shaft to plunge into her mouth.
"MMMMMPH!!" she squealed around my cock as I pushed her face all the way down on my lap, shoving my cock into her mouth and down her throat. I immediately started face-fucking her, gripping her by the hair and thrusting her head up and down on my shaft. Hermione sucked on my shaft as best she could, but I was moving her head up and down so hard and fast that it was hard to keep her lips sealed around it. The room was filled with the sounds of slurping and sucking as she struggled to keep up with me pumping her head up and down on my cock.
"MMPH! MMPH! MMPH! MMPH!" she squealed around my cock in time with her head being shoved down as it thrust into her mouth again and again. After a few more thrusts I pushed her head down and kept it there, impaling my cock into her mouth and down her throat.
"MMMM MMMPPPHHH!!" Hermione cried out around my cock, slapping her hands down onto the tops of my thighs and involuntarily pushing back against me, her back arching as she fought for breath. I held her there for several long moments, then released her from my grip. Her head shot up off of my cock and Hermione straightened up, her mouth hanging open, her lips glistening with her spit, a long strand of saliva running from her bottom lip to the tip of my cock. She grabbed my cock, shiny and wet with her spit, and pumped it as she tried to catch her breath. She gasped for breath several times before she was able to speak, looking up at me and smiling.
"Merlin!!" she said, gasping for breath, "This is so hot! I love it! Do it again! Do it...MMMPH!" she squealed as I reached out and grabbed her by the hair with both hands this time, shoving her head back down and her mouth onto my cock. She tried sucking on my cock again, but as before I was pumping her head up and down so fast that she couldn't really get her lips to seal around my cock, so again the sounds of her slurping and sucking on my cock filled the room. I held her hair tight in my hands and pumped her up and down, hard and fast, and Hermione put her hands onto the tops of my thighs for support again as I continued to face-fuck her.
It was all she could do to hang on.
I didn’t know if it was the helplessness and being at my absolute mercy that turned her on, or if it was the sensations of my cock thrusting in and out of her mouth that did it, but Hermione grew more and more aroused with every passing moment. I could feel her juices ooze down her wet panties and down my legs. When I released her head from my grip again she sat back on her haunches, panting and gasping loudly for breath, a heavy stream of saliva running from her mouth and down her chin. my cock and balls were wet and shiny, covered with her spit, my cock standing straight up and throbbing with the blood pumping through it. Hermione gasped for breath loudly several times before finally being able to speak, and when she did her eyes were bright and shiny with desire.
"That's what I'm talking about!" she gasped, grinning from ear to ear as she panted for breath. "Merlin, I love it!" she exclaimed, her chest heaving and her big, unfettered breasts swaying. Her nipples were pink and hard and erect, and the scent of her musk filled the room. "I can't wait for you to cum all over my face!" she said excitedly, looking up at me and grinning.
"Then let's get to it!" I said, standing up from the couch in front of her. I reached down and grabbed her by the hair, pulling her up to her knees and shoving my cock back into her mouth. The face-fucking restarted with renewed vigor, just as hard and fast as I had before Hermione slapped her hands against my thighs for support as I brutally shoved her face into my crotch and my cock into her mouth.
"GLK! GMPH! GLMPH! GAKH! GULK!" she gasped as her mouth was forced down onto my cock over and over again, the spit running down her chin and my balls. I shoved her head against me and held it there, driving my cock all the way into her mouth and down her throat, forcing her to deepthroat me. Hermione cried out around my cock, her back arching and her hands slapping the front of my thighs as she fought for breath. I held her there for a few long moments, then pushed her head away and yanked her mouth from my cock. Hermione took a big whooping breath of air, her mouth hanging open and her chest heaving, as she looked up at me with watery eyes.
“God, you’re gonna face-fuck me to death! I love it!” was all she had a chance to say before I shoved her mouth back onto my cock. I relished at how totally helpless she was, and how she struggled to breathe around the constant pistoning of my dick into her throat.
"Morgana’s tits!! MMMMMMMPH!!" she cried out.
I was getting very close to cumming, feeling the familiar tingling in my balls that signaled the approach of my orgasm.
"Are you ready?"
Hermione looked up at me and nodded as best she could with her head being jerked around like it was, but I felt and saw it nevertheless.
"Use your hands when I let you go!" I said, and she nodded again.
I released her head from my hands and Hermione pulled her mouth from my cock, gasping for breath. She immediately gripped my wet, shiny cock with both hands and began pumping it hard and fast. She leaned forward and sucked the head of my cock into her mouth, running her tongue over and around it as she pumped my throbbing shaft in her hands. She was still trying to catch her breath so she was breathing hard through her nose, but she kept her mouth locked onto the head of my cock. She kept the head trapped in her mouth, sucking on it as hard as she could as she gripped my cock tightly and rapidly jacked the shaft up and down with her hands. She looked up at me, her eyes watery and sparkling with desire, and that was all it took.
"I'm gonna cum!" I groaned, and Hermione released my cock from her mouth. She continued pumping it with her hands, gripping it tighter.
"Give it to me!" she gasped, still short of breath. "Cum on me, cum on my face, cum for me!" she said, holding her mouth open under the head of my cock.
I came immediately, and I came hard, my cock exploding in her hands, shooting long, thick streams of hot, sticky cum onto her upturned face. She stuck her tongue out to catch as much of it as she could as my cock poured stream after stream of white cum onto her face. One of the ropes of cum landed across the right side of her face and over her eye, but she just blinked it away and kept on pumping my cock with her hands.
I threw my head back, squeezed my eyes shut and groaned through gritted teeth as I experienced the most intense and absolutely the longest orgasm I’ve had, probably in my entire life. my cock throbbed over and over, pumping seemingly endless streams of cum onto Hermione’s upturned face. I was cumming so hard I felt like my brains were going to come shooting out of the end of my dick, and I was almost thankful when the constant throbbing finally began to slow. I opened my eyes and looked down at Hermione, amazed and aroused at what I saw.
Her face was covered in my cum. There were at least eight ropes of cum of varying lengths on her face, in her hair, dripping from her chin, and in one of her eyes. She was looking up at me and smiling with her mouth open, a small pool of my cum on her tongue as it protruded from her mouth. As the throbbing of my cock in her hands abated she leaned forward and wrapped her lips around the head of my cock, sucking hard and pumping with her hands to get the last bit of cum from him.
With her mouth still attached to my groin, she slipped a hand down into her panties and began rubbing her clit. Her pussy was so wet that when she shoved two fingers into her pussy they slid in with ease. She began thrusting her fingers in and out of her pussy rapidly, hitting her clit with her hand with every stroke, and she was cumming in a matter of seconds.
"NNN NNN GGGGHHHH!!" she groaned around my cock, keeping her lips clamped around it and shivering, as her orgasm rocketed through her body. I watched in amazement as her body shook with the intensity of her orgasm, and I was mildly surprised when my cock stayed hard instead of going soft right away. The sight of Hermione, her face covered with my cum, shaking while having an orgasm in front of me with my cock stuck in her mouth made it stand ready for a second round.
After her intense but fast orgasms, Hermione released my cock from her mouth, and sat back on the floor. She looked up at me for a few seconds as she tried to catch her breath, and then gave me a slightly wicked half-smile as she began scooping the cum from her face with her fingers and then wiping it onto her outstretched tongue before swallowing it down. She did this until her face was completely clean of my cum, sucking on her fingers to get the last of it.
"Mmmm, I just love the taste of your cum!" she said, smiling up at him, sucking the last little bit from her fingers. She leaned forward and squeezed my cock with her hand, and when a lone drop of cum appeared at the tip she licked it off with her tongue and swallowed it down. Then she gave the tip of my cock a slow, wet, sucking kiss, her full, soft lips pressing against it.
Hermione released my cock and sat back on her haunches, leaning all the way back and supporting herself with her hands on the floor behind her. The mounds of her tits flattened out just a bit but not much, swaying a little with Hermione's breathing which was still a little faster than normal. I sat down on the couch again, my legs splayed apart, my softening cock hanging down in front of him. We looked at each other and Hermione giggled, then we began to laugh.
"Holy shit, that was intense!" I said, after I had stopped laughing.
"Boy, that's the understatement of the year!" Hermione replied, still leaning back on her hands. "I thought you were going to face-fuck me to death there for a little bit!" Her hair was disheveled, her ponytail loosened, and out of place, and she looked like she had just been ridden hard and put away wet — which, in a sense, she had. "And then you tried to drown me in cum!" she said, giggling.
"Yeah, I did!"
"So was it everything you thought it would be? Did I do all right?" I asked, and Hermione nodded vigorously.
"Oh, my Gawd, yes!" she replied, leaning forward and putting her hands on my knees, looking up to me as she spoke. "That was perfect, and I can't wait to do it again! Thank you so much!"
“I’ve released a monster!” I said, amused.
“Nope,” She grabbed my shaft, now gone soft, “the monster’s sleeping, and I can’t wait for it to wake up.” She got up on her knees and leaned forward, kissing me softly on the lips. Then she stood up, a bit wobbly at first but quickly getting her balance.
"Guess I should go get cleaned up, huh?" she said, running one hand through her tousled hair and the other through her drenched panties. "And I need to get more panties.”
“Heh!” I laughed, “Don’t worry. We can go shopping tomorrow, and get you all the panties you want.”
“And then you can soil them one every day.”
“Not every hour?”
Hermione smirked. “You wish.” She turned around, sashaying her hips as she walked off towards the shower, closing the door behind her.
"This is going to be one hell of a summer!" I said aloud to myself as I fell back against the couch. "One hell of a summer indeed!"
Chapter 12: A surprise visitor
Chapter Text
BOOK 1 - OUTLANDER
The day had passed pretty quickly for both of us, and it was early evening before we knew it. Hermione had picked up the habit of running around the house in as little clothing as possible, and if she was feeling especially frisky, she’d wear nothing at all, instead running around in her birthday suit. This evening found her wearing a very tight and form-fitting white halter top that could barely contain her tits— which I swear looked bigger than they did when we first made out. I’m not sure if my eyes are deceiving me, or the werewolf curse is actually having an effect on her reproductive organs. Either way, nothing to complain about. The black skirt she wore was equally tight and sat fairly low on her hips, barely covering the rounded globes of her ass. Hermione had ditched panties, given how they ended up the same way every night.
We had just finished eating dinner and Hermione was busy cleaning up, so I walked up to stand behind her. I had a perfect view of her magnificent arse as she bent over, the short skirt riding up and showing her smooth, shaven pussy. Hermione dropped a fork, which landed on the floor, causing her to bend over the bar stool to reach it.
I reached out and grabbed her by her hips, and pulled her arse back to my growing cock. Hermione gasped in surprise and turned to look over her shoulder, a half-smile crossing her face. She tried to stand up straight but I pushed her down, and she put both hands on the other seats for support as I pulled her back tighter against my cock.
“Somebody’s excited!” she remarked playful, grinding her arse against me.
“Just a little surprise for you,” I said, and grabbed her hands. This caused her to lean over further until the upper part of her chest and face were bending downward, with her stomach resting over the stool. Hermione looked back to see what I was doing, and a smile crept across her face when she realized what was happening. I immediately let go of her hips and pulled out my wand, casting a quick Incarcaerous on her wrists, cuffing them in place. She smiled again, a bigger smile this time, her mouth hanging open as her breathing and heartbeat quickened due to her rapidly increasing excitement.
"Stand up," I ordered her, “And don’t turn around until I tell you to.”
Hermione lifted herself up from the stool and stood erect, her hands bound behind her by the cuffs, and nodded her head. I pulled the stool she had been bending against and sat down.
"Turn around."
She turned around, and found my fly open, cock and balls out in plain view.
“Get me hard!”
Hermione stared at my cock and nodded again, her mouth slightly open as she tried to catch her breath.
“Yes sir!” she whispered and dropped to her knees, my commanding tone fitting right in place with her religious adherence to following authority. My cock and balls were directly in front of her face so she didn't have to bend over to get to them. She opened her mouth and placed it around the head, closing her lips around it and sucking on it. She ran her tongue over and around it as she moved her head around in a small circle, and she tasted the first of my precum on her tongue. Sliding her mouth back, she moved her lips up towards the tip, and when just the tip was between her lips she applied suction and moved her head around in small circles again, causing her soft lips to slide around the tip. Then she opened her mouth wide and lowered it down over my cock, taking half of its length into her mouth and closing her lips around it. She applied suction again, sliding her mouth up and down the length of my quickly-growing cock, feeling me growing harder, longer and thicker in her mouth.
“Damn, you’re good!”
“Thank you, sir!” She whispered again, sucking my dick to complete hardness. Between my excitement and her cocksucking expertise I was completely hard in no time. The sight of her head bobbing up and down on my cock, her hands bound behind her, excited me more than I thought it would. Just then she deep-throated me, taking my entire cock in her mouth and down her throat, and I moaned. I reached out and took her head in my hands, twisting her hair, and pulling her face further into my crotch, pushing my cock further into her mouth.
"MMMMPHH!" Hermione cried out, her eyes going wide. I held her head there for a moment, then began to slowly face-fuck her. I moved her head up and down my shaft in long, deep motions, not going anywhere near as fast as I had the previous day, limiting myself to a steady, leisurely pace. Hermione looked up at me, pushed her head down my crotch, and held it there for a full fifteen seconds before she pulled back, coughing, her lips wet and shiny with her spit, her mouth hanging open as she gasped for breath.
“Stand up!” I commanded again, and she got to her feet.
“Turn around!”
She was now facing the stool.
“Bend over!”
She turned and looked back at me, then at the stool, and then at me once more before nodding and moving over. She bent over at the waist and lay across the seat, her big tits hanging down on one side and her arse in the air on the other. I got up and moved in behind her, cock throbbing and bouncing slightly on the way. The sight of Hermione, hands bound behind her back, bent over and helpless in front of me, her short skirt hiked up above her hips revealing her arse and pussy, excited me in ways I hadn’t thought possible. Her feet were apart just enough to give me access to her sopping wet pussy, so I put my feet on either side of hers and took my cock in hand, rubbed the head up and down between her outer lips and then pushed it inside her, grabbing her hips as I shoved it into her.
"AAAUGH!" Hermione cried out in surprise as I drove deep into her pussy with one hard shove. Before she could recover, I was fucking her hard and fast, grabbing her hips with my hands and pulling her back while thrusting thrust forward. Hermione cried out and moaned with pleasure as my hips smacked against the rounded cheeks of her ass, balls slapping against her clit with every forward thrust. The smacking sounds filled the room and drowned out the squishy sounds of my cock invading her pussy again and again. Her big tits bounced and swayed with the motions of her body so violently that they slipped out of the halter one big breast at a time, hanging down below her as I continued to drill into her.
“More! Give me more!”
“What would Professor McGonagall say if she saw you like this?” I asked, smacking her in the ass, making it ripple. It only served to excite her further. I grabbed the rope connecting the cuffs around her wrists and pulled her hands back, never stopping the motions of my hips.
Hermione cried out in surprise as I yanked her forcefully, causing her to arch back, all the while slamming in and out of her. She held her head up and squeezed her eyes closed in ecstasy, moaning and crying out in time with my thrusts, her pain only increasing her ecstasy. She was totally helpless and at my mercy, and it excited her more than anything she'd ever experienced in her entire short life.
"Oh my God, oh my God, yes, yes, yes!" she cried, grimacing with the sensations racing through her body as she was jerked around on the stool by the force of the fucking I was giving her. "I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum, oh my God, I'm gonna cum!!!" she exclaimed, and a second later her orgasm hit. She sobbed and exploded in a scream, squirting out of her pussy, gritting her teeth and squeezing her eyes shut, panting and gasping for breath, her whole body trembling and shaking with the force of her orgasm.
I felt her pussy gripping and squeezing my cock as she came, her pussy flooding with her juices. I kept on thrusting, never slowing the motions as he thrust in and out over and over again, pulling back even harder on the ropes and raising her hands a little higher as I increased the pressure. Hermione shook with the intensity of her orgasm, and I knew it wouldn’t be long before I was blowing out my load into her.
And then something surprising happened.
Hermione started to meet my thrusts midway by pushing her arse back at me.
I laughed. “That's it, Hermione!, Fuck me back! Fight me, fuck me back!"
I tugged on the ropes and drove my cock forward. Hermione grunted loudly as she pushed herself back to meet my thrusts, trying to get me to cum. It was like she wanted— no, she needed me to cum, and badly, so badly that she was craving the sensations of my cock pumping and throbbing inside her pussy. I wasn’t sure how much more of this intense fucking she could take, so her only option was to make me cum.
And her strategy worked. I felt my balls shifting in preparation for an orgasm, and a few strokes later my orgasm hit, my cock exploding inside Hermione's pussy. I threw my head back and groaned loudly between clenched teeth as I shoved my cock deep into her and held it there, and Hermione cried out as she felt me throbbing and pumping inside her. She came too, hard and fast, crying out as her second orgasm hit. I pulled back and then thrust forward again, shooting streams of cum deep into her pussy, and could feel her fluttering around my shaft as she rode out her orgasm. I pulled back for a second time and then pushed forward again, not going quite as deep this time as I continued to pump inside her. I held my hips hard against her buttocks as I finished cumming, and released my hold on the cuffs on her wrist. Her tied hands dropped down onto the top of her arse as she lay across the stool, her mouth hanging open as she gasped for breath, her huge breasts swaying with every breath.
It was all I could do to keep my balance. My entire body was drenched with sweat and cum, and pushed my cock inside her pussy for one last time. After I softened out, I slipped out of her pussy, gazing at Hermione laying across the stool, her back moving up and down as she gasped for breath, her hair and her big breasts hanging down in front of her face.
“Did I…” She breathed, turning to me with wide, hopeful eyes, “Did I do good, sir?”
“You did great!” I laughed, “who knew Hermione Granger could be this kink—”
The doorbell rang.
Hermione looked at me, confused. “Were we expecting anyone?”
I frowned. “Not to my knowledge, no. Maybe the neighbors need something?”
Somehow I doubted that would be the case. I had denied the option of having a muggle-repelling ward, since neither I nor Hermione was any good at cooking. Harry was a dab hand at it, but I wasn’t going to try cooking based on someone else’s instincts. Not for the first time, I hated the fact that this was 1996 and watching a cooking video on Youtube was a little more than an outright fantasy.
I already had heavily invested in blue-chip stocks, cheating a bit with my future knowledge since the companies existed here as well.
But I digress. Not having any skill at cooking made it a requirement to get cooked food from the eateries down the street, which would be a problem if mundanes couldn’t even locate my apartment. Maybe someone had sent a bill?
Casting a quick Scourgify over myself, and quickly putting on my pants, I walked out, wand in my pocket. I cast a good look at the mirror in the drawing room, enchanted to provide a reflection of the apartment’s frontage, and found a tall, young woman, dressed in stylish muggle attire, with a handbag in tow. I’d have pegged her for a muggle if not for how desperately she was trying to look inconspicuous. Still, it wasn’t enough to warrant suspicion just yet. My wards could get a solid beating from around ten full-powered exploding curses before they fell, and even in the event of that happening, it would trigger the magical landmines strategically placed around the house, scorching every single one of the attackers before they got a chance to say unfair. And that was before the lethal wards activated.
Paranoid? Probably. But just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean there isn’t an invisible demon about to eat your face.
It only took hearing her identity to allow her in. As she followed me into the drawing room, I took the opportunity to have a good look. Her hair was a burnished shade of auburn that was too dark to cast back any ruddy highlights, but did anyway. Her eyes were dark, clear, her complexion flawlessly smooth and elegantly graced with cosmetics. She was tall and shapely, wearing a black dress with a plunging neckline and a short slash on one side that showed off a generous portion of her pale thigh. Black gloves covered her arms to the elbows and her three-hundred pound shoes were a study in torture devices.
She looked too good to be true. Which, sad to say, wasn’t quite far from the truth.
“Mister Potter,” she greeted me, “I’m sorry for showing up without prior notice.”
“Auror Tonks,” I replied, gesturing towards the couch, while taking the chair myself. “This is an unexpected pleasure.”
“Auror Cadet, actually,” she clarified. Her lips frowned. “I’m sorry. Your building is one of the fancier ones I’ve visited, and I wasn’t sure the guards outside would allow an ordinary-looking woman to walk in. Hence…”
She pointed at her dress.
“It looks wonderful on you.”
She laughed, lips shaping the sounds, head falling back just enough to show a flash of pale throat. “A gentleman, they said. But if you don’t mind…”
She shook her head vigorously. I stared at her, awed at the way her face and her body began to shrink and reform into another. Within moments, her auburn hair had changed to pink, with a heart-shaped face and a willowy, and considerably less-endowed figure. Her black dress had shifted into a pair of black trousers, a cream-colored shirt and an Auror-cloak over it.
“You’re a metamorph!” I muttered. I didn’t even have to fake the amazement in my voice. Reading about it was one thing but to see it with my own eyes was something else.
“That was quick,” said the young woman, who now looked like in her early twenties. “Most wizards think it’s an illusion.”
“Is that how you really look?”
“I’m a metamorph,” she said, as if that explained everything. She sat down on the couch.
I shrugged. “What can I do for you, Cadet?”
Tonks held out a rolled piece of parchment. “There’s an official complaint filed against you, Harry Potter. Aggravated Assault Charges on the heir of an influential pureblood House, misuse of magic after the Hogwarts term ended, and a bunch of legalese terms you’re better off not knowing. I need you to give me an official statement addressing these concerns.” She gave me a once-over. “Perhaps you’d be interested in dressing up appropriately before we begin?”
“I’m comfortable.”
Tonks cast another look at my bare chest and then back at my eyes. I was far from the tiny, malnourished, bespectacled runt that Harry Potter was in his first year. Nutrient potions mixed with meals and rigorous Quidditch practice had done a good job on my body. I wasn’t Ron-tall, but was close to hitting six feet. I didn’t sport a six pack either, but had enough to go by as a professional athlete. The gym equipment in the other room wasn't exactly for show.
“Shall we begin?”
I thought about Hermione in the other room, bound, naked, with my cum oozing down her legs. Nymphadora Tonks was an Auror and more importantly, a metamorph, which translated to a very valuable perk for the taking should I manage to bed her. First impressions mattered, and I wanted to give her a very memorable one.
“By all means,” I replied, “unless you’d be interested in some drink? I think I might have a bottle of firewhiskey around.”
Tonks waved it off. “It’s against DMLE Protocol to accept anything, food or otherwise, while on duty. It’s possible the food might be aimed to drug, poison or otherwise enchant me, and it’s bad manners to test food and drinks for poisons as a guest.”
I curled an eyebrow. Tonks had never shown this side of herself in the books. It could be her work-facade for all I knew. Best not to trust on my foreknowledge lest I make a serious blunder.
“Works for me,” I sat down on the chair. “Who filed the complaint?”
“Draco Malfoy.”
That made sense. I had trounced Draco and his minions on the train. Which probably explained the assault charges. As for the misuse of magic, yes the term had ended but we were on the train, so the ferret was hiding behind a technicality.
Just like his father.
I smirked.
“Mr. Potter?” Tonks asked again, setting a dictation quill next to her that began taking notes on a floating pad. “What do you have to say about these charges?”
I sighed. “Draco Malfoy and his goons came to my compartment to fulfill their biannual quota of let’s-insult-Harry-Potter-on-the-train-and-get-insulted-in-return. They do it every year on the Express. It’s kind of a tradition at this point.”
Tonks barely suppressed a snort. “I see.”
“I was sitting in the compartment with Hermione Granger. Draco came in and started insulting her, using slurs I will not repeat. I requested him to kindly leave the compartment three times, but he kept insulting us. I tried to ignore him and get some sleep when he banished my pillow, ignoring my constant requests to leave. And then when he tried to attack me, I reacted.”
“You broke his bones.”
“I fired a non-lethal, minimally powered blasting curse. You can check my wand if you wish.”
“A blasting curse,” she repeated.
“Confringo,” I revealed. “I know the theory and have mastered the execution behind the spell. A half-powered Confringo would blast the entirety of his leg off. A full-powered Confringo would leave him as a paste on the ground, assuming he’s not blown away by the force generated by the spell. All I did was specifically aim it at his knee, and disconnect the bones at the joint. I broke no bones, and shed no blood. The only other thing I did was cast the jelly-leg spell, with the intention of preventing him from using his wand to curse me. Finally, I used a low-powered banisher to rid my compartment of their presence. Vincent Crabbe was present there and could have undone all the damage with a simple Finite. Not my fault he turned out incompetent.”
Tonks was staring at me, her brown eyes wide. It was probably the clinical and friendly tone I had used that did it. It had an effect on Malfoy before and I was seeing its effects a second time. Bloody hell, was this tactic really that unused in the wizarding world?
Then her mouth turned faintly up at the corners and she barked out a laugh of genuine amusement. “I knew it would be something like this.”
I arched an eyebrow.
Tonks laughed some more. “Sorry. It’s an inside joke. My Boss had to have known this would happen, which is why she sent me. You being a celebrity and all that. Off the record, Malfoy’s complaint wasn’t registered the first time he put it, no matter how seriously Dawlish took it. Then we received a missive from the Minister’s office to carry out an official investigation, and here I am.”
“Corruption at the Ministry,” I mocked, “how terrible!”
Tonks snorted again. “I’m really sorry for disturbing you like this. Clearly you had some plans going—”
“HARRY!” came a loud, annoyed voice. “THIS IS JUST NOT DONE! YOU LEFT ME THERE TIED UP AND—”
I turned to look at a fully naked Hermione, her face covered with a mix of saliva and cum, with more of it dripping down her legs. Her expression changed from annoyance to confusion to outright surprise as she registered what she had just walked into, and the fact that there was a second girl, in official Auror robes no less, gawking at her with an equally inscrutable expression. Neither of them moved for the next two seconds before Hermione let out a shriek and–
“WAIT!” I called out.
Hermione froze in her tracks, her body half-turned backwards, her moist arse-cheeks rippling before us. Her hands were still tied behind, with her hair strewn all over her back.
It was a titillating sight.
Tonks looked back at me, utterly stupefied, before shifting her glance back at her and then back at my shirtless form. No doubt she had developed a new realization behind my lack of apparel.
“You’re right,” I said to a flustered Tonks, “I was kind of in the middle of something when you popped up.”
She bobbed her head in silence.
Wonder what that said about a first impression.
Chapter 13: Tonks
Chapter Text
BOOK 1 - OUTLANDER
“You—uh—” Tonks looked at him, her face slightly flushed, “I mean—”
“Hermione and I are living together,” I replied without the slightest affliction. “Is that a problem?”
Tonks blinked, her face slowly losing the red sheen it had gathered, completely destroying the Auror facade she had put up right after entry. She relaxed down on the couch, looking away in embarrassment. “Uh, no, not really. As long as she isn’t coerced—”
I arched an eyebrow.
“—which she likely isn’t, you can do whatever you want. I’m, I mean, I’m terribly sorry for barging in without prior information.”
“It’s fine!” I waved off. I turned towards Hermione who was doing her best to imitate a mannequin. The girl had always been a fiercely independent and headstrong one, drawing firm lines between her beliefs and everything else. Being a werewolf had amplified her strength, agility and stamina, which only supplemented her intellectual and magical strengths. If anything, she should have become more feral, stubborn and a dangerous character, one that was stronger than ever before. Instead, she was displaying increasingly submissive tendencies, and given my most recent experience, an actual kink towards bondage. It was like the werewolf nature was somehow accentuating her submissiveness to authority. Whether that was because wolves in general followed a pack-leader, which mirrored my own presence as a bedrock for her in the magical world, I had no idea.
Still, I had expected her to try to preserve whatever was left of her modesty, to actively rebel against my commands. Instead she stood there, waiting for my commands, disregarding the fact that she had my cum oozing out of her sex, in front of a complete stranger.
“Come here, Hermione!” I told her, putting a little bit of authority in my voice. The kind that a gun-wielding cop uses when he asks you to stop and put your arms up.
She turned around and slowly walked up to me.
“Sit!” I said, tapping my knee. Hermione looked at me with a mixture of disbelief, confusion and to an extent, arousal, glancing at Tonks who looked just as much flustered by my decision. I could almost see the gears in Hermione’s mind shift before she submitted to my command, turned around and sat down, both of her legs between mine. I put my right arm across her waist and grabbed her right breast, massaging it softly.
Hermione let out a soft moan.
“I– she–” Tonks looked utterly conflicted about what to say. At some point there was even anger flickering across her face, her hand going for her wand. I understood that. She was an Auror, Cadet or otherwise. Seeing me put Hermione through a humiliating ordeal was probably firing all kinds of wrong signals in her head. She stood up, raised her wand, and angrily whispered, “Finite!”
The ropes on Hermione’s wrist fell open.
Hermione let out another moan and fell down on my shoulder, her breasts sagging against my chest. She then lifted her face and kissed me on the lips before shifting back to face Tonks in all her glory.
“He doesn’t make me do this.” Hermione proclaimed.
I think, of the three of us, I was the most shocked. Never in my dreams could I imagine Hermione Granger to be this forward and displaying such utter disregard for social conventions. I looked at her as she pushed along my leg slightly, until her hand was grabbing my crotch over my pants. She began zipping the fly down with deliberate slowness. I was already hard, and given what she was doing, my cock was already at full mast by the time she had released it from its confines.
“He was making out with Ginny,” Hermione replied, proudly stroking my cock, never leaving her gaze from Tonks who was slowly turning crimson. “I told him I had to have it,” she said, “I told him I’d do anything.” She bent downwards, her tongue snaking out, and licked me from the base of my shaft all the way to the tip. “See? How could I resist?”
Tonks watched us in mute amazement.
“I said, ‘Please, put it in me, Harry. I need it. I need that big thing inside me so bad…’” Hermione kissed my cock again, licking it until it shined. Then she looked at me over her shoulder. “Because I’m a werewolf. I’m a bad girl. And he knows how to punish me.”
“Merlin…” Tonks muttered. Her previously unimpressive breast was slowly morphing into a most impressive bosom.
I couldn’t help it. I grabbed Hermione’s arse and pulled her over my cock, and I felt her whole body shake as she took me inside her.
“He fucks me so good,” she said, shivering, her eyes still fixated at Tonks, as if sending her a telepathic message. One woman to another. “He fucks me like I’ve always wanted to be fucked. You know what that’s like? Getting the fuck you’ve always wanted, out of your man?”
Damn. Hermione was so bad.
“Behave!” I said, slapping her arse-cheeks.
“Fuuuuuck!” Hermione let out a guttural moan and sank down deeper until she was balls-deep into my crotch. “See? That’s what I mean.”
“You’re such a fucking slut!” Tonks whispered, her eyes transfixed at the place where my shaft was entering Hermione’s cunt. Her breasts had grown to the size of melons, and her hair was slowly transforming into blazing, hot pink.
I wondered how long it would be before she’d either run out, screaming bloody murder or rip her own clothes apart and join in.
“I know,” Hermione said, swiveling her hips to angle my cock further against her folds. “That’s why he has to fuck me, to keep my little hole plugged!”
Tonks swallowed, and looked at me helplessly.
“Sorry,” I replied blandly, not apologetic at all. “We’re just a bit… physically affectionate. We were in the middle of something when you dropped in, and I kind of left her tied on the stool before coming over to meet you. But never mind, let’s talk about Malfoy. Draco has lodged the complaint against me, and I already have given you my statement. What happens next?”
Somehow between all the embarrassment and her body’s involuntary responses to the ongoing scene, Tonks still managed to send me an incredulous expression that screamed, 'Are you shitting me right now?'
“Well?” I asked.
Hermione decided to add her two knuts by giving Tonks a condescending sneer, enough to make Severus Snape clap in approval.
That put the woman into action.
Nymphadora Tonks exhaled, and slowly put her wand down, and relaxed back onto the couch, folding one leg above another, shifting her eyes from Hermione to me. Clearly she had decided to indulge Hermione in the game she was bent on playing with her.
“Depends. Are you perchance familiar with a pensieve?”
“I have one in my study, yes,” I responded. The Potters had a pensieve sitting in the Vault. I had collected it and gotten it installed. Turns out that it was customary for most pureblood families with enough money to invest in these sickeningly-overpriced objects– often as a symbol of status.
I grabbed Hermione’s breasts and mauled them, making her moan again.
“You want to view my memories of the event?”
“Maybe, maybe not,” she said, “depends on the Minister really.” The quill scratched more lines on the pad. “For now, I’m registering that you’re willing to provide memories of the event. Unless Draco Malfoy is willing to challenge yours by providing his own, this is an open and shut case.”
Really, the way she was maintaining her composure in presence of this erotic comedy spoke volumes about her emotional control. Even the sudden morphs on her body were slowly returning to normal. I wondered if she was employing Occlumency to ignore the sexual vibes and render tunnel vision upon our scope of discussion.
This was getting so much interesting.
“A spoiled little brat goes tattling to his father, and the Minister sends Aurors to my home without notice, and has me playing ball.” I smacked Hermione’s right breast as tightly as I could, as if to accentuate my statement. “Open and shut case indeed.”
Tonks winced at both of my actions, doing her best to ignore Hermione’s moans. She waved her wand and the quill drooped instantly. Had this been Privet Drive, I’d probably have gotten a warning for Underage Magic but my apartment was classified as a magical dwelling, cloaked by all kinds of wards, including those that kept the Ministry from determining what spell was used inside the premises, or who the caster was. It was my ticket to grow stronger and develop an arsenal of spells before the fourth year began and everything went to hell.
“But so long as we’re just talking,” I said, “it doesn’t seem fair that I have to deal with this nonsense, just because someone has the ear of the Minister. I’m not sure about you Miss Tonks, but had this been the muggle world, I could have sued for defamation, as well as aggressive provocation and harassment.”
That caught her off-guard for a second time. “Don’t– uh, take this otherwise. But are you sure you’re a third-year?”
I laughed at her expression, and pushed Hermione up just enough to reveal my cock before allowing her to sag down. “Do I not look the sort?”
“No,” She blurted. “You’re bigger— I mean, third-years do not end up living together like…” She trailed off, giving Hermione a quick glance before meeting my eyes, “... or have a home like this to themselves and certainly not… this informed about the law.”
“Celebrity is as celebrity does,” I replied. “Gilderoy Lockhart taught me that one. I’m the Boy-Who-Lived, which means the Prophet loves to glorify me one week and vilify me the next. That and I’m the last Potter. If I can’t protect my interests, who will?”
She nodded, and stood up. “Uhm, that’s all. I’ll– I’ll just take my leave now.”
I grabbed Hermione by her chin and made her look at me. “How about I join you after I see her off?”
She smirked. “Go easy on her.”
And then she stood up, and left the room, but not without passing a knowing grin at a surprised Tonks.
“She’s rather feisty,” I commented, watching Hermione vanish around the corner. “You’ll have to forgive her. She got a little testy with how I left things. Hearing me talk with a woman might have made her a little… competitive.”
“Yeah,” Tonks replied, laughing uneasily. “I can see that. But I should leave now. Thank you for…” She glanced at my crotch, “for indulging me without prior notice.”
“No problem at all,” I waved her concerns off, “but if you really feel that bad about it, perhaps I could invite you to have some firewhiskey?”
She looked undecided for a moment before saying, “Two pegs, with ice.”
I stood up. “Coming right up.”
“Don’t bother. I’ll come with you.”
She followed me to the mini-bar on the side of the drawing room. I summoned a bottle of Ogden's Finest, unstoppered it and poured it into two glasses. Tonks tapped her wand on the glasses, conjuring two cubes of ice in each of them.
“To the Ministry’s hypocrisy,” I toasted.
She snickered and raised it as well. Taking a sip, she rested her back against the bar table, and looked around and whistled. “Quite the house you have here. atmospheric charms, undetectable extension charms, goblin wards and enchantments, magical shielding and state-of-the-art facilities. This isn’t a house, it’s almost like a VVIP hotel.”
“I have the money, I might as well spend it, though I think the goblins made too many bedrooms for some reason.”
She looked at me with an arched brow. “How many?”
“Thirteen.”
She whistled. “I take it back. This is a hotel.”
“You want a room?” I teased. “I’m sure I can offer a decent rental.”
“And make your friend jealous? You wouldn’t get a night’s sleep.”
“No big deal,” I admitted, “We end up going to sleep in the early hours of the morning anyway.”
She crossed her arms and grinned. “Too much information!”
“You started it,” I said playfully. “But jokes aside, I can get you a room if you want. My charges are quite reasonable.”
“I wish,” she said wistfully, “but a Cadet job has shitty pay. Maybe after I get promoted. Whatever you offer will probably be less than renting a room at the Cauldron.”
“You live with your parents, right?” I asked. “Andromeda and Ted Tonks?”
She froze, and glanced at me warily. “...You know who I am.”
I smiled. “Nymphadora Tonks. Daughter of Andromeda Druella Black. Your mother was cast off from the Black family after she trashed her marriage contract with Antonius Selwyn and eloped with Edward Tonks. She’s currently a healer at St. Mungo’s, Janus Thickey’s Ward to be precise. You finished school with five Outstandings in your NEWTs and got directly put into the Fast-Track Auror program by Alastor Moody. Most Cadets get promoted in three to five years but you’re up for it in the next six months.”
“I take that back,” She slowly put the glass back on the bar table, “You’re practically my stalker.”
“Part of the job description,” I laughed, and willed the Black ring on my finger to materialize. The large tanzanite ring appeared on my middle finger, with an engraving of a barghest on top, with the Black insignia in the background.
Tonks inhaled, her eyes wide, “You’re the—”
“Conditional only,” I finished for her, “I have plans for acquiring the entire mantle for myself, but it’s a work in progress.”
She ruffled her hair with her fingers. “This is blowing my mind. Lucius Malfoy gets half the Wizengamot to kowtow by playing the Black Regency card and you—”
“It’s a recent shift, one Lucius Malfoy isn’t exactly privy to, at this moment.”
“And you’d trust me with this?” She whispered.
“I like to think I can read people fairly well,” I replied, “And you don’t seem like the type to kiss Lucius’s graying arse.”
She made a nasty face. “Ugh!”
“Boy-Who-Lived. Lord Potter, and Lord Conditional for House Black. Yeah, I can see why you like to be prepared.”
“One can have only as much preparation as he has foresight.” I took another sip from my glass, grabbed hers and offered it back to her.
She held it gingerly. “Was it part of the foresight to have me flustered with your little act with the girl?”
“Not really,” I admitted, “Preparation is great, but I’m open to improvisation from time to time.”
She took another sip.
“Back to the topic, what are my options against Draco’s complaint?”
Tonks fidgeted a little. “I’m not sure I’m the best person to talk about on the subject.”
“I’m just asking, as a friend.”
She met my eyes, surprised. “Friend huh? Well, as a friend, I suggest you get yourself a solicitor. Preferably a pureblood if you catch my drift.”
“Any recommendations?”
Tonks frowned. “Depends.” She looked around the room, and whistled again. “You have too many things juggling on the political level. Two Ancient Houses, investments, fortunes, and two very influential Wizengamot seats in line. And you stay at Hogwarts for most of the year. Plus, you have multiple women involved if that remark about this Ginny girl was any clue. That’s literally a neon sign for endless courtroom drama.”
Damn. She was sharp.
“I hear you.”
“Normally anyone in your position would hire a secretary, or a steward, depending on your preferences. Someone who’d have enough experience as a secretary, plus working knowledge of the law and capable of dealing with financial and business transactions without having to involve you in every step. You can ask Gringotts to do the hiring if you’re looking for something even more specific.”
“But you have a name in mind.”
“I do…” She hesitated, “and given your… proclivities, she’d fit in right at home. I’m just wondering if it’s a good idea.”
I blinked. Did she really mean what I thought she did?
“My friend Hestia Jones is currently in-between jobs. And she’s a half-blood, pureblood mother, muggle father, kind of like my own, and she’s got baggage.”
I arched an eyebrow. Hestia Jones was a member of the Order of the Phoenix. In the books, the Order was activated sometime after Voldemort’s resurrection, which meant Nymphadora and Hestia were fresh joinees. But if I could have her before she became Dumbledore’s pawn….
I smiled. The Child of Prophecy perk was a wonderful, wonderful thing.
“Blood does not matter,” I claimed, “and what kind of baggage?”
“She was a junior attorney in the Department of International Magical Cooperation, working for Bartemious Crouch, but lost the position after an unfortunate run-in with Lucius Malfoy. Last I heard, she’s shacking up in Knockturn Alley. So if you’re willing to provide living accommodations…”
“Naturally.”
“Then she’ll probably jump at the offer.”
I frowned. A history with the Department of International Magical Cooperation meant Hestia had connections with other magical nations, which could come into its own use. And with her history with Malfoy, she’d probably be the best person for all the chaos I had in mind. And she was kinky enough for Tonks to think she’d fit in with ease, which meant new affinities.
“And she’s good?”
“Best I’ve ever seen. Ravenclaw with enough skill to make Crouch’s assistant in less than a year of working,” Tonks said, “Last I heard, the Weasley boy is trying to fill her shoes.”
I snorted. So that was how Percy got promoted to that position.
“I can arrange a meeting if you want. She’d be perfect for the secretarial duties, and if you’re willing, maybe a full-time Seneschal. I’ll warn you though, she’s rather… spirited.”
This coming from her? If this wasn't a pot-kettle, I didn’t know what was.
“I’ll remember that. If you want, I can get a rental drawn for you too, Miss Tonks. Say, payable after you get your promotion?”
She smirked. “First this Ginny, and Miss Granger, and for all I know, you’ll be bedding my friend. And you’re still lobbying for more? You’re a greedy one.”
I snickered, and took another sip. “Greed is good, and its name is Harry Potter.”
She laughed. “That might be, but Mr. Potter–”
“Harry.”
She smiled. “I’ll stick to Mr. Potter. As a young, unmarried woman and given what you are…”
I crooked an eyebrow. “What I am?”
“Yes. Someone who’s good-looking, fantastically wealthy, publicly notorious, a celebrity, and a younger man but not scandalously so, and…” She paused.
“Aaand?”
“I don’t want to be crude about it, but given what happened earlier…” she brought her lips closer to my ears. “I don’t wish to be one of your conquests, Harry Potter. It’s bad enough that anyone that hears my name automatically thinks of sex, and that’s without confirming my ability.”
Damn this wasn’t going to be as easy as I thought. Still, the hunt would make the feast even better. And given what the prize was….
My inner animal grabbed its forks and licked its chops.
“I totally understand, but the offer stands.”
Tonks placed the now empty glass on the table, and strode towards the door. “I’ll remember it.”
She glanced at my crotch again. “And the manner in which it was given. Thanks for the whiskey.”
And with that, she walked out of the apartment, idly whistling a Weird Sisters tune as she left, sashaying her ass as she did.
Damn.
Chapter 14: Meeting Hestia Jones
Chapter Text
BOOK 1 - OUTLANDER
I walked to the front of my apartment, crossed the outer courtyard that held ridiculously lethal booby traps for trespassers, out over the front porch where my car was awaiting.
I stopped so suddenly that Hermione, who was right behind me, nearly walked into my back. She caught her balance with a hiss of discomfort, and then looked up and caught her breath.
“Oh, my!” She whispered, “Is this yours?”
Nearly two tons of British steel and chrome sat idling in the drive. Its purring engine sounded like a sewing machine. The white Rolls limo was brand new, but in my perspective, an old model, something right out of a pulp-fiction adventure film, preserved in a gorgeous condition. Its panels shone, freshly waxed and without blemish, and the chrome of its grill gleamed sienna in the light of the morning over the house.
I walked down to peer inside the Rolls. Back in my old life, I could never have been able to afford anything this expensive but in this life, it was little more than a minor dent in my family fortune. The interior was all silver-gray and white leather and similarly colored woodwork, polished to a glowing sheen and accented with silver. The carpet on the floor of the Rolls was thicker and more luxurious than the well-kept lawn around it.
“Yes. I had the goblins purchase something that looked expensive and wasn’t resistant to enchantment. They got me this.”
“Wow,” She said quietly. “That’s a work of bloody art.”
I snorted. “You’re sounding like Ron now.”
“Wow,” She repeated, ignoring me. “Look at the filigree.”
I nodded.
Hermione gave me a sidelong look. “And there’s plenty of room in the back.”
I blinked and looked at her.
Her expression was innocent and bland. “All I’m saying is that it’s an idea.”
“Hermione,” I said. I felt my face getting a little warm.
The dimples reappeared. She was just teasing me, of course. We had fucked until the early hours of the morning. Hermione had been rather excited after her performance in presence of the big bad Auror, and her werewolf stamina had vigorously agreed with that sentiment.
“What model is this?” she asked.
“It’s a Silver Wraith,” I replied, folding my arms smugly. “A bit vintage, but great for enchantment. We could be hit by a fucking bomb and still not feel anything save a sudden jerk. Cost me a pretty penny too.”
I slid into the car and pulled the door behind me. Hermione was going to stay back this time. I had a few things planned out for the day after my meeting with Hestia Jones. Things that required my fullest attention and would be obstructed by Hermione’s presence.
“That’s nice and all, but do you even know how to drive it?”
Good question. Harry didn’t, but I did. At one time in my past life, I did a small run as a Valet. Wasn’t glorious by a long shot, but I got to sit in and drive some uber-expensive cars. Compared to those, driving this Rolls was like driving a tank. It had all kinds of momentum behind it, but lacked any power steering or power brakes. A vehicle that demanded I paid my respects to the laws of physics and think a little bit further ahead than I otherwise might.
That is, if I were driving the mundane version of this car.
But I am a wizard. I cheat. I had gotten implanted fire-based enchantments to increase the potency of the fuel; water-based ones to improve fuel flow efficiency and oil life duration; well-placed durability charms to increase natural physical composition density and hardness; kinetic spells to reduce air resistance and improve the exhaust systems; spatial charms to expand the interiors and luggage chambers; atmospheric charms to maintain a steady temperature within, regardless of the outer environment, and finally strengthening charms to enhance the internal systems and link the car’s natural performance to the user and make it almost like a magical artifact, not very different from Arthur Weasley’s Flying Ford Anglia. Most of the stuff was done out of basic rune sequences and small, normally difficult to produce changes that when combined with the right spells would make the car better in one small way or another.
I drove right up to the front of the Leaky Cauldron, where a brown-haired young woman, close to Tonks' age, stood wearing a light pink full shirt and pants, fitting right in place among the other mundanes. She was a fit and perky five foot five, with long, wavy hair and light brown eyes that looked inviting.
“Miss Jones?” I asked, pushing my neck out of the window. “I’m Harry Potter. Nice to meet you.”
I reached out and grabbed her hand. It is a unique form of power to say your own name when you know that everyone in the world already knows it. The excitement on Hestia’s face only doubled.
“It’s my pleasure,” She shook my hand, before her face shone with excitement, “And you own a Royce?”
“You like?”
“Verily,” She exclaimed, and extended her head. “Hestia Jones. Tonks told me all about you.”
“I hope not everything’s bad.”
She laughed. “Oh there were plenty. I know it’s a bit forward of me, but could I…?” She gestured towards the steering.
I chuckled and shifted to the other seat. “Sure thing.”
Hestia Jones was exactly like Tonks had described— spirited. As soon as I had offered her the driver’s seat, she had gotten in, and with a flourish of her wand, transfigured her attire into a classic black suit, white shirt, black tie with the peaked hat, common among limo drivers.
“You look right at home.”
She giggled. “Where would you like me to take you?”
“Anywhere we can sit and discuss, Miss Jones. And then there’s quite a few places I plan to visit today.”
“On it,” she said, and the car roared to life. “And anyone that lets me drive their limo gets to call me Hestia.”
I grinned.
“This is fantastic!” She exclaimed, taking to driving like a duck to water. The vehicle began moving faster and faster yet Hestia seemed perfectly at ease with it. “A magically enchanted limo? This is fucking glorious!”
I smirked. The goblins had done a good job with it. The engine, gas tank, and tires had been covered in arrays that enhanced each one's capabilities as far as they could without using elemental spells, ensuring unheard of mileage, nonexistent slippage even on ice, stronger frames, and a voluntarily-activating muggle-repelling ward just to list a few of the features. Combined with the slightly modified engines, fuel pump systems, suspensions, and altered outer frames, there was little doubt that the car would be beyond anything modern science would be able to achieve for the next decade or so.
For all their skill in enchanting, the goblins knew diddly about motor mechanics. And given the success of our first prototype, they were giddy about a potential partnership agreement over opening a magi-tech firm, one that would enchant muggle inventions to make them usable for the wizarding populace, after clearing them through Arthur Weasley’s office. My ideas and designs, their skills and effort. Unfortunately, working with goblins meant being satisfied with a 35-65 agreement, 35 for me, 65 for them. But it was good business.
It was yet another reason why having a full-time secretary would be a boon for me at the moment.
Eventually the adrenaline began to wear off and Hestia drove the car into one of the more expensive eateries that looked like the sort of place a Rolls owner would park.
“You seem to know a lot about limos,” I started, as Hestia returned after ordering for us.
“Haha! Yes. My dad was a limo driver, and I occasionally replaced him in the shifts during the summers. You see some sights, believe me.”
“Like what?”
She snorted. “The last time I was driving in his place, I had these three Scottish businessmen in the backseat. I pick them up from a restaurant and they’re all blitzed, right?”
I tilted my head.
“And then one of them tells me to get them some hookers.”
I coughed. “Just… like that?”
She giggled, brushing her hair back from her face. “Yeah. Just like that. So I’ve got three options, right? One, I can just ditch them and get no tip and probably hear an earful from Dad. Two, I can try bewitching them to forget it and then get a Ministry letter from the Underage Magic Bullshitters Office, and three, I can go find some skanks that are probably riddled with Merlin-knows what diseases.”
I chortled. “And you chose?”
“”Option Four. I called in a friend from school and told her to round up some friends.”
I blinked. “Your friend from school… is a hooker?”
“Escort, and a very well paid one at that,” She replied with a raised eyebrow. “She works only four nights a week and earns more money than I did as Crouch’s assistant.”
“Why’s a Hogwarts student an—”
“Escort?” She finished for me. “She’s a werewolf. Got bitten in her fifth year. Got expelled because the others didn’t want a werewolf on campus. Probably because Filch would have to clean up all that cum off the broom cupboards. Werewolves can be horny bitches, but I bet you already know that.”
Translation— she knew about Hermione. And seriously, another werewolf? What were the chances?
“What’s her name?”
“Chiara Lobosca,” Hestia said, “and ya, Tonks mentioned your werewolf girl. Told me you’re doing a good job satisfying her,” She gave me a saucy grin. “Not many guys can boast that.”
I chuckled uneasily at that. “So… you went and picked up those girls?”
If she noticed my attempt at diverting the topic, she didn’t show it. “Yeah. Three guys, three girls, and a big fucking orgy at the back of the stretch limo for hours. Got to give those guys respect for keeping it that long without potions.”
I laughed and raised the glass of water before me. “To Scottish businessmen.”
“And the girls they rode in on,” Hestia joined in, chinking her glass against mine.
“What about cleaning the limo afterwards? Don’t tell me you used a Cleaning charm.”
She shook her head. “Not my job. Though yours looks spanking new. Don’t know how you managed that with a werewolf living with you, but it suits me fine.”
“Is it quite a lot like that? In the back of a limo?”
“Yeah.” Hestia said, “I’ve had couples hiring a limo just so they could drive around, fucking behind tinted windows. Sometimes I have guys jacking off on their own, women who’ve helped them, and sometimes even men who’ve helped them.”
I snorted at that.
“You should try it out sometime. Maybe hire a couple or three classy escorts. It’d blow your mind.”
That it would. In more ways than one.
“Speaking of which, you see those girls to my right checking you out?”
I turned to look at them from the corner of my eyes, and yes, they were indeed watching me. The moment they saw me looking, they looked away and began to giggle.
“Want me to get them in the back of the limo for you?”
I snorted. “The job was for my secretary position, not my pimp.”
“That and more,” Hestia snickered. “As long as I get my galleons and enjoy my work, I don’t care what you make me do.” The smile on her face held a deliberate hint of evil to it. “Tonks must have told you. I’m a perv. I don’t care.”
“She.. might have worded it lightly.”
“Prude,” Hestia frowned. “You’d think being a metamorph would make her more liberating.”
“I dare you to say that to her face.”
“I bloody well have a million times. Still a prude. If I were a metamorph, I’d double my arse and tit size and make a bloody fortune out of it.”
We continued the discussion, somehow managing to avoid Hestia’s repeated suggestions that she drag those muggle girls with us. Ordinarily that idea would have held a ridiculous appeal to me, but after everything else that was going on, I needed to get actual shit done first.
As Hestia said— werewolves have incredible stamina. I was already exhausting myself just to keep up with Hermione. Unless I somehow managed to gain a perk or two that doubled my own, things could get problematic. That or start taking potency potions.
And then we came down to business.
“So there I was,” Hestia shared, “writing those artifacts off as illegal and framing charges on this man, and the next, I get a call from Barty, telling me to drop everything and get to office. Being who I was, I sent my report to Director Bones, and left for whatever new shitstain Barty wanted me to mop up. Next thing I know, I have a half a dozen charges against me, and Minister Fudge throws me out of my job, and that Gibbon walks out of Barty’s chambers with Lucius Malfoy in tow. Two plus two equals four.”
“What was your job like?”
“Executive assistant to Crouch, mostly. Act as his liaison and schedule manager, set up everything he needed, meet and haggle with attorneys of other international representatives at the ICW. That sort of stuff.”
“Seems like a handful.”
“Yes sir.”
“And if we’re working together all the time, you should call me Harry.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Harry, not sir.”
“Understood, sir.”
I noticed the hint of a smile twitching at her mouth. “Funny.”
“Harry it is then,” She grinned. “But if I’m to be your secretary, I might ‘Sir’ you in public though.”
“Whatever gets you off.”
Her eyes really lit up at that. “Oh a whole bunch of things. I can send you a list if you like, Sir.”
We guffawed.
“Jokes aside, Tonks gave me a rough idea about your situation. Lord Potter, Lord Black, Boy-Who-Lived, and Wizarding Britain’s most eligible bachelor, you sir are a brimming cauldron. One wrong thing and it’d explode. How you’ve managed things on your own so far is beyond me.”
“Mostly by keeping my head down and ignoring all the fawning around me,” I admitted, “but this year things changed quite a bit. I’m trying to gain a bit of control back into my life. Has Tonks mentioned about my little… skirmish with Malfoy Junior?”
Hestia nodded.
“Well I need help with that, and whatever else the government, and Rita Skeeter might have to say about me. I also have some investments running around and some plans for the future. Plans that might cause drastic changes to our world. I need someone whom I can trust to do right by me, and at the same time, be able to smack sense on my face when I’m bullshitting around.”
She cocked her head. “Well that makes things easier I suppose.”
“About that, you sure you wouldn’t have a problem working for someone like myself?”
She arched an eyebrow.
How did Tonks put it again? “Someone who’s fantastically wealthy, publicly notorious, somewhat good-looking and a younger man but not scandalously so….”
Hestia guffawed. “Lemme guess, Tonks?”
“Five points to Ravenclaw.”
She laughed some more. “Frankly Harry, I’m rather comfortable working with men than women. Sides, you look like you’ve some experience in business and investing. How you managed to get that while still being in your third-year is mysterious but ultimately not my concern, but it's clear you have things very well laid out. Plus, I’ve found that it’s a little easier to establish good working relationships with men than women.”
“You mean they end up acting like bitches?” I offered, opting for honesty.
“Some of them, yes. I’ve encountered resentment because of how I look, and my lack of ability to kowtow before pureblood ladies that aren’t worth the scum beneath my shoes. As for your ongoing relationship with Miss Granger, I live with a sex worker, remember? How much more depraved can you get than that?”
I cocked my head and smiled.
“My point is, don’t bother yourself with wondering if asking me something is gonna upset me, or if you think it’s stupid or even wrong for that matter. If I’m going to be your secretary, you’ve got to rely on me for things. As for protections, the standard Secretarial Vow works, unless you have something more stringent in mind?”
“Uh, no, that will do for now.”
Hestia smiled. “Then let’s get on with it. Discuss the pay and perks. And then you can tell me in what way you want to have me.”
That caught me off-guard. “I’m… sorry?”
“Don’t be,” Hestia said, “We’re young, Harry. You can admit it. You feel a longing. I see it in your eyes. A deep, carnal hunger.”
She smiled. “I feel it too. And that craving is about to be satisfied.”
“...It is?” Her words emboldened me slightly. Harry Potter or not, there was only so much one could do if a girl decides to slap you in public.
“Completely,” She held up the menu. “I ordered everything they’ve got!”
Chapter 15: Number 12, Grimmauld Place
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 1 - OUTLANDER
Hestia drove me all the way to Islington, just a short walk from Kings Cross Station to my destination, Number 12, Grimmauld Place, the ancestral townhouse of the Blacks. I had read somewhere that this particular area was also used to film Sirius Black’s familial residence in the movies. It was only natural that a fantasy version of this world would have the original house on that very street. The moment he stood between houses marked 11 and 13, while whispering ‘ Toujours Pur,’ the houses slid apart, and the missing townhouse came into view as if it had somehow been squashed between the other two.
“This… is the Black Townhouse?” Hestia asked with disdain.
“Yes.”
The derelict building in question was sunk in grime and growing vines, rust and a pervasive smell of decay adding to its grotesque ambiance. Soft hissing noises came out of the oddest corners, and effigies of magical beasts adorned the rooftops.
“Yep,” She deadpanned, “it’s grim and old alright.”
“She’s a little dusty,” I played along, as if it was perfectly natural to have a house look like a clusterfuck of vines, dust and grime, “but she’s the one. I’m told she feels way better when you get inside.”
Hestia cracked up at that. “Smooth. I’m already wetting my panties at the thought of being with you in there. It’s so… stirring.”
I rolled my eyes. Hestia Jones was a relentless tease. Unless of course, she was planning on acting on them, in which case, she was a hot and aggressive flirt.
“Seriously, that isn’t a home. It’s a big bad disease just waiting to explode. Have you seen this thing? How can—” She looked around at the neighbourhood, “why doesn’t anyone just do anything about it?”
“An obscuring ward,” I said automatically, as if the answer was waiting on my lips. At Hestia’s puzzled look, I explained, “Muggle-repelling wards with a memory-wipe function added to it. Pretty complicated, but likely the least lethal out of all the booby traps spread around the place.”
Hestia whistled. “Yep. Tonks was right. You don’t feel like a third-year student at all.”
I arched an eyebrow at her.
“I mean,” She blushed, trying to explain using animated gestures, “It’s just… you know stuff.”
She was right, and I wondered how I did. The knowledge had come to me as completely and immediately as if I had lived there for years: pure information. I looked around at the garden, at the vulture effigy. It contained a wardstone that could deploy an anti-apparition and anti-portkey ward for two hundred feet around the entire house, before unleashing a poisonous fog into the entire area.
See? That’s what I was talking about.
“The building's been lying like this for over a decade,” I added.
True. The Black manor was a haunted house, but it wasn’t supposed to be this dilapidated. Unless Dumbledore had the Order of the Phoenix clean the entire thing and make it habitable. Harry had only gotten there after his birthday in the books, and Ron had mentioned how Molly Weasley had them clean the house all summer.
“But… Why are we here?” She asked, fidgeting, “I have this feeling that something’s wrong.”
I chuckled. “Part of the ward scheme. Anyone that’s not a Black or hasn’t been particularly invited here is overwhelmed with an ever-increasing sense of impending certain death. Unless you’ve remarkably strong Occlumency shields, I suppose”
“Mmhmm, and how do you know that?”
I lifted my fist, the tanzanite Black ring shining conspicuously in my middle finger. “This told me.”
That was a half-truth. Maybe it was the Ring, maybe not. There was simply no way to know, and Mantle-rings had an annoying tendency to never come off one’s finger, not unless you wanted to disband it off its enchantments.
Quirky? You’ve no idea.
“Right… Lord Black and everything.”
“Conditional, but yes. And you’re right. It’s best if I go in first. If things look good, I’ll invite you in. But first…”
I drew in breath, and focussed on my will and magic. Whatever little I had read on summoning told me that a definite intent, laced with power, was the most important attribute in any form of summoning.
This was no different.
“Kreacher!”
The moment I spoke the word, there was a sudden thrum in the air, as if the mere mention of the name was enough to trigger a magical response, not unlike an incantation. I waited and looked around, wondering when Kreacher would pop in, screeching about half-bloods and blood-traitors.
But nothing happened.
That was odd, so I tried again.
“Kreacher.”
“...was something supposed to happen?”
I looked at the weird look Hestia was giving me. “I’m trying to summon the Black family elf.”
“And where is he?”
I gestured towards the house.
“In that? No fucking way.”
I ignored her and tried for the third time, and still nothing happened. I was beginning to worry. Maybe Kreacher wasn’t going to respond unless I became the proper Lord Black? Or was something else at play? Maybe I was doing it wrong? Either way, I wasn’t about to enter this decrepit place without magical aid, Lord or not.
Inhaling, I tried something different.
“Dobby!”
There was an immediate flash of bright light accompanied by a loud ‘pop’, and I was knocked flat on my back. I blinked for a few seconds and found a small creature sitting on my stomach, a pitiful google-eyed thing with long, droopy ears and a filthy tea towel worn as a tunic. Almost as quickly as I realised this was Dobby, the elf shrieked at me and grabbed me by my chest.
“HARRY POTTER CALLS FOR DOBBY! DOBBY BE HERE!!”
I hissed at his high-pitched tone, and sat back up, Dobby slowly stepping away from my body. “Stop shouting, Dobby. This is a public street! You can’t be seen here. It— it violates the Statute of Secrecy!”
The elf’s mouth snapped shut, and he grabbed his ears and pulled them down into a makeshift gag. “Bad Dobby! Very bad, Dobby! Dobby make Harry Potter angry! DOBBY BE IRONING HIS EARS FOR—”
I focussed past the gruesome vision of the poor elf ironing his own ears and snapped. “Enough!”
That shut him up. The elf looked at me with piteous eyes.
I sighed. “...Sorry! That came out of nowhere!” I’m just a bit irritated, Dobby, and I have questions I want you to answer. Do you understand?”
“Harry Potter apologising to an elf! Dobby thought Dobby knew of Harry Potter’s greatness—”
“Yes, yes, we’ve already established that!” I replied firmly but not unkindly. “Now tell me Dobby, are you still looking for work?”
Dobby didn’t answer aloud, but after a brief hesitation, he shook his head yes.
“Thing is, Dobby,” I began genially, “I recently acquired some properties that need to be looked after. So I was wondering, would you like to work for me? Even with pay, if that’s what you want.”
“Eek!” squeaked the creature, “Harry Potter be asking Dobby if Dobby wants to work for him?” Then, more slowly, almost in a histrionic whisper, he added, “Harry Potter be giving Dobby a choice?”
“Obviously,” I drawled, “You’re a free elf, aren’t you? If I want your services, I need to hire you, and you need to agree to being hired. That’s the way it works.”
Something about my words had an effect because Dobby suddenly stood perfectly still, his evr-constant twitching suddenly vanishing into nowhere. Instead, he stared back at me with those large, bulbous eyes and I stared back at him. And believe me, there was something broken about them.
I’m not sure how to explain but staring into that elf’s eyes was one of the most unsettling experiences I’ve ever had since I found myself in this world. There was something very wrong with them, like they were empty, like someone had scooped out twin holes in his skull only to fit them with glass spheres and declared them eyes rather than anything remotely like the real thing.
Like I was looking into the eyes of a corpse.
They held an uncomfortable stillness to them, a calmness so complete that you instinctively knew it was a lie, like the false tranquillity before a particularly vicious storm.
And then Dobby spoke in a tremulous but determined voice I— that Harry had seen the elf use only once.
—”You shall not harm Harry Potter”—
“Dobby… Dobby accepts, Harry Potter. Dobby be your elf.”
And just like that, the spell was broken. The tension in the air vanished entirely, and in its place, was a sudden notification.
You have gained a World Anchor
Dobby Elf — 43% World Anchorage
Current World Anchor Analysis
World Anchor — 167
Required World Anchor — 15
Somebody’s active!
Meta-Luck — 19
And that was it. No affinities. No perks. Just a World Anchor. I’d have questioned the lack of the former if not for the fact that I hadn’t expected the Anchor to exist in the first place. World Anchors were formed through sex, and I had definitely not fucked the little guy. So… how?
Speaking of World Anchors, they tended to rise up at an almost crawling rate. Sure Hermione’s anchor had given me a massive boost with its initial spike, but that was all there was to it. And believe me, we had really fucked since then. From intense face-fucking for hours, to cumming in her pussy, I had enjoyed both holes many, many times over the time we had spent together. I had shot my seed inside her and on her, made her swallow it, and spent hours with it on her skin and hair. I had fucked Hermione in every corner of every room of my house, including the kitchen. And despite all that, her anchor had grown by a measly three percent.
Which was strange, because Ginny’s had climbed from her initial 22% to a gaping 50% within a week.
Headaches, remember?
One thing was clear. If I really wanted to raise my anchors and by extension, my Meta-Luck, I needed to start fucking other girls on a periodic basis.
Might as well fulfil Hestia’s wish for an orgy with ‘groupies’ for good measure.
That begged the question. Why had Dobby’s acceptance triggered a World Anchor while Hestia’s secretarial vow hadn’t? Perhaps the oaths involved in the Vow only maintained the secrecy of information but did nothing to conjure loyalty? But by that logic, Romilda was certainly not loyal to me, while Hestia valued me way more than she probably did, given I was her employer.
Gods. This was starting to give me a headache.
“What should Dobby be doing, Harry Potter sir?” asked the hyper excited elf, who was literally bouncing around, as if he couldn’t wait to begin following orders.
“He’s something, isn’t he?” Hestia asked, “I’ve never seen an elf as… excited as him.”
I shrugged. “He’s an acquired taste.”
Turning to Dobby, I said, “I’m going to enter the house. The wards should allow me, since I’m technically the owner. Once in, I’ll call you. It’s possible there are things in this house that might attack me, so be ready.”
“Things?” Hestia echoed.
“Doxies, pixies, boggarts, maybe a drunk and crazy elf?” I began listing my fingers, and then turned to Hestia. “I’ll call for you once the coast is clear. No matter what happens, stay away from the ward line.”
Hestia stared at me.
“...what?”
“Definitely not like a third-year.” She repeated.
I smirked at her, and taking a deep breath, stepped past the ward-line.
…
…
I lived.
Just in case anyone was wondering.
I stepped through and the energies of the invisible wards poured through me like warp syrup. There was a little bit of a tingle as it passed over the surface of my body, and then it was gone.
As were my clothes. Like completely.
I had not expected that bit.
Still, it wasn’t the worst possible thing that could have happened. I still had the Black ring shining on my finger. I had not materialised the Potter ring but I could still feel its invisible weight on my middle finger, and I still had my wand. Sadly enough, conjuring clothes wasn’t something I could do at this point and I certainly wasn’t going to touch these flea-inflected carpets or try to transfigure them into a robe. They’d probably smell of fleas too.
Besides, what was that quote again? Learn to fight naked and you can never be disarmed. Which is fine, I guess, as long as there aren’t mosquitoes. Not very inspiring, given where I was entering.
“Harry Potter sir?” I heard Dobby’s voice. “Should Dobby come in now?”
I turned around, and found Hestia looking at the townhouse, her brows crooked in tension as she tried to seek me out. The outer ward was specifically designed to prevent people from actually seeing through, except for an illusion of the frontage and nothing else. I could literally be pointing my wand at her and casting something dark and lethal and she wouldn’t even notice.
Dobby on the other hand, kept staring in my direction, googly-eyed.
…I swear I’ll never understand elves.
“Wait,” I told him. “If I need you, I’ll call you.”
Inhaling, I grabbed the door knob and twisted it, willingly entering into a scourge of all things neat and tidy. The derelict building was sunk in pitch-black darkness, with dampness, rust, and a pervasive smell of decay adding to its grotesque ambiance. Soft hissing noises came out of the oddest corners, and decapitated heads of house-elves served as decor and lamps for dim illumination. The entire place was at least four times as large on the inside than outside, and had its long, gloomy hallways lined with thick muslin carpets.
And snakes.
Lots and lots of snakes.
On the candelabra, on the railings, on the doorknobs. Hell, even the hallways seemed to curve in an eerily snake-like manner.
Tom Riddle would've felt right at home.
Still, nothing had come out of the shadows to strike or kill me yet, which was good.
“Dobby!” I whispered. “Come to me.”
With a soft ‘pop’, Dobby was standing right beside me. I was glad to see his ragged loincloth still on his form. The last thing I wanted to do in this haunted house was to check if Dobby’s testicles were just as bony and wrinkled as the rest of him.
…
I swear my imagination needs therapy.
“Uh, Dobby, can you conjure a robe for me?”
The elf looked down in apology. “Forgive me, Harry Potter sir. House elves be unable to conjure cloth.”
“...I see.”
Must be something to do with clothes setting them free.
“Fine,” I yielded, “be ready for anything.”
I raised my wand up in the air.
“LUMOS SOLEM!”
A blinding white orb of sunlight and intense heat exploded out of my wand tip, shooting out towards the ceiling, illuminating the entire antechamber in a bright golden glow. And with that came a vicious screech. It wasn’t the volume of an airhorn, or a marching band. Or the Hogwarts Express train. It was far beyond anything I had ever heard in my life, and given it was happening inside a relatively small, enclosed, acoustically reflective area made it so much worse.
Every single piece of glass in the room shattered. Wild shadows exploded, their screeches feeling less like sound and more like someone had thrown me into an enormous vat of jelly. I suffocated, the pressure pricking against my skin and painful to my ears. My heart was in my throat and my shoulders shook like I had been doused with ice-cold water. And then when I raised my head, I found doxies— reptilian, winged and fanged, their numbers in thousands, with their hungry, feral eyes staring at me.
And then they attacked.
“DOBBY!” I yelled. “Kill them!”
The frail-looking elf raised his hand and snapped his fingers. I could only gain a brief impression of a portal opening up to… somewhere else, before an unnatural fire exploded out of that opening, one that looked like lava only no longer bound by gravity, and along with that hellfire came incoherent screams of fury and terror as the doxies burned, the crimson and gold flames incinerating them as the flames scorched through the entire chamber and—
Snap!
The flames flickered out of existence.
Dobby bowed to me in subservience and looked up in slight apprehension.
“Did I do good, Harry Potter sir?”
I gave him an incredulous look. The little elf had just manifested a firestorm of all things, incinerated an entire doxy swarm and who-knows-what to bits and then snuffed it with a snap of his fingers. And he was looking at me asking if he had a good job? If this was what the average elf was capable of, why were they so accepting of their subjugation? I was almost planning on purchasing a dozen elves and seeing if I could end Voldemort and his Death-Eaters for good measure before I remembered that these purebloods also had elves attending them. Could it be that outside of servant work, it was also the elves’ duty to guard their masters from other elves?
Looks like I had something for Hestia to find out after all.
I was still going to purchase a dozen elves. For boosting my World Anchors, if nothing else.
“Yeah,” I said, “Yeah you did good. Keep doing it and you’ll be the best elf in the universe.”
Dobby straightened up and preened at my words. I could have sworn the little fellow rose by an inch or two.
I looked around at the now desolate ante-chamber and called out, “Kreacher!”
“Who’s there?” cried out a voice so shrill that it felt like nails on a chalkboard. I hastily drew my wand and stepped past the antechamber, into a large drawing room. Compared to the previous one, this one was actually well-lit, yet had a strange, foggy feel to it. I could actually see the couches and the tables and the portraits hanging on the wall, and the artistic sculptures adorning the walls. And on one the couches, sat a lady in her thirties, dressed in a nineteenth-century gown with frazzled jet-black hair that fell all over her face, while her dark eyes stared down at me with a strange, maniacal gleam in them.
“Who’s it?” She demanded snobbishly as she stood up, her voice just as shrill as before, “Who’s it that dares to defile the home of my ancestors?”
And just like that, I knew who she was.
“Wal—” I croaked,”Walburga Black?”
The mask of snobbish superiority suddenly dissolved from her face, only to be replaced by an inordinate confusion. “Walburga…” She croaked, “that was my name.” Her tone was surprisingly reasonable for a pureblood extremist in the service of Voldemort.
I didn’t know what to think. Walburga Black was supposed to have a magical portrait hanging near the antechamber. She wasn’t supposed to be alive, was she? Another deviation from the books? But even if she was, why had she allowed the house to deteriorate into such a sorry state?
Walburga peered at me, growing more depressed with every passing second, “Wait… does that mean you can see me?”
I blinked.
“...yes?”
“Harry Potter sir?” Dobby asked.
“Yeah?”
“Dobby wonders who Harry Potter sir is talking to.”
I stared at him for a silent second, and then pointed at the woman. “There! Can’t you see her?”
Dobby peered in her direction for a moment, before turning back. “Dobby regrets, sir. Dobby sees nothing.”
I blinked and stared at Walburga.
Wait.
Was. She had said Walburga was her name. That could mean a lot of things.
She regarded me quietly, her eyes now steady on mine. “Uncle Arcturus’s words holds true then.” The shrillness in her voice was gone, replaced with something enigmatic. “You can see me.”
“What are you?” I asked, looking around. “A ghost?”
“A wraith. A remnant of what I was. Stuck in a perpetual illusion.”
“Ilusion?”
“Yes,” She said calmly. “Some of appearance only. Some of seeming.”
I narrowed my eyes. “I don’t understand. Why can’t Dobby see you?”
“Uncle Arcturus judged me responsible for the end of the Main Line. After Regulus died and Sirius got carted off to Azkaban, the House of Black fell to ruins. Arcturus cursed me to be trapped in this house of my forebears, guarding it, protecting it, until a Black scion entered its halls. Only one of Black blood may see and interact with me.”
She was a wraith. A memory. It was eerily close to what Riddle had done with his diary. Only instead of a soul shard, a remnant of the real Walburga remained, trapped in this house after her death. Suddenly the condition of the house didn’t seem so surprising anymore.
“What happened to Kreacher?”
The woman tilted her head, studying me. “You know of Kreacher.”
I tried not to give away anything. “I do.”
“How?”
“It’s not important.”
“To you, perhaps.”
Damn it. Alive or wraith, this woman was proving herself to be annoying. “I have made a cursory study of the Black family. Kreacher was supposedly devoted to your son Regulus and hated Sirius with a passion.” I grew increasingly conscious of her attention. “What happened to him?”
“Stars,” she murmured, her lips spreading into a slow smile. “So adorably naive.”
I clenched my jaw. “Answer the question.”
“Why should I?”
I held up my right hand, the Black Ring on full display. “I am Lord Black and–”
The rest of my words were drowned in a vicious, shrill laughter as Walburga threw her head back and sat laughing at me for a good thirty seconds. I felt my face heat up with irrational embarrassment before she met my gaze again.
“You lie,” She said softly. There was an undercurrent of disdain in her tone. “The true Lord Black holds complete dominion over this house. Over me. But you don’t. And you’ve just proved it.”
She crossed her legs with a squeak of leather, and settled back on her couch. “You’re no Lord. You’re just a kid with delusions of power.” She allowed herself a glance at my nudity and scoffed. “A weak-willed wizard that stands before me like a shameless man-whore. Black blood or not, you’re but a mewling squib descendant, trespassing into the Black Lord’s property by exploiting the goblins’ lust for gold.”
Well , I thought, She isn’t wrong. But I wasn’t going to get what I wanted by playing nice. Drawing myself up to my fullest height, I met her dark eyes.
“You’re wrong, woman,” I claimed, parseltongue slipping into my voice, “I’m Harry, son of James, the grandson of Dorea Black and Charlus Potter. Through her, I claim descent from Phineas Nigellus Black and Sirius Black the Second, founder and architect of this very dome. I have survived the one you call Lord Voldemort as a baby, vanquishing him until he was but the meanest wraith, seizing the power of his Parseltongue as my conquest. I’ve survived under desolate conditions and killed Salazar Slytherin’s mighty basilisk, standing upon his statue in his vaunted Chamber of Secrets. I’ve matched wits with Death Eaters, my superior in age, and experience and prevailed, and the elf standing beside me is proof of that. I’ve faced an endless horde of dementors and come out as the winner. I’m Harry, son of James and Lily Potter, godson of Sirius Black. I’m the Boy-Who-Lived, and I’ve matched wits with the goblins of Gringotts and seized control over the wards of this manor, and regardless of your paltry arguments and bigotry, I will become the greatest wizard this world has ever seen, with or without you in it.”
That seemed to please the woman immensely. Her disdain fractured, revealing a wide smile, showing her white teeth. “Impressive claims.” She looked down at my dangling manhood and added, “for someone that can’t even conjure a robe.”
“For fuck’s sake,” I waved my wand at the couch closest to me and yelled, “Scourgify!”
A mini-gale exploded out of my wand and washed over the furniture. With an angry counterwise flick of my wand, I cast my second spell.
“Vera verto.”
A spell based on Equivalent exchange. Vera verto was a generic transfiguration spell that could transfigure nearly anything to anything else, providing constraints of magical power and innate resistance of the object. But I wasn’t trying to transfigure a non-living object to a living creature, just cloth. So it’d do fine.
In less than a second, an identical copy of my robes lay upon the floor. I picked it up, and with absolute zero regard to the apparition’s presence, quickly put it on.
“There!” I snapped. “Happy?”
“Hardly, but at least you don’t look like a man-whore any longer.”
“Now tell me,” I growled. “What happened to Kreacher?”
Walburga lifted a fingertip to her lips. Then she smiled again. “What is that information worth to you?”
I folded my arms. “Not much to me, but a lot to you, I imagine. You can either tell me and be done with it, or I can become the Lord Black and extract it out of you, and that time, I needn’t be so polite.”
Her voice went down to a whisper. “Do not play me for a fool, Potter. I know my tapestry. Narcissa’s boy stands in line to become the next Lord Black. That you swindled this property from him shows your cunning, but ultimately, it means nothing.” She hissed. “Draco Malfoy will become the next Lord Black.”
Only if he stayed alive, I didn’t say.
“True. But there’s nothing that stops me from… oh you know, shutting down the wards and demolishing this place down, preferably using a muggle bulldozer. I’ll tear down the defences of this place, ransack the Library and shift it all in my private Vault. And there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”
Walburga’s already pale face blanched even more, and she sat bolt upright on her couch. “You dare–”
“Shut up!” I snarled, and it came out loud enough to ring off the walls of the room. “I’m not finished.”
She jerked as though I had slapped her. Her mouth dropped open, and she blinked at me.
“I’m Lord Conditional at the moment,” I snapped. “And that means, the wards obey me. Now you may serve me, aid me in my desire to make House Black gain back the power it once commanded, or you may be crushed, like an insect. Make no mistake, Walburga Black. Sirius chose me as his heir, and I have ways to sideline Narcissa Malfoy and her bloodline. If nothing else, I can exterminate Draco Malfoy like the vermin he is. And then, you’d be magically compelled to obey me.”
Her lips tightened. “You’d slay your own blood for power?”
“Yes,” I hissed, my hands clenched into fists. “The Moghul Sultans had a saying. Kingship knows no kinship!” I leaned towards her for emphasis. “I don’t have time for your mind games. You don’t scare me, Lady. I came here in a quest for power, and if you keep pushing me, I’m going to push back. Hard.”
Walburga’s evident anger evaporated. She leaned back into her couch, lips pursed, her expression placid and enigmatic. “Well, well, well, not so easily captured, it’d seem. Dorea Black’s bloodline shows it's worth after three generations.”
“Nundu pucky!” I deadpanned. “What’s it gonna be?”
The apparition stood up and walked towards me. I clenched my fists and tried not to react to her sudden invasion of my personal space. She walked around me, stalking like a predator, her eyes watching me like a hawk.
Finally she spoke.
“The Boy-Who-Lived,” She whispered, “there was a time when I cursed your existence for vanquishing the Dark Lord. You ended what could have been an odyssey in the history of Wizarding Britain. And yet, you speak the formidable serpent tongue like the Dark Lord himself.”
I didn’t react.
She eyed me speculatively. “Perhaps there is hope for you. Tell me, Harry Potter, how far are you willing to go to become the Black Lord?”
I crossed my arms and frowned. “Whatever it takes.”
Walburga smiled.
Notes:
A little note: It is true that the story focusses exclusively on smut, but there should be no surprises there, given the tags. However, there is a ton of plot ahead, including extensive cutthroat politics, violence, bloodshed, magical lore and detailed character development. Seducing Destiny, to my estimates, should hit over 350+ chapters.
Chapter 16: Sucker Punch
Chapter Text
BOOK 1 - OUTLANDER
Three hours later, I was back in the limo, with Hestia speeding down the highway.
"Tell me something, Boss," Hestia chirped. "Tonks claims you've a deluxe magical hotel for a home. By Morgana's lacy panties, why would you want anything to do with that blasted haunted house?"
I laughed at her description. "Haunted house or not, it's one of the most expensive pieces of real estate in Wizarding Britain. That house lies over the intersection of two ley-lines. Even as it is now, the wards are more powerful than anything my apartment can offer. And it's the Black's seat of power."
"Aaand?"
"The Black Family Library."
Hestia glanced at me through the rear mirror."Never pegged you for the bookworm type."
"Hardly," I snorted. "But the Black Library is special. It contains proprietary magic, which is magic—"
"Limited to the Black family, I know. Most Ancient families have their libraries. Your own family would have those, too."
She was right, but the Potter Grimoire was exclusively vested in Transfiguration, and even the beginner spells in there would require at least a fifty percent affinity in the subject. How did I know that?
The screen told me. Aside from reflecting my affinities, world anchors, and meta-luck, it also served the purpose of an analysis tool, able to determine the affinity conditions required to attempt a particular spell or brand of magic. And if it was to be believed, I was still scraping inches above the halfway line.
Show me my stats.
The screen flickered in front of my eyes, revealing my new magical stats and projections.
Name — Harry James Potter
Age — 16
Sex — Male
Meta-Luck — 19
World Anchor — 167
Required World Anchor - 15
AFFINITY
Transfiguration — 28%
Charms — 34%
Martial Magic — 48%
Dark Arts — 48%
Psychomancy — 5%
Alchemy —- 15%
Spatial Magic — 21%
Magical Analytics — 6%
PERKS
Child of Prophecy, Outlander, Defiant, Horcrux, Librarian of Knowledge, Pheromone, Curse Born
Just as I thought. 28% was enough to reach an EE in Transfiguration OWL, but I needed a solid 45% if I wanted an Outstanding in my NEWTs. How did I know that? Because I had checked on some of the more difficult transfiguration spells, and the screen had been very clear about how they were above my current affinity. Unless I crossed the 50% mark, even opening the Potter grimoire was a waste of time.
The Black Family Library, now that was a completely different matter.
I had done some reading on the subject from a book on the Black Family history that I had collected from the Sirius's Vault. Apparently, the Blacks were descendants of the messengers of the Navajo Holy Ones of the American Southwest. Shapeshifting sorcerers that were corrupted by the magics they practised and developed witchcraft so dark that it came to be known as the 'Black Magic', the origin of their family name.
In terms of affinity, it relied heavily on the Dark Arts, which was something I had a high affinity at the moment, a very respectable 48%, right alongside Martial Magic. Plus, with my perks, I could expand my arsenal by a massive degree. An entire summer lay before me, and if things turned out the way I wanted, I'd be getting a serious magical boost before my fourth year began. Hence the hurry.
Speaking of which—
"Hestia, I want you—"
"Give you a blowjob while driving? Kinky, but the road's pretty ugly. Might end up biting you off."
I rolled my eyes. "I want you to teach me how to apparate and create a portkey."
Hestia frowned. "Fat lot of good it'd do to you. You can't get an apparition licence until you've passed your OWLs and private portkey creation is illegal. You try creating it. The Ministry's gonna be all over your arse before you can say 'bugger!'"
"The Trace?"
"What else?" She laughed. "The Ministry loves the Trace. They've got Mafalda Hopkirk sitting and watching it like a hawk all day. Girlie gets paid twice as much as the fuckin' Minister."
And wasn't that saying something?
"Say…" I began, "how does one get information about the Trace? How it works, regulations, limitations..."
"Dah-ling!" she drawled. "Think who you're talking to."
"Why do I think I'm asking?"
She chuckled. "What do you want to know?"
"I want to know how to apparate or portkey around Magical Britain and abroad."
"I can recommend a good travel agent."
I rolled my eyes. "Without the Ministry knowing."
Hestia's lips twisted into a smirk. "Now that's more like it. I think I know a guy that knows a guy."
Parking the car outside the Leaky Cauldron, Hestia gave me a private detour of Knockturn Alley. She had already transfigured one cushion into black wizard robes and a pointy hat for me, and cast a glamour charm on my face, altering my features just enough to keep people from likening him to Harry Potter but warned me it wasn't appearance, but behaviour that distinguished Knockturn Alley shoppers from the straight-laced Diagon Alley visitors.
Sidestepping from the main street, we made our way into Knockturn Alley, making long, confident strides, avoiding eye contact with the other denizens of the street, focussed on the destination. It would not do to appear lost or vulnerable after all. Near the end, Hestia paused at a door marked 13B with an elaborate carving of a woman seducing a horde of demons at her feet and holding an amphora. Knocking thrice on the amphora caused the woman's eyes to move and look at us.
It was unnerving.
Her eyes flashed once before the door opened. We walked into a dimly lit room with an enormous stone fireplace in one corner. The entire place was filled with glass boxes of all sizes, hanging on the walls, lined along tables and even tucked away in the shadowy floor corners. Each of them held something in it — a bloodstained pack of cards, a staring glass eye, and a single bony human thumb. On the counter sat a half-bald man with sharpened features.
"Borgin, Dah-ling!" Hestia cooed, "How are you on this fine day?"
"Hestia," the man had an oily voice, and his sharp eyes scrutinised my face. "You brought a customer."
"As always, Borgin," she replied in a sickly sweet tone. "He needs some help. The kind you can provide."
"Depends. How much is he willing to pay for it?"
Hestia gave me a meaningful glance — my cue for taking charge. I did my best to hide my nervousness and strode ahead.
"I'm looking for an artefact. A rather particular kind that can help me evade the Ministry's eye, should I… say, use magic, or apparate around."
"I see," he said in a clipped tone, "you're underage."
"And carrying a bag full of galleons."
The man's jaw tightened further. "I do not sell my stuff to underage customers."
"No," I countered, "you don't sell it to people that cannot afford to buy it. I can."
I gave Hestia my best peeved look. "I don't have time for this drama. Let's try elsewhere."
"Perhaps, dear sir," Borgin quickly capitulated, his voice dropping to his previous level of oiliness. "If you could tell me, how much would you be willing to pay for such an artefact? Presuming it exists?"
"Whatever is reasonable."
"Ah! I have something you'll find interesting."
He pulled out what looked like a wand box and took out a wand hilt. The hilt was crafted out of bronze with a round pommel at the back, and a spiralling guard extending out to hold the wand-end inside it.
"This is the wand hilt of Egbert the Egregious," said Borgin, gingerly pushing the hilt into my hands. "An outstanding dark wizard that slaughtered Emeric the Evil himself, and took over his dominion. You can even see his symbol right there."
He pointed at the pommel. Looking up close, I could see an engraved thestral-head at the bottom. "It's enchanted to mask the magic of the wand placed in it. An ideal tool for moving treachery and attacking from the shadows." I don't know how, but his voice got even more oily with each word.
"And how much will it cost me?"
"It cost me a pretty fortune to gain this, but I'd be willing to part with it for say… three thousand galleons."
I snorted. "Overpriced."
"Even compared to being imprisoned in Azkaban?" Borgin offered slyly. "Upon activating the enchantments inscribed within, you could cast the darkest of curses and spit on the Ministry's face with no one knowing any better."
"Yes, and if this really is what you claim it to be, it wouldn't even be here," I scoffed. "I wasn't born yesterday, Borgin. I know some clients you serve. Three thousand galleons is a steep sum for a student, but to your clients, worth little, especially if this hilt does what you claim it does."
The smile vanished from his face.
"Now tell me what this really does, and make it worth my money, or I walk out."
The man's jaw tightened again, and he dropped his facade of oiliness. "Fine!" He gave a cursory glance at the wand hilt. "It is a copy of the original. It will mask your magic from the Ministry sensors, allowing you to cast magic without triggering the Trace as long as you're holding it."
I scowled. I was already the Lord Potter and Lord Conditional of Black, which meant access to family fortunes, but not the Wizengamot seat. I'd need to sit for my OWLs or gain emancipation through other legal means to get to that stage, and only then would the Trace be lifted off my head. Given my summer plans, and everything else that I had in mind, this hilt would be of use for a year.
Not a very enticing thought, given its price.
"And how much do I have to pay for it?"
"Twenty-five hundred."
I snorted. "Try again."
Borgin snatched the hilt from my fingers. "The price does not change."
I weighed my options. "Too bad. But let's see what else you've got." I inspected around and noticed a pair of shackles, perhaps one of the few things in the entire room that weren't placed within glass boxes. "What are those?"
"Ah!" Borgin exclaimed, "The shackles of Malchance." He gingerly held them up. "These are cursed manacles. Shackle a witch or wizard with those, and it keeps them bereft of their magic. The Wizengamot loves using them to restrain dangerous prisoners during trials."
"Interesting," I said. My mind was already racing ahead with potential uses of such a thing. "Well, I need this one, and that," I pointed at the shrivelled hand placed within a glass bell-jar.
"The Hand of Glory," Borgin said, "gives candlelight only to its wielder. Best friend of thieves and plunderers. I will admit, sir, you have got a good eye for cursed objects."
I frowned. "Less useful than I thought, but give me a sack of Peruvian instant darkness powder."
Borgin looked at me calculatingly. "A wand that masks your magic, a shackle to restrain another's magic, a powder that brings true darkness that no light can penetrate, and a cursed hand that gives light to its bearer. The ingredients of a kidnapping, or a heist, I imagine."
I didn't need to turn around to know that Hestia was watching me like a hawk. No doubt she'd ask me about it later. Or, if she was smart enough, she'd try the plausible deniability route and wash her hands off the matter.
"You have no idea," I promised. "But say, how do five hundred galleons sound like for the lot?"
"I told you," said Borgin, "the price does not change."
I smiled.
…
…
Around ten minutes later, I stood inside the shop, six hundred and fifty galleons lighter, but incredibly satisfied with my purchases. Borgin had even thrown a couple of mokeskin pouches with undetectable extension charms placed on them to store the purchases inside it. Technically, just the hilt would have been good enough. The others were simply a convenient distraction, painting me as an insurgent. I pulled out my wand and inserted it in the hilt. Also,I got myself an extensible pouch out of it. I mean, who doesn't want a TARDIS, right?
Keeping my inner giddiness to myself, I pointed the wand at Borgin. "I hope this hilt bloody works, or you're not gonna like it."
Borgin gave me a toothy smile. "I'm a dealer of dark artefacts, sir. Reputation's all I've got."
I gave him my most wizardly glower, which did nothing to wipe that sly smile on the man's face. Knowing him, he had made an absolute killing. But given what this hilt would get me, that six hundred and fifty galleons was going to look like pocket change.
Walking out of the shop, I turned to Hestia. "Where's next?"
"I'm famished," she exaggerated, holding her stomach. "How about we grab something to eat?"
The Leaky Cauldron was a pub in every sense of the word. When you walked in, you took several steps into a room with a deadly combination of low clearance and high crowds. The place was filled with pillars, making you take a circuitous route, especially if you're headed to a corner table. Thanks to Hestia's glamour earlier, I didn't have to worry about people gawking at me and destroying every shred of my privacy. Tom, the barman, sat on the counter, his friendly disposition never failing to attract customers. Behind him, in a room filled with wood and smoke, were several pairs of elves cooking on stoves. And you can damn well walk over to the bar to pick up your order when it's ready, according to Tom.
"Jones!" Tom greeted, when she followed me into the bar.
"Hey there, Tom," she hailed him. "Get us some steak sandwiches, will ya? I'm starving."
"Right att'ya!" said Tom, and a large tray appeared on the counter. Hestia grabbed it and walked towards the table I had chosen. The dim, comfortable room and the shadows aided the anonymity, not that we'd require one with a privacy ward in place.
"So there's this thing I've been meaning to ask," said Hestia, picking up a sandwich. "Just what were you and your girl up to that evening? I've never seen Tonks that hot and bothered. I'll bet my sweet arse she fingered herself to sleep."
"That was more Hermione than me. Honest."
She eyed me. "I wonder, you know. How does a sixteen-year-old satisfy someone like that? I've seen Chiara during her orgies. She keeps slamming deep and hard even after the fourth guy."
"I'm sure you'll find out soon."
"Of course, now that we're going to be working closely. And you have that enchanted limo, so we've some common tastes. Though it's usually women that enjoy something big and powerful between their legs."
I tried to hold back a laugh, but failed.
"Alright, that was a good one." I raised my bottle of coke to acknowledge her point.
She graciously accepted her victory.
"So…" I trailed off, "Miss Tonks said I could trust you. That you were great at your job and you'd be a real asset to me if I could learn to rely on you. Any idea what she meant?"
Hestia gave me a look. "Think 'about what we just did."
I nodded. "Point taken, but I doubt Miss Auror would've seen grabbing dark objects out of Knockturn Alley as an excellent trait."
She snorted. "I'll give you that one. Honestly, it could be something as simple as trying to encourage you to open up and trust me. That way I can learn how to support you more effectively, do my job more efficiently and help you out as much as possible." She frowned. "Did she really say that?"
I nodded, feeling a certain craving kick back in.
"Want a cigarette?"
I blinked at her.
"I caught you staring at the shop thrice now. Sometimes you instinctively reach into your breast pocket. The signs are all there."
Perceptive. "It's a recent habit."
"Must be. You're sixteen. Anyway, you've got to lean on me to get stuff done."
I arched an eyebrow.
"For advice only," she corrected, "unless you're drunk. Or exhausted from an orgy. In that case, feel free to lean. I might even forgive a few gropings along the way."
I rolled my eyes.
"Makes sense. I'm kinda new to this Lord thing. Can you tell me what to avoid?"
"Time Management is going to be a factor for you. There's only so many hours in a day, and you're gonna be busy, so don't accept any appointments. Refer them all to me."
I blinked. "I'm just a student."
"Not anymore," she said, and cheerfully patted my shoulder. "You'll get used to it. Also, you can ask me anything. Don't think it'll upset me, or if it's just stupid. Don't worry about asking twice either. You might forget things, so rely on me. That's what I'm for."
I grinned.
"What else? Be honest with me. If something annoys you, you let me know and I'll either agree, or we'll fight about it and I'll win."
"As simple as that?" I grinned.
"Hmm. Probably not, but we'll figure it out. Also, please don't lie to me. If you do that, it affects my job and there'll be consequences."
"Like what?" I ventured. "You'll punish me?"
She snorted. "If you're into that, sure. Remember, I live with a sex worker. I've got all the toys."
My grin slowly turned into a frown as her words came back to me. Don't lie. Tell the truth. Talk to me about anything. Trust in me. I wondered how much trust I could place in her. But Tonks' words stuck out to me. I was a Lord and a celebrity. Being associated with multiple women would mean endless courtroom drama. Unfortunately, it was also my ticket to Godhood.
"Hestia…" I said hesitantly.
"Yeah?" Her gaze lifted, turning into a frown as she saw my serious expression.
"There's something you'd need to know, but…"
"Harry, whatever you're gonna say is between you and me," she said firmly. "My secretary vow holds that up. And I already have a privacy ward in place."
I did a double take. Now that I noticed it, I wondered when she had done it. I couldn't help but feel I had made a good choice going through Tonks's suggestion.
"It's kinda fucked up." I admitted after a moment.
"Go ahead."
"You know I live with Hermione, and we're… intimate. But I've been with two other girls recently, and Hermione knows this, so that's not a problem."
"Okay," Hestia nodded. "Did you get anyone pregnant?"
"Uh, no."
"Any Auror infringement?"
I shook my head.
"Then I don't see why that'd be a problem. You're a student and it's natural to… shall we say, sample the goods around."
"I'm coming to that. The thing is, I still plan on being intimate with other girls and… possibly women."
Her face darkened slightly, but before she could run to the wrong conclusion, I quickly added. "There's a reason for this though."
"I'm listening."
I inwardly winced at her clipped tone. "Before the term ended, I had an accident involving Sirius Black and the dementors."
"Oh," Hestia said, "Yeah. I've heard. It was in the news."
It was? I looked at her, surprised. Honestly, I had half-expected the matter to be pushed under the rug.
"The Minister faced a lot of flak for it. Boy-Who-Lived nearly kissed by dementors. The press had a field day over it."
"Yeah, the thing is. I wasn't nearly kissed. I was kissed. For a moment, I — I died. Or at least, it felt like I did. When I woke up, I felt different. At first I thought I was suffering dementor exposure, so I shagged Romilda and Ginny. Admittedly, it felt good. Then Hermione happened, and I started living with her. But I've realised recently that it isn't just the exposure. My magic's changed. I've changed."
"Changed how?"
I hesitated for a moment. What I was about to do next would make or break things. I flicked my wand, bringing it out of my sleeve, which caused her to stiffen. I was inside her privacy ward, so the underage magic wouldn't register.
I pointed it upwards. "I swear on my magic that what I'm about to say is true to the best of my knowledge."
Hestia frowned. "There was no need for that."
I shook my head. "You need to know I'm telling you the truth. I figured this'll make it easier, considering it's gonna be hard to believe."
She laughed softly. "I bet it isn't harder than your claim to have been kissed and yet returned alive."
I met her eyes evenly. "Do you know what incubi are?"
Hestia's hand flew to her mouth. "No fucking way!"
I nodded, my expression frozen. "It's not that I want to have sex. I need to have sex. Not a tip, but a prescription. If I don't, I'll fall out of balance. Or worse, my soul might implode. I found out that the more sex I have, the more women I bed, the stronger I'll get. It is my path to power, and it is my insurance against my enemies."
"Okay," she said after a moment's thought. "Alright. I appreciate you trusting me with this, Harry." She shook her head as she thought about it, her eyes distant. "Talk about fucking bad luck."
"Tell me about it."
"And you're a celeb. Which means if you're casual about it, it'll hit your repo." She sighed and clasped her hands together. "Okay. How much do you know about public perception?"
I arched an eyebrow.
"I mean, about how others see you. How your perception of yourself differs from how others see you."
I shrugged. "Can't say I've given it much thought. You mean like an image, though?"
"Sort of. See, this is how it looks to others. Harry Potter is the Boy-Who-Lived. Born to the illustrious Potter family, which means old money. Every kid, mother and granny knows your name, and yet, you were away for twelve years, hidden in the muggle world. Then you come out, with a Weasley and a muggle born in tow, and show familiarity with Rubeus Hagrid. For an observer, that feels like Dumbledore's protégé coming out of the shadows, championing his cause. Your antagonism with the Junior Malfoy is well known, and that entrenches you firmly on Dumbledore's side of the line."
I frowned. Even for someone that knew the entire story inside out, getting into this meta-discussion felt… odd.
"Is that a bad thing?" I asked. "Being on his side?"
Hestia shrugged. "You're missing the point. Good and bad are relative. I'm talking about public perception. And now this summer, you suddenly change. You ride an enchanted vehicle. Rich, tall, dark hair, well-groomed, smartly dressed and single. You've got properties and more gold than you can waste in five lifetimes, so you can do pretty much whatever you want to, go wherever you want to, and anyone you want to take with you to have a good time."
"But I'm not like that."
"But it's how people will perceive you, though," she blurted. "Guys will be envious of you, women will be attracted to you, and chase you all over town. It's part of the package."
"You're talking about scandals," I said. "Some girl sleeps with me and gets my child and I end up paying thousands of galleons every year in alimony payments while she gets set for life?"
She shrugged. "It's the truth."
I scowled. I didn't have to like it, but it had a ring of truth in it. The Wizarding World might have been fiction, but it was all too real for me. And it had its dark sides. Suddenly Romilda's words made a unique sense to me. She was dating Finnegan, but in her own words, he wasn't Harry Potter.
"What do you suggest?"
"Ordinarily?" Hestia offered. "it'd be for you to be selective about the spotlight. We could arrange favourable media events that would fit in perfectly with the Boy-Who-Lived image. Maybe arrange for scholarships for muggleborns and needy students, or schedule a visit for patients at St. Mungo's, or contribute to the DMLE fund and follow up with a positive press statement. But given your incubi state, I doubt you'd be able to go through without getting into others' panties."
I clenched my fists, not liking the insinuation in her words.
"Don't take it personally, Harry," she advised. "Since you need to satiate your need for sex, I suggest you take the playboy route instead. It'd be a far cry from the protégé of the Leader of the Light image, but it'd go well with the public, especially if we can get a good word at Witch Weekly. Like it or not, you're Wizarding Britain's Number One Bachelor, and the moment this Black Lord Conditional news hits the town, every family with a female child will send you betrothal offers. Worse, there'll be those that'll even try for concubine status."
"Really?" I asked, sceptically.
"Of course. Getting to fuck the 'Harry Potter'. Living a comfortable life and being fucked raw, while staying away from the Lord-Lady politics. What's not to like?"
"You're not serious."
"Of course not, I'm Hestia."
I rolled my eyes.
"If you decide to date girls, both within and out of your age limit, it keeps the papers guessing. The public won't see what you're doing if they're too busy playing matchmaker. You'll probably find girls offering to sleep with you just to get your attention. Honestly, that's a far cry from what happened with Romilda and Ginevra Weasley. Both of them are objectively pretty, and yet, what? They threw themselves at you in less than two days?"
"Romilda…." I began, and then stilled, as something else hit me.
Could it… could it be?
"What?" she asked, biting into her sandwich.
"You said that I shagged those girls in two days."
She froze, her half-eaten sandwich in hand. "Yes?"
I pushed my wand out of its sleeve, ready to attack, just in case. "You told me I shagged them in two days."
"I did," she breathed.
"How did you know that?" I demanded. "We had school for over two weeks after that incident. There's no way you'd know of it unless…"
I gripped my wand.
A small smile formed on her face. And then she replied in a throaty and playful voice. "Perceptive. Seems like I owe her ten galleons."
"Whom?"
I pointed my wand at her.
"Quick on the draw too," she murmured. She slowly put the sandwich down on the plate and made absolutely no attempt to raise her wand. Not that I was going to be fooled. The woman had proved herself to be quite uncanny and perceptive during the entire day. It made me wonder if all of this was just an elaborate facade.
"Who are you, and what do you want?"
She laughed, musically. "Oh Harry, I am indeed Hestia Jones. Junior attorney and former secretary to Barty Crouch. Member of the Order of the Phoenix, and as of now, your official handler and operative."
"..."
"Come now," she lifted her brows in a faint smile, hands deceptively folded in her lap. "Surely you didn't think Albus Dumbledore would just leave the Boy-Who-Lived to gallivant around without precautions, did you?"
Chapter 17: Name of the Game
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 1 -OUTLANDER
The bottom fell out of my stomach.
I knew Hestia Jones was a covert operative of the Order of the Phoenix. Motherfucker, even JKR made that point clear, given how she was part of the Advance Guard during Harry's fifth year, and was skilled enough to survive the second wizarding war. But I had assumed that she had joined it after Voldemort's return at the end of the fourth year. But if she was already a part of them…
I swallowed a mouthful of fear, my eyes on the poisonous lovely woman sitting on the other side of the table. Being cornered like this made me afraid, and I hated being afraid. I hate it more than anything else in the world. But fear or anger wouldn't work here. My instincts screamed at me to go for the wand and give it my best shot, but I restrained them. Instead, I took a deep breath and tried to get my heart rate under control.
"I see," I said at last, "this has been a setup, hasn't it?"
"Whatever do you mean, Harry?"
"Don't play coy with me." My voice came out unsteady, more quiet than I'd have liked. "First Nymphadora Tonks visits me in an open-and-shut case. Out of all potential candidates, the DMLE sends a metamorph to get the job done. She talks to me, feigns to be on my side, and witnesses my interaction with Hermione."
"Mmmhmm," she nodded smugly.
"She gets to know of my interest in her, my position as Lord Conditional, and conveniently drops a name for a secretary. Someone with the skills to get the job done, the experience to attract my interest and an antagonistic backstory with the Malfoys, enough to trigger my bias."
"Mmmhmm," she purred in acknowledgement, looking mildly impressed.
"And then you come in, all cute and crass. You jump in right with the limo backstory, and fit in Tonks's description to the letter, fitting the stereotype of the cute, genial workaholic. You place yourself in a neutral position as far as Dumbledore is concerned, despite being a half-blood and suffering from the Ministry's bias."
"Mmmhmm."
I scratched my chin. "It fits perfectly. Professor Dumbledore allowed me to jump ship from the Dursleys to my new house. He didn't even try to convince me otherwise. Originally, I thought it was because of…." I caught myself midway before I could divulge anything dangerous, "but no. He's too smart. Tonks— there was never any case, was it? Or even if it was, Dumbledore could have just handled it himself. No, he sent Tonks to get an idea of what I was up to."
I facepalmed and laughed at my stupidity. "I offered Tonks a place to live. But I'd shown too much sexual interest, so she brought in someone else. Another member of the Order that could guard me and maintain the facade of working as my secretary. You even took me to Borgin yourself. Not only would that make me trust you, and depend on you, it'd keep you in the know about what dark objects I purchased and why."
"Mmmhmm," this one came out sensually, and she shifted slightly, smiling widely at me. If I didn't know better, I'd say she looked aroused.
I stared at her and clapped my hands.
"Thank you," she said, giving me a little bow, pleased at my acknowledgement of her scheme.
"Nymphadora Tonks, Hestia Jones. Both members of Albus Dumbledore's Order of the Phoenix. Yes, this fits perfectly." I shook my head in awe. "It was like you said. It's all about perception. I've been something else over the past few years, and now I'm different. This hasn't been about hiring you at all, has it? It's been a ploy to find out if I'm really me."
"I still am under the Secretary Vow, and I do really need the job. I'm even willing to go through a… heated negotiation."
"And now that you've confirmed I'm me, you're offering to be my secretary and keep my secrets, even in the light of my Incubi nature." I laughed. "I'm not sure if you're a double imposter or a triple imposter! Like, is there anything real about you?"
"I've no idea what're you talking about, Mr. Potter," she tilted her head, watching me with that same smile. "I assure you, I am Hestia Jones, and I served under Crouch."
"What does Professor Dumbledore want? I thought I could live my life the way I want it."
"The way you want it already has gotten you living in close quarters with a werewolf girl, taking an over-enthusiastic indulgence in your fortune and giving your money away like cotton candy. I won't even get started on the dark objects you purchased. Now I know the vow keeps me from informing those very things to Dumbledore, and honestly, I'd rather not."
"Then why are you doing this?" I asked. "Tell me the truth. No tricks."
Silence lay between us for a moment.
"... because you do not realise your actual worth," she said at last. "You do not fathom what danger you are in. The unique position you hold in the hearts of the anti-Voldemort movement." She leaned forward, her decollete bordering on the edge of modesty. "I'm serious, Harry Potter. I wish to work for you, no matter what vows you might decide to put me through. Honestly, knowing you're this perceptive makes it easier for me. Now that we know each other, it becomes easy to protect you."
"I don't need a protector."
"No, you need a secretary. And someone with access to information, and teach you things without the Ministry knowing about it. Finally, you need someone to satiate the incubi in you."
Ah. I had all but forgotten about that bit. My little way with words and that well-timed oath. Hestia was now absolutely certain that I was Harry Potter, and I had developed incubus powers. And like any other fanatic dedicated to her goal, she was ready to do anything, even if it meant sleeping with me.
Hestia met my gaze. "Yes. I'm offering. If you'll have me."
"Why?"
Hestia looked impatient. "Why else? I live with a sex worker, remember? I'm getting the chance to bed the Boy-Who-Lived and someone that can satisfy a werewolf. "
Her arousal was practically rolling off her in waves. I wasn't sure if this was because of the Perk or something else, but I'd be a fool to not take advantage of it.
"My apartment's only some hundred yards away, and it's getting late too."
I scrutinised her face for a possible lie, but found none. Besides, I told myself. If she really wanted to fuck me sideways, she had ample opportunity to do so.
"No."
Her expression cracked. "Why?"
"Because," I stood up, beaming, "My limo is parked on the other side of the street, and there's plenty of room in the back."
"Suck my balls."
I was sitting in the back of my limo, hands stretched out across the seat, oscillating between finding out that she was a covert operative studying me, and the feel of my balls oscillating in her mouth.
I had to give her quite a bit of credit for this. Hermione gave fantastic blowjobs for someone with so little experience, but Hestia, she was an absolute pro, sucking my cock with so much effortless grace. Her mouth twisted and her hands glided up and down my cock smoothly, and she took me down her throat with greater ease than anyone ever had.
"Fuck! That's good!" I moaned. "You're incredible."
Hestia stopped sucking, and after a few moments of her just sitting there and looking at me with my cock in her mouth, she pulled back off with a pop, and peered up at me. "Do you like what I'm doing, Daddy?"
Her juvenile, childlike cadence made my cock throb faster.
"Very," I told her. "You look so fucking sexy with my cock in your mouth."
She flashed her long, dark eyelashes at me. "Thank you, Daddy. It's my job to make you feel good."
Don't even get me started with the 'Daddy' shit. That was all her. And believe me, she was a machine, continuing to suck uninterrupted no matter how long it took to force an orgasm out of me. She got her hands in on the act, stroking my cock in a double-fisted grip while continuing to bob her head on me, and her sucking and slurping got louder, with saliva running down her chin.
"You gonna deepthroat me?"
She planted kisses along the length of my cock. "Is that what Daddy wants?"
"You know it's what Daddy wants."
"Well, maybe Daddy should take what he wants then," she grinned.
I pushed myself forward, clamped onto the sides of her head with my hands, and pulled her head towards my crotch. Hestia relaxed herself and allowed my firm hold to force my cock into her throat. It was one effortless slide of fullness. Her lips met my groin, her nose pressed against my pelvic bone, and she submissively took all of me—just like a good girl should.
Her pulsating throat hummed on my cock, turning my legs to jelly. I had to admit, there was nothing that stroked a man's ego better than the way she was deferring to me. I wasn't a dominant asshole that needed a woman to look up to him. Hestia was talented, charismatic, and a hell of a lot smarter than probably even myself, but she was a woman that enjoyed being submissive, sexually. She got off on it.
Smirking, I dropped my right hand from her head and found my balls. Lifting them up, I watched her tongue struggle to slide out of her mouth. Slowly but surely, it worked its way to my testicles, where she licked my nuts while my cock remained lodged down her throat.
This was heaven. This was Zen. Whatever this actually was, nothing could be better than this moment. Naturally, I decided to be an arsehole. I dropped my balls and instead moved to her nose, where my thumb and index finger wasted no time pinching it shut.
Hestia instantly gagged.
Her head attempted to recoil, but I held it in place. Her gentle brown eyes blinked repeatedly as a tear trickled from the corner of her right eye and ran down her cheek.
I didn't relax my hold.
She gagged again, and a thick wad of spit exploded from her mouth and collected on her chin. I could feel her saliva drip down my bare thighs but refused to ease up. Instead, I pulled her even closer.
Dominance met submission. A guy who liked to be in control had a girl who lived for being owned in his grasp. We were exploring new boundaries together.
More and more saliva poured from her mouth before I finally released my grip. She immediately lunged backward, allowing her oxygen deprived lungs a chance to collect the air that she so desperately needed.
I glanced down at my thighs, which were covered in her slobber. When she turned back to look at me, the front of her light pink t-shirt possessed a healthy mess of drool. That was rough, messy, and exactly the way I liked it. Hestia didn't seem so pleased, however.
"Arse!"
I couldn't help but grin. "You loved it."
Hestia didn't deny that. "That was my favourite shirt."
"I'll buy you another one. Or I'll even let you pick out a new one and buy it for you."
An eager look instantly replaced her annoyed expression. "If I let you do it again, will you buy me a new skirt to go along with it?"
I rolled my eyes. This was a new side of Hestia Jones I had discovered. She was a materialistic bitch. Hell, she had outright told me she'd be my whore in bed, ready to do anything I fancied, as long as he indulged her shopaholic tendencies and paid her the discussed salary. And why wouldn't I? After all, I had budgeted up to two hundred and fifty galleons per month for Secretary pay. And that was without knowing the real Hestia Jones.
"Well?"
"No," I said. "I'm paying you enough as is, and besides, you loved choking on my cock. Didn't you?"
She glanced sheepishly off to the side. "Maybe..."
"Who's my little slut?"
She bit her lower lip. "I am."
"Louder."
"I'm your little slut!" she shouted at my face. "I'm your little whore! Make me your bitch!" She grasped my thighs. "More. Choke me."
I cocked my head and observed her. Unlike Hermione, Hestia was a complete and utter slut. She craved it, and if I wanted to keep her, I had to give her what she wanted.
"Stick out your tongue!" I commanded. She did so without complaint, and I lightly slapped my cock against her outstretched tongue a few times on a whim.
"Now open your mouth wide for me."
Hestia parted her lips and allowed me to stuff my cock into her mouth again. I wasn't sure how long we were at this. The tinted glass of the limo had kept me insulated from the world outside, and I had been far too invested in shoving my dick into her pretty mouth to bother casting a Tempus charm. So far, she had deep-throated me and licked my balls, but now I wanted to fuck her face.
And fuck I did. I shoved my cock into her mouth and kept shoving it, not caring about whether she was comfortable taking a mouthful. I rocked my hips back and forth to maintain a steady in and out of stuffing her mouth as she struggled to keep up with it. There was still plenty of force and speed, plenty of sharp thrusts I could put at considerable speed, but I didn't leave it at that and fall into a simple routine.
This woman craved submission, craved to be dominated. To be used as a cum-bucket, my cock-sucking whore, and wanted it badly. Not just that, she was a hypercompetitive creature that kept sloshing her mouth against my cock, drooling all the way. And so I did.
I shoved my cock as deep as I could get inside of her and just held it there, forcing my shaft down her throat and making her gag on it. With my left hand, I pinched her nose, watching her eyes fill with tears, desperately trying to hold on as I cut her airway. Five seconds turned to ten.
Ten turned to twenty.
Twenty turned to — Damn, this woman was something else.
She responded by balling her fists on my thigh to protest against any intention of tapping. My nerves kicked into high gear as I watched her captivating brown eyes fade. The clumps of spit which previously escaped from the sides of her mouth were now joined by a steady stream of saliva. She drooled like some kind of ravenous animal. I almost eased my hand over her head, but then thought better and clamped back down. Wave after wave of vibrating bliss washed over every inch of my cock. The pulsations grew stronger as she clung to consciousness. The manner her little button nose pressed against my pelvic bone represented something much stronger than pleasure. It represented trust.
And then, finally, she finally tapped my thigh.
I instantly released my grip from her head and reached out to hold her upright. She panted for breath wildly, her distant, faded brown eyes gradually returning to colour. Every passing second resulted in more vivid animation appearing on her pretty face. Moments later, my secretary was back, her saliva and drool dripping and coating her lips, trailing across her cheek and all the way to her neck.
And then the Screen pinged.
You have gained a World Anchor
Hestia Jones — 32% World Anchorage
Current World Anchor Analysis
World Anchor — 199
Required World Anchor - 15
Meta-Luck — 22.2
Finally, I thought. Yes. I was making quick progress, though the 32% felt a little low, especially in the light of my findings. I suppose there was a difference between being loyal to the Boy-Who-Lived's cause and being loyal to the Boy-Who-Lived himself.
"Oh...my...God..." she exclaimed.
I cocked my head and looked down at her. "Now you look like a proper whore."
I snorted as more screens flashed in front of my eyes.
Gained Affinities from World Anchor — Hestia Jones
Martial Magic +5%
Spatial Magic +4%
Perk Accumulation Unavailable without +50% World Anchorage
"I deep-throated you for so long!" she told me excitedly. "Like a good girl!"
"Which is great," I snorted. "Now come on, let's get started. I need you to do a job for me."
"Did you say you wanted a handjob?" she asked coyly.
"No-"
"Blowjob?"
"No-"
"Titjob?"
"No-" Though I couldn't stop thinking about any of them now.
Hestia grinned as she snuggled up to me again. "Well, when you do, you can put me to work. You've got a lot of fucking to do, Sir."
"Mmhmm." I pushed her off. "I can see why Tonks thought you'd fit right in. But I'll warn you right now. No messing at my apartment until I clear things up with Hermione."
"Oh?" she said. She dragged her tits against me as she slid up to my face. "Does that mean you're going to punish me if I do?"
I snorted.
Notes:
If you want to support me, find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Chapter 18: Love
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 1 -OUTLANDER
It was late into the night, when I passed through the wards of my building, clenching Hestia's hands tightly in mine. She was a witch, and that meant the wards outside would scorch her to death if she tried to enter without my permission. I knocked on the door, and Hermione opened it.
"Look who's back!" I said.
"Who's she?" asked Hermione, completely ignoring me. Her eyes were calm and focussed past me, on Hestia. She gave her the female once-over, a process by which one woman creates a detailed profile of another woman based upon a million subtle details of clothing, jewellery, makeup and body type, and then decides how much of a social threat she might be. Men have a parallel process, but it's binary: Does he have beer? If yes, will he share it with me?
"You didn't have any problems, did you?" Hermione asked, grabbing my neck and running her tongue into my mouth. I felt like a pine tree in cougar country. I'd just have to hope territorial scoring of my bark wasn't next.
"Uh, this is—" I began, meeting her eyes and…
I froze.
Hermione had gone still. She stood ramrod straight, and stopped moving entirely, her eyes focussed on me and nothing else. From my experience, when a person went still, it could show they were about to flee, or that they were about to fight, or a dozen different reactions. Hermione wasn't known for her tendency for immediate action, unlike say, Ginny Weasley. And yet she was studying me in absolute stillness, and I had no idea what was going on in her mind. The only thing I knew is that she had smelled Hestia on me, and was reacting to it.
It unnerved me. Set me on edge. Made me cautious.
And then something absolutely horrifying happened. Something that would haunt me for days on to come.
World Anchor through Hermione Granger has degenerated to 33%
Current World Anchor Analysis
World Anchor — 177
Required World Anchor - 15
Meta-Luck — 22.2
I went absolutely still. World Anchors! I had absolutely forgotten about that bit. Increasing my emotional bonds with my anchors raised their net value, but the reverse was also true. And now I was facing the issue with my greatest World Anchor in this universe.
World Anchor through Hermione Granger is less than 50%
Perk – LIBRARIAN OF KNOWLEDGE rendered inactive.
You have 24 hours to revert it to Active state or lose it forever.
Fuck! Fuck! Fuckety fucking fuck! A spike of raw panic jolted through me. I hadn't expected this, and was utterly unprepared for it. Based on Hermione's newfound tendencies in the bedroom and her reaction to Tonks, I had expected her to behave a little differently. But maybe, just maybe, she had been teasing the metamorph because I had called her to sit on my lap while Tonks was present? I had presented her, almost like a winner showing off his trophy to others, and Hermione revelled in that. But with me bringing Hestia, a complete stranger, into the house and more importantly, being intimate with her, probably broke the faith she had in me. No, it was more like she lost the faith she had in herself, and my being her bedrock in this cruel world.
I had twenty hours to deal with the fallout. And if I didn't, I'd lose the perk.
Damnit! Dammit!
"Hermione–"
"Why?"
It was not a question. It was a demand.
"Why what?" I cocked my head.
"Why?" she simply repeated.
I had to admit; it was an effective strategy. Had she demanded a specific answer, I'd have tried to find a way around the questions. But no, she was demanding an explanation without providing what explanation she wanted. It was up to me to decide what to say, and she'd judge me based on my response.
Okay. Be calm. I told myself. Hermione isn't Ginny Weasley. She won't explode. You dealt with Ginny, you can deal with her. All you need to do is fight her using her own weapons.
"Why do you think?" I shot back, and her eyes narrowed. She had defined the contest, but I had changed the stakes. Instead of giving her a direct reply, I was challenging her to figure things out for herself. If she knew me, she'd know why I did what she was accusing me of doing. Instead of trying to defend myself, I was making her reason I would act the way I did.
"I thought, I thought you loved me."
"I do."
It wasn't a lie. Well, not completely anyway. Hermione was warm, funny, very smart and had a great body. Between that and her heightened libido, she was everything a man needed to be happy in life. That the true Harry Potter also held deep feelings for her helped. Maybe in another world, where I didn't have to constantly gain world anchors, I'd have been satisfied with just her.
But this wasn't any of those worlds. I wanted power. I wanted to become the greatest wizard on the planet. I wanted to be God. And in a very twisted way, I also wanted Hermione to be on my side.
"Then why?"
I braced myself for one of the most important negotiations I had had since coming to this world. Internally, my mind raced. What could I say without telling her the truth? What could I convince her with that would make her trust me like before? What would be necessary to keep my world anchor from falling down even further?
"Because sometimes, love is not enough."
Despite herself, Hermione drew back in mild offence at my statement. Which was good, because any reaction meant I had surprised her.
The best thing right now was simply the truth. Or whatever version of truth I could give her.
"Do you remember the paths that witches and wizards take? The ones you told me about?"
Her eyes twitched slightly.
I turned towards Hestia. "Everything that happens in this House falls under the Vow."
Hestia nodded.
I felt giddy on the inside. With Hestia being an Order member and a witness to my oath, I could use her to convince Hermione about the incubi business. I wasn't sure whether to call it my luck or my quick thinking, but that tiny thing was going to save my skin tonight.
I just knew it.
I turned back to Hermione. "Ever since the dementor experience, something has changed about me. Having sex is invigorating, but it's not all that it does. The more women I'm intimate with, the more sex I have with them, the stronger my magic becomes." I never once broke my gaze as I went on. "Not just stronger, but certain things that were difficult for me before are now easier."
"The path of Incubi," she said darkly.
"Yes."
"You are an incubus."
"Well, not sure if I am, but that's what it feels like."
"And you expect me to believe that?"
"Yes."
She narrowed her eyes. "Why?"
"Because he's speaking the truth," Hestia interrupted. "He swore an oath to me."
"Nobody asked you!" Hermione snapped at her. "You're out of a job and he's your employer, and you've already spread your legs for him. So forgive me if I don't take that at face value."
"Fine!" I said, and flicked my wand out. "I swear on my magic that what I've told you about me improving at magic through sex is true to the best of my knowledge."
"HARRY—" Hermione began, scandalised. "You didn't have to do that."
"You didn't believe me," I retorted. "I had no choice. And for the record," I flicked my wand again. "Lumos."
The wand tip let out a small, ethereal glow.
Hermione stared at the glowing tip with an inscrutable expression for a long moment, before she exhaled, and looked down. "I see."
"Sex is a powerful metaphysical force, Hermione," I said. "It's an act that creates life, a new soul. During it, the partners leave a mark on each other. The effect is magnified if the partners truly love each other."
"Right, which is why you'd bed every pussy that walks by your street." She said, her voice filled with hurt. "Like you fucked her, swooping down like a vulture and taking advantage of her lack of a job."
"Hardly," I snorted, throwing a cursory glance at Hestia, who smirked. "I didn't take advantage of her. Everything we had was consensual."
"Yeah," she sneered, "because you're the nicest sexual predator out there. Having sex for power."
I took it as encouraging that she was throwing barbs at me. It meant she was coming out of her cool readiness and slipping into natural meant she was relaxing.
"Emotions matter, Hermione. If I cannot develop feelings for someone, and have the same person look at me the same way, then the sex is just that… sex." I saw Hestia suddenly stiffen and took careful note of that. "Nothing comes out of it."
"Right." She rolled her eyes.
I pressed further. "Dumbledore said that it was my mother's love that allowed me to kill Quirrell back in our first year. That it was also love that allowed me to survive when Voldemort tried to kill me as a baby. It is the same magic that repels dementors and gives a patronus form."
As I spoke those words, I realised that somewhere between the philosophical bullshit I was spewing, my words had made a surprising amount of sense. Especially where I thought I was headed in my explanation.
I raised my wand and whispered.
"Expecto Patronum!"
A gale of burning silver exploded out of my wand. The energy twisted and churned before coalescing into the familiar quadruped I had manifested before. With its two majestic wings flapping on either side, my hippogriff patronus looked up and down at Hermione and let out a brief snort.
"Buckbeak…" she whispered, almost reverentially, raising her hands to softly touch the creature. The patronus let out a soft screech and bowed its head, allowing her to pet it.
"In a different world," I continued, "had things gone differently, Buckbeak wouldn't have died. Maybe we'd have saved him. Maybe… Sirius would have been alive. If only I had saved you from being attacked by Lupin."
Had this been canon, then the hippogriff would have symbolised the connection between Harry and Hermione, the display of utter trust in each other, and the sacrifice either had been willing to make for the other. But fate had altered it, and in this universe, Buckbeak the hippogriff had been butchered by Walden McNair, because neither of them had time-travelled back to save it.
And yet somehow, the same bonds that would have existed between Harry Potter and Hermione Granger were manifesting through this patronus, even though Harry Potter had died and was replaced by an imposter. So… why?
What was this magic?
And then something equally surprising happened.
Like a cat swooping down on a mouse, Hermione rushed at him, smashing the wooden chair that stood next to her with a casual flick of her hand. She grabbed my shirt with one hand, while the other gripped my neck from behind, and mounted me, the impact knocking me back until my back touched the wall.
Her mouth found mine. I was as eager as she was.
I didn't know if this was the wolf's instincts in her or something else, but I had the sensation that Hermione wanted me. To own me, to feed on me, and mark me as her own, and most importantly, to possess me in a way that no one else would ever be able to. My hands found her sweet arse, her skirt having pushed up past the point of decency. She was aroused, painfully aroused, and I was pretty sure her nipples could be a murder weapon right now. I met her eyes, and found the usual brown replaced by a bright, shining silver. For a moment, I feared she was about to change.
World Anchor through Hermione Granger is raised to 65%
Perk – LIBRARIAN OF KNOWLEDGE reactivated.
World Anchor — 209
Required World Anchor - 15
Meta-Luck — 23.2
Or not.
This was good news. I had survived the mess, and that too, without a pinch of meta-luck. I looked at Hermione, and found her silvery eyes slowly reforming into the usual brown ones, as she slowly disengaged from me. And then a sudden whistle from Hestia broke my attention.
"That…" Hestia gushed, "was so hot!"
Hermione blushed. "I–Sorry about those words earlier. I was just–"
"Water under the bridge, mate," Hestia grinned. "My roommate is a werewolf, so I know all about extreme reactions."
That perked Hermione up.
"Anyway, Hi!" Hestia chirped. "Hestia Jones. And this is my new Boss, Harry Potter. Clearly you've met him."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "You're the woman that Auror mentioned."
She looked back at me. "Can she be trusted?"
Good question. I wasn't sure how much I trusted her, but Hestia was a member of the Order of the Phoenix, and damned intelligent to boot.
"Secretary Vow," I said. As long as I didn't specify it otherwise, almost every bit of information she learnt from me, or for me, could be classified under it. It was practically an unbreakable vow in every sense of the term.
"So, you're the newest werewolf," Hestia commented just as bluntly. "What's it like?"
Hermione shrugged, averting her eyes, frowning slightly, drifting out of my personal space. "A lot of reading, heightened sexual needs, and occasional flashes of pure terror."
"Biting?"
"Not unless he wants me to," Hermione shot back.
"Ooh, kinky!"
She looked from Hestia to me and seemed to come to some sort of conclusion. "Is she going to live here from now on? Can she be... you know?"
"Yes," I said, "And it won't matter. Discretion is part of her job."
If Hestia wasn't willing to disclose her position as an Order member, I'd respect it. Besides, it would make things easier in the long run.
"She isn't referring to discretion in our working relationship, boss. She's talking about you and me getting into each other's pants."
"Merlin's balls!" I muttered. "Above the belt, please."
"But there's so much fun to be had below!" She teased. "Besides, I have no desire to separate you from her. I could be between you and her. Or you could be. Or she could be. I'm quite flexible."
Hermione twitched. "My… err… inclinations lie in another direction."
"And I know how to work around such inclinations," Hestia replied easily. "I assure you, you'd find none of your sensibilities offended, only your passion enhanced. Trust me, I speak from experience."
I sighed, totally aware of the blush on Hermione's cheeks that had now descended to cover most of her neck. It was a saving grace that she had brown hair or else she'd be imitating a tomato at any moment. I met Hestia's eyes, and she grinned slyly before winking at me.
"Honestly, Hermione," I admitted, "I thought I was going to lose you. I swear when you went all cold on me, I panicked."
"Silly Harry, did you really think I'd just walk away?"
"Uh… yea?"
"Me too," Hestia chimed. "You looked ready to hex him six ways to Sunday, and then leave through the front door. I know how territorial werewolves can be."
Hermione frowned. "You don't know me, and you certainly don't know my relationship with Harry." She pushed herself into me, as if trying to become one with me. Her hands went over my shoulders and pulled me into a snog.
Then she turned around and faced Hestia, pulling my hands around her. I sucked at her delicious neck, and Hermione let me, instead choosing to devote her entire attention to Hestia. "You've no idea what it was like for me in my first year. I had spent twelve years in the muggle world, trying to fit in, and fail. I had no friends, and no one, not even my parents, could relate to me. All I had were my books. I thought things would change when I found out I was a witch. But it didn't. That night, on Halloween, back in our first year, I was… I was this close to committing suicide. Two worlds had rejected me, left me alone in that girl's toilet, friendless, loveless and forgotten. When that mountain troll stood over me, there was a moment when I thought… what would it be to just die?"
"Hermione—" I reacted, her words shocking the hell out of me. JKR had mentioned nothing like this. The more I came to understand this world, the more I was wondering if the books were a watered-down version of the original.
"No Harry," she said, "let me say. It's been in my heart for so long. Let me get it out."
"Hermione, I had never—"
She snorted. "Why would you? You were a thirteen-year-old boy. But you did something no adult, muggle or magical, did for me. You stood and faced that troll. You jumped on its head and nearly died in your stupid attempt to save my life."
I snorted. "If not for Ron—"
"I was there because of Ronald Weasley," Hermione sniffed. "I don't recognize it as a debt."
"I wasn't," I began, but Hermione beat me to it.
"That night, that night when I lay on my bed, I was… I was stunned. I had gained a friend, someone who had been on my side. So I swore to myself. Swore that I'd be on your side, no matter what it took. There'd be nothing I wouldn't do for you. Whether you loved me, were angry with me, or hated me for it, I'd do it."
My mind was reeling as images bombarded my head. Hermione, searching for information in the library about the basilisk, writing 'pipes' on the page, and looking around corners with a mirror. The fourteen-year-old girl hadn't been caught off-guard. No, she knew what could happen, and had still done it, at the risk of her own life. Just in a blind hope that I'd find her, see the paper and put everything together. This was the same girl that had gone behind Harry's — behind my back, and told McGonagall about the Firebolt, knowing it would damage our friendship. This was the same girl that had gotten slashed by a werewolf and was perfectly happy about it, knowing that I was safe.
I wasn't sure what I was feeling for her. But whatever it was, it was the closest I had come to respecting someone in this world. If nothing else, her devotion demanded my respect.
"This is blowing my mind," said Hestia. "You swore a magical vow to devote yourself to him? At thirteen?"
Hermione looked at her, confused. "Was that what it was? I just promised myself, and I fully intended to keep it. Harry was the most important person in the world to me, and he'd always remain. There were no ifs, no buts about it."
"Yep," Hestia exhaled. "Magical vow alright." She looked at me. "It's like she's cast an Imperius on herself. And her own magic's reinforcing it. For a fourteen-year-old to do that subconsciously…."
She trailed off.
"You," I croaked, "you never told me anything. I thought you liked Ron."
Hermione nodded. "I tried to get your attention, but you didn't look at me like… like I was a girl. You needed a friend, so I tried to be just that. Help you with your classes, and with your dangerous adventures. I made my peace long ago, and I was willing, will be anything you want me to be, Harry. I knew you weren't physically interested in me, and infatuated with Cho. Ron... he was interested in me, but that had nothing to do with this. I'd have willingly left him the moment you asked me to."
"I'd never—"
"I know, Harry," she said, "but it's my decision. Not yours. You're not forcing me to choose. I have already chosen. After I became a werewolf, and the dementor exposure changed you, you started getting physically interested in me. I was... exhilarated. I cannot think of anything that pleases me more than jumping on your cock and having your cum course through me. I was… delirious. I was ready for you, Harry, always, mind, body and soul. All you had to do was ask for it."
I couldn't stop myself. I undid my pants, spun Hermione over, pulled off her shorts, and pushed myself into her.
"Yesss!" she hissed.
"Hermione Granger," I said, my eyes locked on hers. "I don't care if you're a werewolf. I don't care if I've to sleep with others to satiate my incubus nature. Understand this, there will be no one, like you, in my life."
A single tear trickled down Hermione's eyes, and she sank down fully upon my shaft.
"Yes," she said, her voice fractured into sobs. "I'm yours, Harry. Finally, I feel complete."
World Anchor—Hermione Granger has gone up to 100%
World Anchor Sealed!
+10 Meta-Luck Points Added as Bonus!
Current World Anchor Analysis
World Anchor — 244
Required World Anchor - 15
Meta-Luck — 36.7
Gained Affinities from World Anchor — Hermione Granger
Charms +11%
Transfiguration +9%
Alchemy +6%
Magical Analytics +15%
At 100% World Anchorage, you've gained a Perk!
My mind was reeling. World Anchor at a hundred percent? Anchors denoted the emotional bond between me and the girls he was sleeping with. Hermione had always been acting under her self-cast magical oath, but perhaps articulating it out loud, and accepting it truly had made it more… real? It was difficult to say. But whatever it was, it had certainly given me a massive boost.
Show me the perk.
PERK — NATURAL DEMON
Hermione's furry little problem grants her greatly improved physical characteristics with the small caveat of turning into an uncontrollable monster once a month.
EFFECTS
Passive increase in strength, speed, and reflexes. Upon activation, the User becomes on par with a fully grown werewolf under the full moon, without being affected by lycanthropy.
That was… something. Witches and wizards weren't that up and up with physical enhancement. They were completely content with being squishy, so long as they got to unleash magic and twist physics and reality by a flick of their favourite twig. The only thing remotely close to physical enhancement were Reem blood potions and even those were outdated. After all, what was the use of physical strength when a levitation charm could do all the heavy lifting for you? What was the point of having speed when you could cast an impediment jinx to slow down your opponent?
But for someone like me? It could be an outstanding ace. Especially when combined with my other facilities. Most importantly, it would go a long way in improving my duelling reflexes and reaction time.
Yes. Yes, I could see it. I was going to become a God. And soon, no one could stop me. And I'd do it, with Hermione at my side.
Notes:
If you want to support me, find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Chapter 19: Dark Mirror
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 1 - OUTLANDER
You have gained a World Anchor
Tracey Davis — 9% World Anchorage
Current World Anchor Analysis
World Anchor — 253
Required World Anchor - 15
Meta-Luck — 37.6
"Tracey, I'm cumming!"
I didn't want to surprise her with a mouthful of spunk, but the pretty chestnut-haired girl just bore down harder as I began to cum. She greedily sucked my cock with obvious relish while rubbing her pussy over her panties. Some of it leaked past her chin and onto her ample bosom, but she looked deliriously happy to wipe up the remains with her fingers and lick it off with obvious enjoyment. I really hoped it was true, and Tracey wasn't making a show just to please me.
It reminded me of Hermione. During our first week together, Hermione realised how much I loved cumming on her breasts, so she just let me do it. I had felt guilty about getting off while she kept getting sticky out of it. The brunette had laughed when he had mentioned it, saying that it was very erotic to watch me cumming, knowing it was because of her breasts. She said that the look of lust in my eyes made her tingle and she'd then finger herself in the shower every night before bed, thinking about it.
I looked Tracey in the eye and found her satisfied eyes looking back. There was a look of lust in them that assured me she, too, was getting something out of it.
I let out a gleeful chuckle. "Really, whoever said money can't buy happiness didn't know where to shop."
She laughed. "I'm happy you're this satisfied."
"After this level of customer service, I'll have to keep coming back over and over," I said.
I was at Twilfitt and Tattings, one of the more prominent wizard shops in Diagon Alley that served the elitist factions of the society. Most of the muggleborns and half bloods preferred Madam Malkins, which was why it stayed busy throughout the year, but this one offered a more personal touch.
But I wasn't here for a wardrobe. I was here for a pair of glasses with wayfarer frames, which looked way better than these round glasses that Petunia Dursley had stuck Harry with. And Outlander or not, being Harry Potter meant dealing with this ruddy poor eyesight and I would be damned before I let it become responsible for my death simply because some sod summoned my glasses during a battle. And no, there really isn't a spell to magically fix eyesight. Trust me, I've asked around.
Turns out Twilfitt and Tattings also offered optometric services, with custom-designed, enchanted eyewear, for those that had the gold to pay for it. I had already opted for one with anti-summoning charms and impervious to water and fog, as well as auto-change their colour in response to the degree of light outside. There was also a zooming function, much like Mad-Eye's in the movies, that allowed zooming up to three hundred feet with ease. The optometrist had wondered why I was going for something that sophisticated, but the sound of thirty galleons silenced him immediately, leaving me alone in the lounge, with the attendants ordered to service me. It turned out to be a massive surprise when the service included a blowjob from the Slytherin girl from my year.
"I'll let Mr. Hayden know I impressed you."
"Of course I am," I said. "What's not to like?"
I wasn't joking. Hermione gave outstanding blowjobs, but there was something to be said about a witch that went for your balls first. I had offered to return the favour, but she had denied, citing the rules around the workplace.
Irony, yes? It blows the mind.
I looked around at the closed door, halfway expecting someone to be irately banging on it, demanding to know what was going on.
"You should really stop worrying, Harry," Tracey said. "services are customary for our… more appropriate customers. Mr. Hayden would be most annoyed if the Boy-Who-Lived left his shop in anything else but a good mood."
"And… you just did what he asked you to do?"
"Oh no," she chirped, "I volunteered. You've got to be crazy to lose an opportunity to get up close with Harry Potter?"
Yeah, I wasn't sure what was crazier. That I was sitting there, getting a blowjob as part of customer service, or that the shop owner would be annoyed if I didn't get it. Seriously, why did Rowling never include this shit? It would have made a much better read than taking seven years to Expelliarmus Voldemort.
"Not that I'm complaining, but you're a Slytherin. I thought…"
"That I'd go Malfoy on you?" She asked. "Life in Slytherin House differs from what you think. And I'm a half-blood. That's doubly bad for me. Being Greengrass's lackey helps a bit, though."
Greengrass…. Daphne. The favourite of fanfiction authors. I distinctly recalled the girl was an eye-turner. And if Davis was her lackey then…
"Why do you work here?"
"OWL-level books are expensive, so I'm working here for the summer."
"And… you don't have a problem with this?"
I tried to point at my crotch and then back at her. Hypocritical, I know, to have enjoyed it first.
"I'm a half-blood, Harry," she repeated, giving my cock another slow lick. "My mum's a muggle. The wizard that raped her didn't think twice about her. I got into Hogwarts on a student loan like every other muggle born, and it's mostly enough till OWL year. After that, you gotta earn your keep little by little."
"Wait, student loans?"
"Duh!" she said, "surely you didn't think Hogwarts was free, did you?"
I went back to Harry's memories of meeting Hagrid for the first time. Hagrid had told the thirteen-year-old kid that his name had been down on the list since he was born. But Harry Potter wasn't just anyone. The scion of an illustrious family like the Potters. Maybe the rich families simply had an advance booking, with an automatic payment setup down the line. But for muggleborns and half bloods and the less fortunate….
"How does it work? This loan, I mean."
She frowned slightly. "I'm not sure if you know this, but British pounds mean nothing to the goblins. Same for any muggle money. Hogwarts has a trust fund of sorts at Gringotts for the ones that cannot pay. The professors collect us from our homes, take us to Gringotts, get some galleons and purchase our books, cauldrons, robes, everything. From sixth year onwards, we need to pay for the books and equipment, but they still account for the tuition. And after we finish schooling, we pay back the debt."
"How much?"
"Four thousand galleons."
I think I froze a little. I don't know if it was because of Harry's own memories of a rough childhood, or my experience of growing up with limited means, but suddenly the mokeskin pouch felt a lot heavier than it was supposed to. I had just spent close to a quarter of that buying dark artefacts from Borgin & Burkes, a quarter of the sum of money that all but forced people like Tracey to suck the dicks of the rich here in these fancy shops to pay their debt. Not that the real world was any different, with ninety-five percent of the world's fortune with the pockets of the remaining five.
"Why…" I croaked, "Why don't you try other jobs?"
She laughed. It was the same laugh Hermione had given me when I had tried to downplay her lycanthropy.
"I'm a half-blood, Harry. People like us don't get jobs at the Ministry, and even if we do, it isn't worth shit. The alternative is to work for purebloods and be happy with whatever they throw at us. You ever wonder why Draco Malfoy gets away with so much? It's because they're the richest family in Wizarding Britain. His father has invested in half the shops in Diagon Alley and maybe the entire Knockturn Alley. Getting on his bad side is the easiest way to fuck up our life."
"What of the muggle world? Surely you can—" I paused, realising my folly. Muggle money had no meaning for the goblins, so any payment needed to be made in galleons, and those could only be made by working for the existing social system.
"What about your father?"
"My father is… Androcles Selwyn, Heir of the House of Selwyn."
I did a double take. The House of Selwyn was one of the richest houses in all of Wizarding Britain. And this random girl was the daughter of the current heir. What were the chances?
Tracey grinned again. Mirthless. In a fair world, she'd probably have been the heiress of the House, with a fortune large enough to make me look at her in envy. Instead, she was working her arse off during the summer, jerking my cock to earn some coin.
"The bastard thinks he's being generous by not killing me outright. He told me if he ever saw me again, he'd lock me up and let his friends use me to their heart's content. He said that being a toy to upstanding purebloods was better than to live a life of a pathetic half-blood."
I…. I felt angry. I felt terrible. Everything in me screamed that this was not fair. That the system here was wrong. That no one should ever have to face this plight. Hermione, an A-student on all counts, was hanging on a thread because of a curse that happened for no fault of her own. Hestia, a talented half-blood, was thrown out of her job because she ran across Lucius Malfoy. And Tracey…
"And… does your friend Greengrass know about this?"
She nodded. "The Greengrasses have offered me help, but frankly, I'd rather not. Personally, I think that's because Daphne's mother is Anastasia Selwyn, so she and I are related. Sort of. I think Daphne's dad thinks that when the bastard dies, he can use me to claim the Selwyn fortune."
I clenched my fists.
"Compared to everything else, this is pretty good," she replied, oblivious to my inner turmoil. "Twilfitt has excellent work hours, and the pay's better than most. Plus, most visitors want a muggleborn suck their dick. Feeds their delusions or something. I guess being a half-blood, and Greengrass's lackey makes me less desirable. So I rarely ever have to do it."
Every single word coming out of her mouth felt like a hex. That she was saying this while jacking me made it burn that much more.
"And this happens to… everyone?"
She shrugged. "Some people have it worse. There was this girl, Sally-Anne Perks, in our year, Hufflepuff. Do you remember her?"
I did, but not for the reasons she thought I did. That name stuck out simply because her name never came up again after the first book. Fanfiction writers and their insatiable curiosities.
"She got pregnant with Cormac Mclaggen's child in our second year. The Mclaggens rejected it, and she tried to abort it the muggle way. There were some complications, and she perished."
My fists clenched. This–this was Hogwarts? This was the world of magic I enjoyed as a child? It was like they had put me in a dark mirror of the actual thing. Like I had fallen into a twisted Game of Thrones variant of Rowling's world. I had enjoyed Romilda and Ginny's bodies with relish, but now…
Hestia's explanation had given him a different outlook to the entire situation. But now, I couldn't help but wonder if there was more to it than Romilda's forwardness.
This world was wrong. Every inch of me wanted nothing more than to reject it. To close my eyes and forget this wrongness and wake up in the correct version that Rowling had painted in her novels. But… I had no choice. Not now. One cannot win a war in a day. As much as I hated it, as much as I despised it, there was nothing I could do. Not yet. This world was rotten, and the pureblood supremacy was rotting it even further. If I wanted to change it, I'd have to become a part of the system. Tear it from the inside.
Be this world's reckoning.
But—
A weird question popped into my head. Just why was it I was getting so agitated about it? This was a fictional world, and these people were fictional characters. But I couldn't get Hermione's heartbroken smile, or her questioning eyes. I could forget the accepting tone with which Tracey had talked about her life. I couldn't. I couldn't get those images out of my head. Real, fictional or whatever, it was still wrong.
Was I… was I getting soft?
Fuck that. I mean, I'm no paragon of virtue. Back in my old life, I was a fucking hustler. A selfish bastard that didn't care for anything else as long as he made his cut and lived a comfortable life. There was some serious fucked-up shit I had done, but there was a point where even I had to draw a fucking line.
But why, though?
What did I want? What was my goal here?
The answer was simple. Power. I wanted power. I wanted to be God. But what was God? Just an omnipotent deity that sits around lazily on his throne while his servitors work their arse over? Maybe I could just Imperio a couple dozen women right now and have sex with them for the rest of my life. The Potter fortune was enormous enough to last me by several generations, but then what?
There had to be more than that to life.
What could I do if I really set my mind to it?
I wanted to be the guy that inspired fear in others. Fear. Respect. Awe. Grindelwald, Dumbledore, Voldemort– all of them had those three things and changed the world as they thought best. I? I had the exceptional power to fuck women and become the strongest being in this entire world, more than even Grindelwald or Voldemort had thought possible.
I sat still and came to a conclusion.
Fate brought me to this world for a reason. There had to be one. Why else was I given these World Anchors and these reality-defying powers of Meta-Luck?
I would use it. I'd bring this world to its knees. And if that meant I'd have to fuck every single witch out there and bring them under my banner, I would.
The screen flickered in that exact moment.
Gained Affinities from World Anchor — Tracey Davis
Transfiguration +6%
Perk Accumulation Unavailable without +50% World Anchorage
I blinked. A six percent rise in Transfiguration from a minor 9% anchorage? Had I accidentally come across a transfiguration prodigy?
"Hey Tracey," I asked casually, "how good are you at transfiguration?"
Tracey gave the tip of my cock a lick and stared up at me. "Pretty good, why?"
"And how much is pretty good?"
She frowned. "An easy O. McGonagall told me I can go for Animagus training after my OWLs. Why?"
Just as expected. Animagus transformation required a minimum 40% affinity for Transfiguration, and a minimum 20% affinity for the psychic arts. I had verified that when rummaging through the Potter grimoire.
This girl was a goldmine. One that was technically the Selwyn heiress?
A plan began to form in my mind.
"Say Tracey…"
"Huh?"
"How would you feel…" I tried to be nonchalant. "... about continuing this? You know, on a long-term basis?"
Tracey blinked and then laughed at me. "Are you asking me to be your girlfriend, Harry Potter? Because I'm currently seeing someone."
Damn it.
She gave him a small smile. "But I wouldn't say no to a casual meet up now and then… you know, or you could just come to Twilfitt for more purchases."
"Bad idea," I cut her idea down. "Why should I pay Twilfitt when I can just pay you directly?"
Surprise flickered across her face. "Are you asking me to?–"
"Be my whore? Yes. I am. I'll pay you that four thousand galleons, and you work for me?"
She blinked. "You mean sex?"
"Work… and sex."
Her lips twisted, and she stood, one hand on her waist. "What sort of work?"
"Information," I said carefully. "On people."
"Malfoy?"
"Maybe. Maybe others as well."
"You're out of your mind if you think I'll be your spy in Slytherin House. If I get caught, I'll be murdered."
"Maybe you're right," I said, lowering my voice, eyes fixed at hers, "but tell me, are you really better off? You'll have to whore yourself for years to gather that amount, and then what? Who will give you the life you want? Your father who hates you? Or the Greengrasses, once they've realised you're useless to their goals?"
Tracey stayed quiet.
"I understand what I ask is a dangerous job. But I'll make it worth it. You'll be compensated. You'll be free to just leave your current hell right now. I can get you a place to live. I can give you my backing. And you can always pretend to not know me at all while at Hogwarts."
I'd admit it felt a little bad at manipulating this girl. She was already in a terrible place, and I was hanging another carrot in front of her. A carrot with a huge stick waiting for her, should she mess up. But Tracy was a natural at Transfiguration, and perfectly suited to my goals. And in a worst-case scenario, a dark part of me pointed out–
A very convenient scapegoat.
Neither of us spoke for several seconds. Patience was the name of the game, and the one that spoke first, lost. As seconds dragged on, I was about to just drop it as a failure and move on when Tracey spoke up.
"Five."
"... what?"
"Five thousand," she said, meeting my eyes. "You want me to do this? Give me five thousand. Four for my loans, and one for my savings."
I smirked. Four thousand or five, it didn't matter. I had more gold than I'd need in ten lifetimes. But I didn't want to make it too easy. I wanted to see how far she'd go for it.
"Don't you think you're being a little too greedy?"
"Maybe I am, but that's what I offer. Take it or leave it."
I crossed my arms. "I don't see anyone else offering you four thousand galleons, and I'll get any bitch to spread her legs for a single."
"True," Tracey shot back. "But you don't just want me to be your bitch. You're a Gryffindor, Potter. The golden boy., You don't understand just how deadly it is for a half blood in Slytherin. Nothing short of being killed in front of a professor will be overlooked." She took a step forward. "But you're right. No one's coming with an offer half as good as you've given me. Merlin, even if you paid me half of that, I'd still take it. I'd hate it, but I'd take it, because life's just that unfair. But if you pay me five, then… then I won't just be your bitch. I'll be the bitch that wants to work for her master, not just forced to do so. You say jump, I ask how high. You want me to spy, I'll do it. You want me in your bed, I'll take it in any hole, any place, any time."
I laughed. "Fine. Let's shake on it."
Tracey smirked. "Shake what? Your cock, my pussy or my arse?"
Notes:
If you want to support me, find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Chapter 20: Narcissa Malfoy
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 1 - OUTLANDER
What happened next was kind of hazy. I remember being dragged by an excited Tracey through the lounge into a long, empty corridor with wide, nicely polished doors on both sides. The more I saw, the more I wondered if garment sales were simply a front for something else.
Tracey had pushed me into a loo, shut the door, and smashed her lips into mine. I felt my erection grow painfully against her stomach as she circled her arms around my neck, grinding herself on my body.
"A loo, really?" I asked, breathless as we came up for air. "Isn't it too risky?"
"I'm a filthy half-blood," she said, unbuttoning my shirt. "Feels poetic to get fucked by the Boy-Who-Lived in a filthy location."
Tracey unbuckled my belt and pulled my trousers and boxers down to my ankles, and ran her tongue along the tip of my cock, jerking it with one hand. Filthy, depraved or otherwise, I would not stop her. Rather, I'd let her get as dirty and slutty as she wanted. This act was a glorious taste of freedom for her in its own twisted way.
"Wow!" she whispered. "I know I just sucked it, but it feels so fucking hot!" She grabbed it with both hands and gave it another long lick. I knew she could make me cum from that, but Tracey had other ideas. She stood up, ditched her own robes and pulled my shirt off. Her white laced bra worked wonders against her dark skin and pushed her breasts together. She surprised me with a devilishly delightful grin and jumped upon me, her legs entwining around my waist, pushing me against the wall again.
She licked her lips.
"We don't have a great deal of time," she said regretfully.
I winked. "Let's make the most of it, then."
I unclasped her bra as she bit her bottom lip. My hands moved down, dragging her panties with them, until her bare arse was resting within my palms. Her hairless, juicy mound rubbed against my abdomen, begging to be licked, sucked and fucked until she could take no more. But there wasn't much time, so I mauled her arse with one hand, grabbed my cock with another, and impaled her right upon my rod.
"Fucking hell!" She hissed.
Her curses and moans echoed mine as I felt her tunnel envelope my shaft completely. I pulled hard against her hips, wanting to bury myself deeper inside her body. There was no time for words, no time for sweet whisperings to one another. The risk of being caught made the moment highly erotic, and I doubted I'd last long with the pace she had set. Tracey worked her hips and rode me like she tried to get an entire week of cardio in just one session. Sweat glistened on her chest, and rolled down to her breasts, and mashed with my skin. It filled the loo with the slapping sound of our naked flesh and moans of pleasure as Tracey and I worked in tandem for an explosive climax.
I grabbed her tightly, and turned around, sandwiching her between myself and the wall, with her legs still around me, leaving her nowhere to go. I pulled my hands out from her back and began squeezing her delicate breasts, while slamming my hip upwards and burying my cock deeper with every thrust. Tracey raked her nails at my arms, nearly drawing blood as she whimpered and wailed and bit into my shoulder under the thrall of ever-increasing pleasure.
"Fuck! This is so good!" She gasped out after a minute had passed.
I opened my mouth to reply, but she silenced me with a kiss. I was still hard as a rebar and could go on for another couple of rounds–courtesy of being a wizard–but I was conscious of where we were. Pushing her off me, I let her legs slowly slip down mine, until she stood on the ground, her knees weak. She rested her head against my shoulders and nibbled at my neck.
I flexed my wrist, and my wand soared up into my palm.
"Wa–wandless magic?" Tracey gasped.
I carefully kept the smirk from showing on my face. I could almost see the gears running in her mind, associating the display with her belief in the myriad and extraordinary powers of the Boy-Who-Lived, vanquisher of the Dark Lord. This belief, if harvested properly, could become a tool more potent than fiendfyre.
The truth was remarkably simple. The Black Ring, normally invisible unless I willed it to, could hold up to five spells, enchanted into it through runic carvings. Its only real limitation was that the spells had to be particular. Even the standard summoning charm Accio was too much for it.
Hence, I had gone for a more specific version, namely—
Accio Wand.
I aimed for the door and cast a quick spell.
"Colloportus!"
I turned towards her and grinned. "Where were we?"
"Fucking!" she whispered, flicking her tongue into my ear. I shuddered at the sensation. She put one knee on either side of my hips, and then reached down slightly, grasping my cock in her hand and pointing it straight into her sopping wet pussy. She lowered herself further down, enough to rub my cock up and down between her smooth, shaved, outer lips, covering it with her slippery juices, and then pushed the head deeper inside her tunnel and sat down, sealing it within her tight, wet pussy in one long, deep stroke.
Tracey closed her eyes and moaned, holding herself up with her hands on my shoulders, pushing her hips down hard, and then using my arms to lift her all over again, grinding her hips all along, rotating them around and around in small circles while she squeezed the life out of my cock using her inner muscles.
I kid you not. This girl was a natural. It took everything not to cum right there. Maybe I would have, but it felt like she was trying to draw it out, enhancing our passion.
"Oh! My! That feels so good!" She gasped, meeting my eyes, pushing her chest forward until her nipples, sharp enough to cut glass, were touching my lips. She continued this for several long, pleasurable minutes, slowly increasing the tempo of her hips until she was riding me at a pretty good pace. The unmistakable wet slurping sounds of a soaked pussy sliding up and down on a very hard cock filled the room, and it only added to the excitement I was feeling.
"Bloody. Fucking. Hell!" I yelled. "I'm gonna cum!"
"No, no, no, we can't have that! Not yet!" She said, instantly dropping to the floor and spinning until her breasts were facing the wall. "Won't be long now, baby, but just not yet," she said in a sultry whisper. She pulled me by my neck, pushing my hips against hers, trying to get my cock into her. I went ahead with the motions, thrusting my cock into her pussy, pressing my hips against her arse, falling into rhythm with her movements.
I felt her smile as I pistoned my cock in and out of her, while she gasped for breath, her breasts slapping against the cold, hard walls of the loo over and over.
"Cum for me, Harry," she whispered as I thrust into her. "Give it to me, Harry Potter!"
I slid my hands over her breasts, mauling them as tightly as possible, while carving her pussy with my cock. If I didn't know better, I'd say she was playing me like a fine instrument, despite being trapped between myself and the wall.
And now it was time.
"Fill me up with your hot cum! Let me feel you inside my wet pussy!"
"Oh, I don't think so," said an unfamiliar voice from behind me. I spun around, pulling out of Tracey, wand raised and an exploding curse ready on my lips, ready to blast whatever hag had interrupted my happy time.
Instead, I faced a woman with the kind of beauty that makes men murder people and start wars.
She stood right there, wearing a dark purple silk robe, its buttons unfastened, with her arms folded across her chest. The combination of both revealed a momentary speck of her firm and supple breasts, as if teasing me. She had dark hair, perfectly contrasting with her alabaster skin. Her lips, colored with frozen mulberries, brought an almost alien impression upon her smooth and lovely face, and her oblique eyes were a deep, stormy gray that felt like they could gaze through my soul. She wasn't old, wasn't young, wasn't anything but stunning.
I caught the scent of her perfume — something wild and flowery, like lavenders. My heart sped up, and the testosterone-oriented part of my brain wished I'd grab this woman and start making babies.
Her mouth quirked into a smile, and she arched one pale brow.
"My, my," she purred. Her voice was rich and cultured. "Quick with the wand they said. I see they weren't exaggerating."
It took me a couple of seconds to realize I was still gawking. Gripping my wand tightly, I aimed it between her eyes.
"Who are you?"
The woman threw her head back and laughed. Before I could respond, I found a shell-shocked Tracey look at the woman in surprise and mutter—
"Lady Malfoy?"
Five minutes earlier⸻
Narcissa Malfoy suppressed a sigh as she gave a smile to the attendant, trying to relax her up. The smile was patently false, however; she was skilled enough at giving even false smiles that he didn't realize it. Instead, the attendant, a healthy nineteen-year-old male, took it as an encouragement to continue attempting to bring her to orgasm by licking her cunt lips.
Narcissa was familiar with such approaches. She was used to the services of Twilfitt and Tattings for years now, enough to be given her own private lounge with a private set of attendants–all of them being muggle born males, fifth-years and above. Normally she'd not step within the vicinity of anyone with pure blood less than three generations if she could help it, but there was something utterly depraved about having these mudblood males–fresh stock from Hogwarts - down on their knees to serve her. None of them could even touch their cocks, and instead kept sucking and licking her folds to get her to cum.
It was their rightful place.
She sat in a luxurious bath, scented with lavenders and roses, soaps and other exotic fragrances, the finest of exquisiteness that gold could buy. Not that she had gained them. No, her personal lounge had it all collected and prepared beforehand so that she could enjoy a calm, relaxing moment. The manager had a robe packed and ready for her to take back home, her 'purchases' after hours of nitpicking at Twilfitt's designs.
Every bit the controlling bastard, Lucius was jealous of even the hint of adultery or something that would reflect badly on his social position. He monitored everyone she interacted with. Other aristocratic wives could at least get together for tea or maybe a girl's night out, ending up in a mutual masturbation session, or hiring some escort for the night. But Lucius ensured that no hanky-panky ever happened in such meetings, and yet, he never so much as touched her, despite her alluring beauty, choosing to go after young girls. Her husband didn't savor the sex so much as dominating the weak and soiling an innocent.
It left her endlessly frustrated.
It was also why she had to resort to… well, this.
Resting her head, she allowed the attendant–Talbot something, to kiss her legs and gently massage her toes. Narcissa liked them young–sixteen to nineteen, old enough to not be pedophilic, and young enough before the reality of the post-Hogwarts world took away the hunger and desire from their hearts. That they'd spend the rest of their pathetic lives groveling for sickles and knuts while she'd refuse to even look in their general direction shot a rush of arousal through her body.
If only her baby boy could have been a little less like his father, and a little more like her. He reveled in his being a Malfoy so much that he forgot that behind that vault of gold and blood money lay a shameful history. Compared to that, the Blacks were a Most Ancient and Noble House, something that the Malfoy Vault, regardless of the wealth contained within, could ever achieve. Just like his father, her dear dragon spent his time with his sycophants instead of enjoying the affections of that Parkinson girl. Not very clever, but at least she had enough pure blood in her veins for Narcissa to consider making her a pet project. Maybe if she was submissive enough, Narcissa could teach her certain rituals to enhance her performance in bed, giving her son a satisfying intercourse after a hard day of work.
Narcissa sighed. All her attempts to shape Draco into a worthy heir of the Black name had ended up in dismal failure. As the years passed, he was growing into a twisted facsimile of his father, hung on his father's tales of power, wealth and being a feared Death Eater. Draco already acted as if that power was already his. Her spies in Hogwarts had confirmed that.
Sometimes she cursed herself not accepting Aunt Walburga's suggestion to woo Sirius. Gryffindor or not, he was a ladies' man through and through. Sure, she'd have to bear being in proximity to Potter's mudblood wife, but at least she'd stay in the Black family, and sexually satisfied.
The bitterness in her grew just a tad.
"Enough." she whispered, politely declining the attendant's efforts. She was growing tired of his slow, unsatisfying, mechanical movements. Her need, her hunger for something real and passionate, was becoming a real problem rather than a mere indulgence, and if she didn't take care of it soon, it could devolve into a potential mess.
Narcissa realized she was waxing a little maudlin and decided it was a good sign, as she was getting a little peckish. If only she could leave for Grandma Irma's place in Marseilles for the summer, things would have been more comfortable.
Damn Lucius and that blasted Quidditch World Cup!
"Impatience can be lethal!" She told herself, dragging herself up from the scented bath. The boy Talbot fetched her robe for her, a satin, purple robe. She passed her naked shoulders through them and stepped out, uncaring of the unfastened buttons. The management of this meager establishment knew better than to entertain other people when she was around, so even the sheer possibility of—
"Oh! My! That feels so good!"
She paused.
That voice, a girl's voice, was coming from the loo. This area was closed off to everyone except the most illustrious clients hosted by Twilfitt, purebloods of high pedigree and too much gold to burn. None of them would ever be depraved enough to be in the loo with a mudblood, not to mention fucking her while being there.
Her loins stirred. Not because the mudblood bitch was getting the satisfaction she had been denied. Certainly not! It was because it was unhygienic! And improper!
That someone could be inside there, thrusting their dick into some slut's clit and making her whimper made bile rise in her throat. Yes! That's the reason! Filthy mudbloods spreading their legs in the dingiest of places to get some pureblooded sperm!
Oh, how she wanted to cruciate the lot and teach them a lesson!
"Come for me, Harry!" cried the bitch. "Give it to me, Harry Potter!"
Narcissa froze.
Harry Potter? The Harry Potter? Surely she had misheard it. Harry Potter was a goody two-shoes. Albus Dumbledore's stooge. The Gryffindor Golden Boy. That brat was the kind to spend his time amidst blood-traitors and mudbloods and spit on the world that considered him a hero. He was the last person on the planet to visit Twilfitt & Tattings and have his way with some mudblood.
Or was he?
Narcissa knew all about masks. She herself had adorned many in the past, and would continue to adorn several more in the future. But could it be that the heroic facade of Harry Potter was just that?
A mask?
She couldn't stop herself. A quick wave of her wand warned her of the locking charm on the door. Silly boy! As if a locking charm could keep her away. She was a Charms Mistress, and a damn good one at that. With practiced ease, she wove a neat combination of a silencing charm and an illusion spell into a notice-me-not ward around the very door, before unlocking it.
And there he was.
Harry fucking Potter. Fucking one attendant. She took the sight of him, lean and muscled and maybe an inch less than six feet tall, with shaggy, dark hair that fell all over his face and neck, his powerful arms mauling her breasts and smacking his hips into her cunt.
Narcissa's cheeks went red in anger. Yes, anger. Pure murderous anger. This — this was an outrage!
"Fill me up with your hot cum! Let me feel you inside my wet pussy!"
"Oh, I don't think so!" her mouth challenged without confirming with the rest of her. Narcissa inwardly cursed herself and let the ward fade. The boy instantly whirled around and felt his eyes widen. Narcissa inwardly sighed, ready for disappointment. It always began with a quick look, followed by a startled, much longer look. Injecting Veela blood into herself to gain her husband's lust was a mistake she had made during her early marriage years, a mistake that she reaped for even to this day. Lucius still wouldn't touch her, but his lust wouldn't let him let her be touched by anyone else.
Her medication had become her disease.
So color her surprised when his lustful gaze shifted into alarm, and the wand in his hand tightened, aiming between her eyes.
This… she had not expected. But she was Narcissa Malfoy! She could play this to her advantage.
Crossing her arms, she rested with her arm pressed against the cold marble wall. She noted how his eyes traced the brief swathes of her flesh where the satin robe didn't hide them. She did not blame him. After all, she had arranged it to be in the most tempting way.
"My, my," she purred. "Quick with the wand they said. I see they weren't exaggerating."
His resolve didn't waver in the slightest. How… interesting!
"Who are you?" He demanded.
Narcissa blinked. Not at the question, but at the absolute lack of desire in his eyes. That she had not been recognized was a bit of a novelty as well, given who she was. But the lack of desire? That was unheard of. She'd have thought Harry Potter to be gay if not for the proof before her very eyes. Was it his unfathomable will power, or something else? She needed to know. That she, Narcissa Malfoy, plunderer of hearts, would find her match in a boy of her son's age was…
Narcissa couldn't help it. She threw her head back and laughed.
The bitch, meanwhile, had turned around, and instantly recognized her, given the sudden paling of her features.
"...Lady Malfoy?" She whispered.
Narcissa smiled.
Notes:
If you want to support me, find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Chapter 21: A Black For A Black
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 1 - OUTLANDER
One moment I was readying to blast the intruder to kingdom-come, the next moment I stared at the sexy woman before me, bearing a swath of purple satin silk. They draped over her extended arms, but the cloth emphasized, rather than conceal, her nakedness. I felt a sudden urge to walk up and go down on her, to remove that silk cloth and taste her pussy juices. I wanted to feel her naked limbs sliding around me, feel that slender waist beneath my hands twist and writhe with her as she screamed my name aloud in ecstasy.
Instead, I gripped my wand even more firmly and aimed it at her.
Narcissa smiled, and her teeth gleamed between her lips. "The famous Harry Potter… I never expected you to be here."
I felt her eyes roam over me in idle speculation.
I felt my cheeks flush and grow warmed. The hunger rose in me again, a raw, unthinking need. A scent flooded over me — a perfume of wind and mist, of heated flesh. Scents evoked more phantom sensations of the silken caress of her delicate, long hands, sweetly hot rake of nails, winding strength of limbs tangled with mine.
I slammed the brakes over it and scowled. "What are you doing here?"
Narcissa shifted slightly, a slow, sensual motion of her lips, and murmured. "Not so easily captured, it'd seem." She looked away from me and gave a condescending leer at Tracey.
"Girl, I'll say this once. Get. Out."
I'd have stopped her, said something in her defense, but Tracey looked too ready to bolt out. With a casual flick of her wand, Narcissa banished Tracey's robes outside the loo. The girl squeaked, and with nothing more than an apologetic look at me, skipped out of the loo. With another wand flick, the door closed, and I felt multiple locking charms activate.
And then Narcissa met my eyes.
"Answer my question."
It came out less dominant than I'd have wanted, but I was practically shaking. It was like someone had taken my fight-or-flight instincts, dialed them up to eleven, and removed flight from the options. Somewhere, some rational part of me kept yelling that what I was feeling wasn't natural. That this allure was magical.
"Interesting…" she purred. "People fall sideways to please me, and here you are, still resisting, despite my allure."
Allure? Since when did Narcissa Malfoy have allure?
I fought the urge to go touch her, feel her flesh. Instead, I kept my voice neutral. "Why did you send her away?"
Narcissa smiled. The kind a fox gave to a wounded prey. "She was trespassing, Harry Potter. I hate it when someone crosses a line."
Before I could even ask what line she was referring to, Narcissa pulled the knot tied at her hip that held her robe up, and the thin garment slipped down her long legs to pool around her feet. She stood in front of me in all her glory, her erect, supple nipples standing up in attention. Begging for my lips to taste them.
"What are you doing?" I asked, fighting to keep my eyes off her body. I'd have held my wand tighter, but a distinct part of my body was already tight and up in her presence.
Narcissa didn't answer, and took a step closer to me. I backed up, but I was standing inches away from the wall, so there wasn't anywhere to go as she stepped into my personal space.
Her right hand slowly inched closer to my cock and began tracing the nerves along its surface. "You are a Black, Harry Potter. Surely you know that?"
Her words barely registered past the feeling of my cock tightening even further. Just what was it that this woman was doing to me?
"Your great-grandmother was my great-aunt. Dorea Callidora Black. That makes you and I cousins. That makes this…" she began jerking my cock, "a Black cock. Its sperm is reserved only for other Blacks. I could hardly…." she licked her lips. "let a half-blood whore have it for herself. What would dear Aunt Walburga say?"
I was between a rock and a hard place. Or between a wall and Narcissa Malfoy. Either fit very well. Part of me was absolutely terrified that she might have known of my recent plans at Gringotts and my interaction with Walburga. I should have known that the bloody wraith would tell on me to her sweet little bitch of a niece. I had been growing stronger, yes, but I wasn't anywhere close to Narcissa Malfoy's level. For fuck's sake, every single spell she had cast had been non-verbal, with a practiced ease that would take me months if not years to reach. Real life did not work the way in the books, and a child had simply no way of fighting on par with an adult.
Well, that was a part of me, anyway. The rest of me was simply trying to hang on and not instantly cum over her hands.
"Oh, yes!" Narcissa moaned, getting even closer to me. With one hand working my shaft with expert twisting motions, she slid her other hand to grip my biceps. Her skin was incredibly soft, and her magnificent breasts pressed into my chest and I took a long inhale of her scent. A mix of female arousal and lavender made my head spin with delight.
I wanted to fuck her badly. Before I knew it, Narcissa let out a gasp as my hand cupped her pert arse and gave it a firm squeeze, before sliding between her cheeks, feeling my fingers glide over her skin. She sucked in a gasp of air as I cupped her sex and began rubbing the tiny cluster of nerves for a dozen seconds before sliding two of my fingers deep inside her. Narcissa moaned as I fucked her with my fingers, matching the speed at which she was working my shaft with her hand.
"Are you close?" She whispered into my neck, her breath doing wonderful things to me.
"Yeah…"
"So am I."
Our eyes locked once more, and a wave of pleasure erupted out of my groin, and I orgasmed. My hips bucked once more just as I felt Narcissa stiffen and her clit clench around my fingers. Cum spews forth from my cock tip, coating her hands and her stomach. I felt the wetness of her pussy triple as she let out a long, low moan of pleasure.
We stood like that for a few moments, our temples pressed together as our bodies tried to absorb the other with how firmly we were pressing each other. I felt Narcissa's hand slide down my shaft and gently massage my balls, causing another bout of sperm to rocket from my cock and cause a mess on her fingers.
"Now that was intense…" she said, raising her cum-stained hand and licking every inch, never once leaving my gaze.
And I knew what would happen next.
You have gained a World Anchor
Narcissa Malfoy — 19% World Anchorage
Current World Anchor Analysis
World Anchor — 272
Required World Anchor - 15
Meta-Luck — 39.5
"There…" she said, smirking, "so much better."
Better indeed. So far my dalliances had proved that it took a witch accepting my cum to register the world anchor. It didn't matter if it was oral, or down there, but something about my cum getting into their systems triggered the anchorage. Though why Narcissa Malfoy had such a strong attachment to me was anybody's guess.
Gained Affinities from World Anchor — Narcissa Malfoy
Charms +7%
Dark Arts +3%
Perk Accumulation Unavailable without +50% World Anchorage
I wondered. Was this because of the Pheromone perk? First Tracey, and now this? How much of that was because of the circumstances and how much the Perk?
But tell you what? It didn't matter.
Because it made the next words so very easy to say.
"It tastes even better from the source."
The surprise that flickered on her face was almost as delicious as her wet folds. There was anger too, as well as a raging arousal in her eyes, one that she was trying to suppress. She took a step back, but did not walk away.
"Unless, of course," I challenged, taking a step forward, "you want me to sully the Black heritage by getting some muggleborn's lips over it. You're free to leave, though. It's not like…" I glanced at the closed door, "I'd struggle to find an outlet."
"You're playing a dangerous game, sweetheart," Narcissa murmured, her hands caressing my cock again.
"I like to live dangerously." I answered, taking a step forward and grabbed her breasts, kneading them, forcing another moan off her lips. Somewhere along the line, both of us had dropped our wands, but it didn't matter. Her dissatisfaction at my daring didn't prevent her from working her hands on my cock, nor did she try to push me away from her heavenly bosom. "A Black's cum is reserved for another Black, you say. Then do your job as a Black and service me."
"Here?" she objected. "You expect me to—"
"Get down on your knees, in this loo, and suck my cock."
Before you say it, no, I was not faking it. Well, maybe a little. The rest came from her world anchor score. From my experience with Romilda, Ginny, and Hermione — the higher the attachment, the easier it was for me to dominate them. I had taken control over Ginny's control-freak tendencies and literally fucked it out of her. I had changed Hermione from the shy bookworm into a lascivious creature that literally got off on others watching her get fucked. The more I dominated these girls, pushed them beyond their own accepted boundaries, the more my anchorage grew.
A vicious cycle of increasing subservience that also elevated my magical affinities and meta-luck. My one-way ticket to Godhood.
Narcissa had 19% anchorage, which was way more than Tracey, and that girl had been practically swimming in her pants and utterly desperate for money. I didn't know if Narcissa was simply that much of a slut, or if she really was living a life devoid of her husband's cock. Or maybe, just maybe, she truly meant what she said about my 'Black' cum, in which case, her bigotry and depravity had crossed the normal limits and stepped into psychological dysfunction.
Which was why I wasn't surprised by what she did next.
"This is… this is an outrage!" she replied, incensed, while gently lowering herself down to my cock-level, her erect nipples sharp enough to cut through glass. "I'm Narcissa Black Malfoy," she claimed, "to get down on my knees in this depraved, unhygienic place like a mudblood is…"
"Where you chose to be," I declared, grabbing her head. Our eyes locked just as she sucked the tip of my cock, her tongue lashing out and licking the underside of my shaft.
"You are a true lowlife," she said, but the anger was missing in her words.
"And you're the cum-hungry cougar with a pencil-dicked husband that doesn't get you off."
My other hand caressed her cheeks, fell down her chin and through her alluring valley until it reached her voluptuous hips. The need in me doubled. I pressed her head until my wet cock was rubbing all over her face. Narcissa spit on it, looked at me straight in the eye and pushed into her mouth, her soft lips now nuzzling flush up against my groin. My full length vanished into her mouth, her throat feeling like hot liquid satin. She slowly backed off halfway, and then flared her nostrils as she forced herself forwards once more, but a little faster this time.
"Fuck! You're something else, Potter!" she whispered. "Everyone else becomes… putty upon getting close."
Because of the allure? I didn't ask. Instead, I went all out.
"Is that a complaint?"
"I haven't decided yet," she said. "I'm reserving judgment until I see what you can do."
"That sounds like a challenge!" I said, pushing my cock into her mouth again, hitting the back of her throat with every thrust. I grabbed her hair with one hand and kept hammering into her mouth while she sucked and licked and did everything to stay in control.
"Gakh! Gakh!" Her choking got worse, and her hands pressed against my legs with absolutely no effect . A bubble of spit ran down her face and pools at her neck, right alongside the sticky trail from earlier. I held her in place, pulling her head so far in and burying myself so far down her gullet that my balls rested against her chin, and right when it looked like she could take no more, I began to cum down her throat. She gagged on it, but I kept a tight hold on her hair and left my cock inside her mouth all throughout the orgasm. She swallowed some of my cum, but she wound up spitting the bulk of it right back up. As if her face couldn't get any messier, now she had a combination of her spit and my cum pooling together to form a disgusting, sticky concoction. Narcissa coughed violently as I pulled my softening prick out of her mouth.
"I wonder what'd happen if Draco got a look at your face, right now, Mrs. Malfoy."
I had expected a scathing rebuke, but she let her head lol backwards, closed her eyes and wheezed.
And then something even surprising happened.
World Anchor—Narcissa Malfoy has gone up by 4%
Gained Affinities from World Anchor — Narcissa Malfoy
Charms +2%
Dark Arts +1%
Perk Accumulation Unavailable without +50% World Anchorage
That was weird. World Anchorage determined the amount of value a person put in me. It could be the level of emotional bonding, or trust they had in me, or how important they thought I was to their lives or their next five-year plans. I was pretty sure if Albus Dumbledore and Lord Voldemort were women, I'd get at least a 90% anchorage right after the first fuck.
It was what assured me that once Tracey began feeling the perks of her new job, her anchorage would shoot past the roof. For someone like Hermione and Ginny, it was a little less easy, since trust was a far rarer commodity than financial profit or long-term investments. Romilda… she'd probably hit a snag the moment the novelty of fucking the Boy-Who-Lived faded from her mind, so I wasn't very optimistic about her.
In that light, Narcissa Malfoy's sudden gain in anchorage made for some pretty interesting conclusions.
"Fuckkk!" exclaimed Narcissa, "my — fuck — that was something else!" She shook her head and slowly pushed herself off the floor. "Who knew the famous Harry Potter was so kinky?"
I smiled at the irony of her words. If only she knew what I was planning, and how Draco would suffer because of my plans.
"Darling, we haven't even scratched the surface," I said honestly, thinking about all the things I could put her through. Fucking with Hermione had been a mesmerizing experience, her ethereal body open to all kinds of experimentation. But Narcissa was a woman, a sexually buffed MILF in her prime, and even grabbing her hips and mauling her breasts felt tantalizing on a whole different level. I had only face-fucked her, but somehow, it was right up there with some of the most memorable and kinkiest things I had done with Hermione and Ginny.
"So what's next?" she asked, her excitement obvious both in her voice and the way she stood up and leaned on my chest. "You're going to stick your cock in my pussy?"
She turned and faced the wall. "Or are you going to bugger me?" She wiggled her arse at me. "I wouldn't mind, you know. Though… we should really take it to my lounge. It's far more…" she sniffed, looking around, "hygienic!"
I looked at her wet form and laughed. "Fine. Lead the way."
Narcissa smiled.
Notes:
If you want to support me, find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Chapter 22: Infidelity
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 1 - OUTLANDER
The moment we were inside Narcissa's private lounge, Narcissa was on me. She hustled me, meeting my lips in a lust-filled, passionate kiss. Her hands were over me, her nails dragging down my chest and stomach as she clawed and tried to mount me. I wasn't sure if this woman was just that repressed, or if she enjoyed being a whore, but I was going to rise to the occasion.
I used my superior size and strength to push off the door and grabbed her around the throat. Like this, she was super easy to guide where I wanted, so I guided her to the large mattress.
"Behave!" I asserted, casting a quick locking charm on the door.
Narcissa smiled and bit her lip. I wasn't even squeezing her throat, simply holding her, but the act alone seemed to pacify her and leave a grin on her beautiful face. I pushed her down to the mattress, feeling her eyes on my crotch. Crouching, I grabbed a fistful of her long hair, pulled her to the edge of the mattress, tilted her head back to look down at her and she opened her mouth for me.
Oh yes. She was definitely my whore.
I slapped her cheek with my cock. Narcissa squealed in delight as my erection hit her and immediately brought her hands up to grab my shaft.
"No touching!" I slapped her hands away and jerked on her hair. She moaned but otherwise kept silent, nodding her head as she eyed my dick. I stroked my erection half a dozen times before placing the tip between her open, waiting lips. Her tongue immediately started flicking across my head and her lips formed a tight seal, as if she had never intended to let me go. She couldn't do more than suck and lick at what I had given her, with me grabbing her hair tight. I had expected her to react back to the sheer indignity, but her hands went down to her folds, sticking her fingers in.
I slapped her in the face. Hard.
"I said, no touching."
I had expected to see at least a little anger in her eyes, but she moaned and rolled her head back and began sucking my cock with greater enthusiasm. If it aroused her earlier, she was now literally dripping like a broken faucet.
Clearly, someone liked it rough.
I grabbed under her chin with my free hand and angled her head so she was looking up at me. I looked her in the eyes as I started rocking my hips, pushing my cock deeper and deeper into her mouth. Narcissa gagged as I felt my tip press against the back of her throat, so I pulled out—keeping the tip between her lips—and pushed myself deeper. I kept this up for about a minute, my thrusts getting quicker with each one and her gags becoming less prevalent. Then I pushed harder and felt the pressure around my cock increase drastically. Her eyes almost rolled back into her head and her mouth opened as wide as she could.
Damn. How sex-crazed was this woman?
I thrust harder this time—slipping into her throat more easily—and watched as my entire length vanished past her luscious lips. Her throat felt incredibly tight and flexed around the intrusion, but she held back her reflex. I pressed her nose into my pelvis for nearly a full minute, then pulled my entire length from her mouth. My cock sprang free—covered in her juices—and Narcissa gasped for air, a gasp that was pursued by a moan. She opened her mouth wide again.
"More!" she panted. "Do me more!"
Never one to want to keep a beautiful woman waiting, I hilted myself in her throat again, held her down for a few seconds before I started pumping my cock in and out of her mouth, my rock-hard erection sliding down her throat with ease now.
She made a wet gagging sound each time my cock bottomed out in her throat, which soaked my dick after only a few thrusts. Narcissa tapped my thigh, and I pulled out completely, letting her gasp for air. My cock was drenched now and I could see her lipstick was all but gone. Drool clung to her bottom lip and splattered her chin.
I admired the gorgeous woman for a moment. She looked so elegant and beautiful before, and now she looked how she wanted to be fucked, like a cheap whore.
And I hadn't even gotten started yet.
I slipped two fingers deep inside her and her pussy accepted my fingers easily. It was surprising how tight she was, given she was a woman in her early forties. She wasn't as tight as Hermione or Ginny, but she was damn close. Her pussy made wet squelching sounds, only drowned out by her moans and squeals. She finally gave up not using her hands for anything and she clung to my arm, which was still holding a fistful of her hair. I could see her legs trembling, so I guessed she was simply using my arm to hold herself up. She wasn't heavy, so I had no trouble.
"Nnnnnghhh!" she groaned from clenched teeth as she came down to a guttural climax. Her long nails dug into the skin of my forearm and biceps, and her eyes rolled back into her head as her body spasmed. I kept my fingers in her pussy, working her through her orgasm until her body sagged and I released my hold on her hair and cunt, letting her fall back onto the mattress.
"Oh, fuck!" She craved, "Oh, fuck me! Make me your whore!"
"I bloody will," I growled, looming over her as Narcissa lay on her back, legs spread and breathing heavily as her body shook in the aftermath of her orgasm. Her long legs looked incredibly soft, and the pale skin of her thighs was slick from her own juices. Her pussy quivered as her hips bucked against the fingers that were no longer inside her. I grabbed each of her legs in one hand—just above her ankles—and threw them over my shoulders, lowering my body to hers. I looked up at Narcissa and found her lips open, ready and wanting.
"Come on, Potter! Let this bitch feel that pretty mouth of yours right where she needs it!"
Cupping her firm rear, I darted my tongue into her honey pot, felt the gooey strand and flicked my tongue up, rolling it around, letting the creamy goodness soak into my taste buds.
"Mmm!" she moaned slowly, wanting more. Narcissa rolled her hips seductively, feeling my tongue into her dripping snatch. I slowly licked upwards, lapping up her sweat and seeping discharge, and grabbed her breasts with one hand and mauled them, coercing a moan out of her. Narcissa looked like she wanted to grab for my hair, but stayed to herself, following my order.
"Yes! That's it. Just keep that tongue working nice and deep. Just like… Oh fuck! Yes, that's so good!"
Narcissa closed her eyes in bliss. And that was when I acted.
"Cum!" I hissed in parseltongue.
Two things happened right then. The first was that Narcissa's eyes bulged, and her legs gripped my head in a steel trap. The next was that she orgasmed right then, in an explosive squirt, her juices gushing out and splattering all over my face.
"FUCKKKK!" she exclaimed, "FUCK! FUCK! FUUUUCK!"
I eagerly lapped up her fluids, fighting down the urge to smirk in triumph as Narcissa continued to ride her orgasm. Parseltongue, I had discovered, amplified whatever was cast using it by a factor, to the point of almost negating the need for wand movement, at least for simple spellcraft. I wasn't exactly sure how or why, but every single word spoken using the tongue exerted an authority on the world, allowing a particular action to occur. The first time I had used it on Hermione, she had buckled and screamed out my name and came hard. She had nearly broken my neck when her thighs clamped around my head and begged me for more. Five times. That's how many times I got her to cum that night. She had screamed like she was being murdered, and if not for the silencing wards, I'd probably have gotten inquiries.
"NNGH! MERLIN! DON'T YOU STOP! DON'T YOU FUCKING STOP UGH—"
I raised my mouth and smirked. "What do you think of my special technique?"
"Technique?" she bucked her hips again at my face. "That was, that was parseltongue."
"Actually, I call it Pleasure Tongue. Did you enjoy it?"
"Enjoy?" Narcissa breathed, "Morgana! I felt like I'd die. Please, please, do it again."
I arched an eyebrow.
"Please!" she requested. "I'll do whatever you want. Please, just… just do me again."
And then the screen blinked in.
World Anchor–Narcissa Malfoy has gone up by 6%
Gained Affinities from World Anchor — Narcissa Malfoy
Charms +1%
Dark Arts +2%
Perk Accumulation Unavailable without +50% World Anchorage
This was getting hilarious. At this rate, she'd be right there with Hermione and Ginny, my willing cum-bucket, ready to do anything I fancied. And this seemed like the perfect place to test a few theories.
"Come on!" Narcissa pleaded, wiggling her hips and moving her arse in a circular motion. The resulting effect was absolutely enticing, and I couldn't help myself. Without so much as a word, I thrust forward as hard as I could and slammed my entire length deep into Narcissa's ready and wanton pussy, stretching and filling her completely.
"FUUUCK!" Narcissa screamed at the top of her lungs. The position wasn't quite that easy with Narcissa, as it was with Hermione. I could push her further, but her large breasts and fuller figure just didn't bend as well as Ginny or Hermione did. It was unfortunate, but I'd just have to make do with what I had. Pushing her over to lie on her stomach, I pushed deep into her repeatedly, my hips slapping against her arse. Her hands gripped the mattress for dear life while her feet remained spread out on either side, completely useless against me as I gripped her arsecheeks and kept thrusting into her as viciously as possible, without the slightest worry of whether I was moving too fast or pushing too deep. She might be Lucius Malfoy's wife and Draco's mum, but at the moment, she was my whore. And given the way her face was contorting with lewd noises and moans coming out of her mouth, she was enjoying the heck out of it.
"OH FUCK! OH FUCK! FUCK ME BABY! FUCK MY PUSSY GOOD! OHH!" Narcissa screamed as I continued my assault. I could only grunt and slap her arse over and over, sometimes grabbing her by the waist, doing my utmost to carve a cock-shaped hole into her pussy.
"What's with your tight pussy?" I grunted between sharp breaths. Even though I slammed in and out of her smoothly, I just couldn't believe how tight she was, how her pussy gripped my dick like a vice, trying to milk it for more cum. "Don't tell me Lucius has a tiny dick. Or are you just that much of a cum-slut?"
Narcissa just screamed again.
I picked up my pace and assaulted her folds harder and faster with every passing minute for what seemed like forever. Narcissa looked back to stare lustfully at me, and grabbed my arm with hers, raising herself slightly. That allowed me to push deeper.
"Come on Potter! Fuck me! Come on! Fuck me hard! OH I LOVE YOUR FUCKING COCK!" Narcissa exclaimed loudly as she continued thrusting her hips back and upward to meet my thrusts. There was no affection in this sex, just pure animal fucking.
Her dirty talk only spurred and turned me on, and I drove harder. The more she spoke, the harder I rammed my cock into her, and the harder I fucked her, the more she growled at me.
"OH FUCK BABY, YEAH! NAIL ME BABY! FUCK ME! OHHHHHHHHHHHH! UGHHHH! Come on Potter! I shouldn't be fucking a half-blood, but you're a Black, so you better give me all your fucking seed! Oh, I'm so bad for letting a blood traitor half-blood fuck me like this! Ummm yeah! Oh! Oh fuck!"
It was at this point that I heard a noise on the other side of the door. Narcissa obviously heard it too, but when I was about to stop she spun and grabbed my waist with her legs, and growled at me.
"Don't you dare fucking stop!" The aggression in her eyes was very real, and I didn't doubt for a second that this insane cum-loving bigoted whore would not think twice before attacking me if I stopped drilling into her.
And then I heard it.
"Mother?"
I think I froze for a second. Not out of fright, but out of a sheer shock at the situation. There was no doubt who the voice was on the other side.
Draco Malfoy.
"Mother?" Draco called out again, tapping the door softly. "We're getting late. Father will be home soon."
The only thing separating Draco Malfoy and his utterly shagged, nude mother was a single closed door reinforced with a common locking charm. One that any first-year could unlock with ease. All Draco needed was to undo the locking spell and open the door and he'd find his mother, the ravishing, elite pureblood wife Narcissa Malfoy, being fucked like a whore by the infamous half-blood Harry Potter. A single unlocking spell maintained the difference between Narcissa Malfoy and total disgrace. And then I heard Draco mutter something that sounded weirdly like—
"Ooof!" I grunted. Narcissa, the crazy bitch she was, took the initiative right then, and twisted her legs, forcing me to fall down on the mattress. Before I knew it, she had climbed all over me, her wet and sloshing cunt directly into my cock, as she sank down, covering my upper half with her voluptuous body and black and blonde hair.
And then, to my utter surprise, she put up a show.
"OOH FUCK! SO FUCKING BIG! SO FUCKING HOT! SO FUCKING GOOD! OHH FUCK ME BABY JUST KEEP FUCKING MEEE!"
I didn't know if it was the idea of being seen by her own son as she fucked someone else's cock that got her spurred into action, but whatever it was, she got a lot more animated. She circled her pussy lips around my cock, the sheer pressure sucking me in like some black hole as she kept screaming her lungs out. It sent wild lust surging in me, and I began pounding her all the harder.
"... sorry," said Draco, no doubt looking at his mother in all her glory, even if it was just her supple back. No doubt he could see her heaving body moving up and down as I fucked her ruthlessly. I feared he'd throw a fit or maybe start attacking, but his next words surprised the heck out of me.
"... I see you are not done yet," He said with a slight stammer. "I'll… be there at Florean's."
And then Harry heard the door close, and the sound of Draco Malfoy's footsteps leaving. I wondered how the little Malfoy would have reacted had he known it was Harry Potter, his self-proclaimed nemesis at school, that was boning his mum. That thought made me giddier and hornier and I thrusted faster and deeper into her. She flung her head from side to side and tightly shut her eyes. Her arms now flailed about, looking for anything to grab a hold of, her orgasm approaching rapidly with how her pussy kept clenching.
Then it happened.
"OH FUCKKKK!" She yelled, squeezing my dick so hard I feared she'd crush it as she came down from an earth-shattering orgasm. Lewd moans kept coming out of her mouth, her breathing now more laboured and her arms shaking to get up.
"That… was something, wasn't it?" She asked with a smile.
I grinned back. "I thought Draco would have thrown a fit."
The smile on her lips faded to a slight melancholy. "My son has many sides that I do not agree with, but at least there is one thing he does for me. He keeps my little secret."
I frowned, unsure what to think of it. From my recent experience with Tracey, there was little doubt what services Narcissa enjoyed at Twilfitt & Tattings. And if Draco knew about her infidelity and kept it a secret, either he was no stranger to seeing her sleeping with strangers, or he sympathised with her lack of sex life. Or maybe he simply didn't care about it at all.
"What about Lucius?"
Narcissa gave me a condescending look. "You have a magnificent cock and you know how to use it, Potter. I'll give you that much. But don't think it will make me spill my family's secrets to an outsider."
"The same outsider who just fucked you silly?"
"You really flatter yourself." She whispered huskily back, this time teasing me with her pussy twisting around my cock, moving in and out, sucking it into her hole. She arched her back and landed her breasts right above my chest, meeting my eyes. "I can walk away any moment. But tell me Potter, after having me, will other women satisfy you?"
"Big words from the cougar that has yet to make me cum! And don't misunderstand! That cum from earlier? You were only reaping the benefits from Tracey's work!"
My words had obviously hit a raw nerve as Narcissa glowered at me. It was like looking at an injured lioness, ready to pounce despite her wound. I had injured her pride, and for someone like her, it was perhaps the worst thing I could have done.
With a flash, her wand rushed into her palm, and she cast several high-level locking enchantments at the door. I was no expert, but if I recognized even half the spells right, you'd need a freaking tank to smash your way in. She flicked her wand again, and a vial of a clear-blue liquid soared into my hand.
"Potency potion," she snarled. "Drink it!"
"You're out of your bloody—"
"DRINK IT!"
I knew I was taking a colossal risk, but I went with it, anyway. Uncorking the vial, I drank the contents, feeling a surging warmth within me.
"Now then…" she said, a devilish smile on her face. "I believe we've got something to prove!"
Notes:
If you want to support me, find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Chapter 23: Challenge
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Before I could so much as utter another word, Narcissa had slammed down upon my cock, driving it straight into her pussy.
"Shit!" I called out, groaning in pleasure.
"Morgana!" she sighed, flexing a bit, taking more of my shaft into her tight pussy. "Fuck! You feel so fucking good!" She moaned out, eyes closed and sighing in pleasure. My head fell back on the mattress as she slid my cock deeper and deeper into her. My hands went up her hips, gripping her arsecheeks, helping her along.
"You feel so much bigger like this…"she pushed herself further down, her juices driving my meat. "Damn! Fuck! You're big! But I want it! I'm not like those little sluts quitting at the sight of an enormous cock! I'm fucking a half-blood, so I'll get my gold's worth," she said with a purr, before scrunching her eye shut as she impaled herself further down upon my weapon, sinking all the way to my balls. She wiggled a bit, adjusting herself to my size, her cunt flexing around my swollen penis.
"Mmm… this is definitely the biggest cock I've ever had. Fuck!"
"Are you gonna talk, or will you bounce on my dick?"
Narcissa shivered. And then she moved her hips back and forth, sliding my length into her.
"Ummm yeah!" She moaned again, feeling my shaft thrust deeper into her with every push, stretching her insides.
"Yeah! That's like it! Ride my cock, slut!"
"OH YES! OH! YES! YESS! BABY YES!" Her screams dropped into a loud purr as she looked down at me, her left hand furiously working on her clit as she kept sliding up and down. Her eyes blazed with raw, naked heat. "I love your cock, baby! It feels so fucking good! I want to take you with me and fuck you all day!"
I don't know why, but her words spurred me into action. Grabbing her hips, I slid my full length back inside her in one rough motion.
"AHHH! SHIT!" she screamed, her lungs out, as I filled her needy pussy. She pushed herself back, forcing my hips down, my bare ass pressing against the mattress as she ground herself against me. She then lifted herself up, and this time we drove into each other, our bodies colliding in a meaty slap.
"GUHH!" she grunted.
"FUCK!" I yelled, sliding myself out and then back in.
"UGHHH!" she groaned. I worked up a slow rhythm, driving up into her. She met my rhythm with her own, driving down into me as I fucked up into her. Narcissa put her hands on my chest and pushed herself up as she kept bouncing her cunt up and down my thick, bare cock. Her straightened arms pushed her watermelons outward, luring my hands with the promise of pure softness. I pulled my hands from her hips and slapped them onto her big tits again, squeezing them. My fingers dug into her luscious, smooth flesh, before my fingers captured her hard nipples, twisting them lightly.
Meanwhile, something else was rising at an equally shocking pace.
World Anchor – Narcissa Malfoy has gone up by 4%
Narcissa Malfoy — 33% World Anchorage
Current World Anchor Analysis
World Anchor — 286
Required World Anchor - 15
Meta-Luck — 40.9
Gained Affinities from World Anchor — Narcissa Malfoy
Martial Magic +3%
Perk Accumulation Unavailable without +50% World Anchorage
"Ahhh! YES! That's it, hon!" Narcissa said, driving down into me more quickly. I tweaked her nipples harder, spurring her into speeding up. "Mmmmmm. Merlin! Yes! Fuck!" Narcissa moaned, our bodies slapping together.
"You like that, Narcissa?" I asked. "You enjoy having me twisting your nipples?"
"YES!" Narcissa moaned out, her gorgeous face a mask of pure bliss. "Merlin, yes! I'm such a fucking slut! Riding your big, fat, amazing cock while letting you feel up my big tits! Yes! I can't believe I'm doing this, but it feels so good! Fuck yes!" she screamed out in pleasure, slamming herself down on my cock.
It was time. This wouldn't have worked earlier, but with the growing anchorage, maybe I could try extracting information out of her. Not directly perhaps, but maybe if…
"Do you do this for Lucius?"
"No! Never!" Narcissa called out, riding me at a good pace. "Lucius loves shoving his dick into little muggle sows. Fucking pedophile! Those titless bitches get him off!"
I felt a growing anger in my stomach. I already had plans for Lucius, but hearing this only cemented my motives. Obviously I couldn't let that show, so I gave her a knowing smirk, groping her big jugs, digging my fingers into the soft, smooth skin as she rode me.
Meanwhile, Narcissa went on, oblivious to my inner turmoil.
"...doesn't save any of it to fuck me! Not like you, baby. Shit! Yes... so good! You're fucking! Oh! UGH! And you're a fucking cocky little shit! YES! But Merlin, damn it! I never knew you could fuck! I just fucking never knew it! Your fat cock is as hard as a fucking brick! It's.. Merlin! UGH! And with the way you maul my tits, I know you're a nasty son of a bitch! Yes! YES!" She slammed herself down onto me, her ass slamming into my thighs.
I gripped her big boobs roughly and groaned as Narcissa exposed her true thoughts about me. Her tight, dripping pussy was clinging to my thick, swollen cock. The taut, stretched lips wrapped around my shaft, sliding up and down as her deep, heavenly, mature cunt swallowed my full length again and again, giving me the most intense pleasure she could. The greatest sex of my life, and hers.
And she was loving it.
"Oh Merlin! Yes! This is so fucking good! I love it! I fucking love it! You're so big!" Narcissa marvelled.
"Do you love my cock, Narcissa?" I said, driving up into her, sliding my hand down to smack her ass. "Do you?"
"Merlin... yes! I know it shouldn't matter, but holy fucking shit! Your cock is AMAZING! YES! I love it!" Narcissa screamed out.
I had one hand on her big breast, groping it fervently, as the other one jiggled freely, bouncing around like crazy as we fucked. My gaze was locked on her chest, and she definitely noticed.
"Do you like my big tits, darling?" Narcissa asked. I brought my hand back up and squeezed her other huge breast, digging my fingers into them.
"They're amazing!" I groaned out, driving my pulsing shaft into her clutching snatch at a quick pace. "You have the biggest fucking tits I've ever seen, Narcissa," I told her, giving them a firm squeeze.
"Bigger than that half-blood slut you're fucking earlier?"
"Yes!"
"What about the sluts you fuck around? That mudblood Granger? And that blood traitor? What about the sluts you fuck in the broom cupboards?"
"Yes! Narcissa... you have better tits than any of the girls from school." I told her, stroking her ego as she rode my cock. This admission made her smile. I pulled my hands from her big, squishy tits just so I could watch them bounce above me lusciously. Her soft, silky, heavy, naked udders jiggled and bounced as she rode my dick like a total slut.
"Fuck, you're so huge!" she moaned out, riding me from balls to tip on every bounce. Narcissa's nails were digging into my chest as she bounced on my rock hard staff. "Yes! You have the biggest, fucking best cock I've ever had. FUCK YES!" she screamed out in pleasure, her juices dripping down my post.
"Damn, Narcissa... fuck..." I groaned. "I never knew you could be so fucking nasty in bed. Maybe you should leave Lucius and stay with me. Be my bitch! I'll breed you five times a day." I said with a wolfish grin.
Narcissa moaned, unbridled. "I should! I fucking should! You see! You! Those mudbloods don't have it! They wouldn't know what to do with a cock like this," Narcissa stated, her ass slamming into my thighs, the sweat on her perfect form giving her naked body a bronzy sheen. "Pureblood bitches like me do, though. That's it! Yes! That's so fucking good! Yes... all we think about is cock. I should take you to the parties. Make you breed those bitches with your big, thick, tasty dick. YES! Ugh, fuck! You have no fucking idea how fucking horny... YES!"
"So horny you'd fuck me in front of your son?" I said, reaching up to grope her huge sweaty tits again, feeling the soft flesh against my fingers.
"Merlin! YES!" Narcissa screamed out. I watched her fit belly writhing as she rode me, her navel undulating hypnotically before me.
"You wanted this... mmm... you wanted this to happen. Didn't you? You knew Draco would come in, and you wanted to bounce on my cock in front of him. Show him how fucking useless his father is in bed. Didn't you... DIDN'T YOU?" I screamed out, squeezing her tits more firmly.
"YES! YES! FUCK!" Narcissa screamed out, heaving herself down at me, our sweaty bodies slamming into each other. "I'm such a nasty whore! Riding your big cock so those little mudblood sluts don't get to. So good! So damn good! Yes! Yes! Yes! YES! YES! YES! YES! UHHH FUCK!"
Her body was trembling with need as she rode me harder and faster. "I'm gonna cum, baby! I'm going to cum on your huge cock. Holy shit! Yes! YES! Fuck! Yes! YES! YES! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! AHHH! FUCK! FUCK! SHIT! YES! YES! YES! YES! AHHH! AHHHHH! YES! YES! YES! UGHHHH!"
My entire body clenched as Narcissa's pussy tightened around the full length of my iron bar lodged inside her. Her cunt gripped my cock like a vise, flexing around me in waves as she came, her juices splashing against my nuts as she ground against me.
"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" Narcissa chanted, her eyes clenched shut as waves of pleasure coursed through her luscious body. Her ass slid against my thighs as she rode out her climax, her body shivering with pleasure. Her nipples were throbbing in my hands, scratching my palms as I dug into her boobs roughly.
I did my best to resist losing it completely and letting my cock explode deep inside her. I normally had pretty excellent self-control, but this was Narcissa fucking Malfoy. This was on a whole new level of pleasure. I writhed beneath her as she quivered on top of me.
"Ahhhhh!" Narcissa called out, her head falling back, screaming to the heavens, exposing her long, slim neck, letting her long chestnut hair hang down behind her.
"Soooooo gooooood! YES!" she screamed loudly. Her tight, clutching pussy was driving me crazy, making my balls boil, coaxing me towards the edge, until finally, just as I was about to lose it.
"Ahhhhhhhh..." Narcissa sighed, her head falling forward in a daze, her pussy's grip on me loosening slightly, letting my balls simmer. As she was about to fall forward, her hands returned to my chest, gripping my pecs, propping herself up, not letting herself collapse onto me. I watched her gasp for breath, her huge boobs rising and falling. Her hair fell forward, obscuring her face as she recovered. Her cunt was still smothering my full length, leaking her copious juices onto my balls. She stayed on top for a few minutes as I lay beneath her, my tower still standing proud, buried inside her. I was about to move to act, but she beat me to it.
Her hand rose from my chest, reaching up to pull her hair back so she could look down at me. Just a single glance at that horny, filthy gaze ushered a new life through my cock. Her eyes flashed with mischief as they blazed with heat and lust for me. Her smooth lips were parted as she gasped with lust, and her hair looked wild as she looked at me like her next meal. Damn, she was fucking sexy. For the first time in my life, I was out of my league. Hermione was a freaking werewolf, but I had dominated her. But Narcissa? She was a goddess.
I lay there, unsure of what she had in mind.
"Move up..." she whispered, pushing me up the bed. I crawled up the bed, with her still on top of me. She coaxed me to keep moving back till she was satisfied, getting on her knees in front of me, sliding down so my still pulsing dick was buried all the way inside her. She put her slim arms around my neck and looked right at me, and gave me a lustful smile. Then she brought her lips down to mine.
Our mouths met once again, our tongues duelling with a slow, languid passion. Her soft lips were against mine as we made out, our mouths sucking at each other as we battled for control using our tongues. I made out with her for a few moments, her pussy still squeezing my aching prick, coating it with her copious juices. She pulled her lips from mine, spit connecting our mouths, as she pulled herself in close, moving her lips to my ear.
"I've never cum so hard in my life!" she whispered hotly.
"My pleasure..." I replied with a confident smirk as I felt her heavy, sweat-covered breasts pressing up against my chest.
"Mmm... not yet," she said, squeezing my bone hard prick with her pussy. "I want to return the favour..." Narcissa whispered, kissing my ear softly. "I want to make you cum, Harry. You hear me, baby? I want to make that gorgeous, perfect cock explode with the most giant wad of sticky cum possible! So... I'm gonna fuck your fucking brains out," she said, giving my earlobe another kiss. "I'm gonna ride your fat cock till you can't see straight. And while I do that, I'm gonna shove my big tits in your face and just fucking drown you with my breasts. And while I do that, I'm gonna scream out the naughtiest, most fucked-up shit I can think of, until you just can't take it anymore. Until you can't hold back and you just HAVE to cum! How does that sound, baby?" She ground against my post, squeezing my full length with her dripping snatch while she slid her big naked breasts against my chest.
I reached down to grope her perfect round butt. As I squeezed the warm, sweaty cheeks of her bare ass, I gave her the cockiest grin I could manage.
"Sounds good, Narcissa, but... do you think you can get the job done? I've hooked up with a lot of girls. One of them's even a werewolf, and I've made her scream my name out every night. Do you think you can do all the things they did? Can you really get me off good and hard like they did?"
Her eyes flashed at this bold claim.
"You can give me your best, but I bet I turn you into a screaming, quivering mess long before you can get the job done..." I was spouting total bullshit, to be honest, but I sensed she would enjoy my brash teenage arrogance. I wanted to piss her off, and make her angry. I wanted to question her just so she could try to prove me wrong with a good, angry fuck. And I was proved correct, as her eyes went wide with lust and her lips curled into a wicked smile.
"Really?" she said, sensing the tenor of the game changing, raising a perfectly plucked eyebrow at me as she lifted herself up, leaving only the head of my prick inside her. "You have no idea what I'm capable of. I'm gonna give you the best fuck ever!"
Her bold claim sent a jolt of lust through me. But I couldn't let her see me be affected. So, I simply smiled, pulled my hands from her butt, and rested my arms on the headboard, sitting back like a king on his throne, waiting for her to act.
She didn't disappoint.
Narcissa lifted herself up, then quickly drove herself down, taking my entire length once more, her pussy squeezing at my swollen weapon. I groaned in pleasure, closing my eyes as I tried to withstand the pressure and tried to keep up my veneer. I was about to look up at her with a smirk, but the game had moved on beyond that point already. As I moved to look at her gorgeous face, I faced her big, bare breasts. And they were on a collision course with me.
"You..." I began, but her melons interrupted my words, slamming and smothering my face with perfect, squishy softness. Her deep cleavage muffled anything else I had to say. I tried to pull back slightly, only to feel her arm curl around my neck, holding me in place as she shoved her huge breasts against my face.
"No more talk, hon," Narcissa said, sliding her mammoth breasts over my features as she bounced up and down my post. "Just take it, baby. You just stay right there and let me take control. Let me shove my tits in your face while I fuck your fucking brains out!" She stated, with a new, firmer tone in her voice. Narcissa began fucking me faster, her butt colliding with my thighs. She kept my face in place against her huge breasts. As she bounced up and down, she shook her chest back and forth, sliding her fleshy tits over me, the smooth, satiny flesh dragging across my face. I felt weighed down by her massive udders as she rested them on me, letting her soft breasts mould to my face. Muffled groans of pleasure escaped my mouth, obscured by her mammoth, smooth chest.
"What's wrong, baby?" Narcissa asked with a snarl. "Can't you handle this?" She kept bouncing roughly, fucking me into the bed. "See what happens when you do what you're told, baby?" Her pussy swallowed my thick prick over and over in a smooth, rhythmic bounce. "Mmmm... yeah... fuck! You do as you're told, and you'll make me happy. Very happy! And horny!Ugh! Fuck!"
Drowning in such softness was incredible. The sensation of her warm, fleshy, naked tits pressed firmly against my face, scrubbing it with pure, divine softness, was fucking insanely hot. I could feel Narcissa's nipples scratching against my cheeks. I shook my head against her boobs, revelling in the softness. But, as great as it was, I needed precious air. I took small gasps when I could, pulling air through the canyon of cleavage, but it wasn't enough. This, combined with her clutching cunt driving my cock wild with its supreme tightness, had me squirming beneath her.
"Ugh... fuck! You love it! Yes! You fucking love it! UGH! Drowning in my big fucking tits." Narcissa screamed out. I kept groaning beneath her, getting lightheaded. Narcissa, sensing my peril, pulled back, sliding her udders off my face.
"You alright, baby?" Narcissa asked mockingly, sensing she was in control as she kept bouncing on me, making her big boobs ripple. I gasped for breath and looked up at her.
"Is that all you got?" I asked with a smirk.
"Okay," she began angrily, tugging me forward by the neck, pulling me face-first into her rack once again. But this time, she aimed with precision, filling my open, panting mouth with her hard nipple. "AHHH! Yes, that's it, baby. Put that trouble-stirring mouth to good use. Suck my tits, hon... YES! UGH! Yeah! Fuck!" Narcissa moaned out as I sucked on her nipple.
I worshipped the hard nub with my mouth, my lips encircling it, forming a tight seal as I sucked, my tongue rotating around the rubbery cap before flicking it. "Ahhh! Yes! Fuck, you suck my tits so good! I knew you would! Yes!" Narcissa screamed out as she leaned forward, trying to force her entire breast into my mouth. Her pussy was unrelenting as she bounced, driving my big cock crazy.
As my air got short, Narcissa pulled her nipple from my mouth, giving me a few seconds' respite before replacing it with the other. As I gave the same worship to this nipple that I gave to the other, I reached forward and cupped her big breasts, squeezing them firmly.
"Mmmm... you love my big tits, don't you?" Narcissa asked, my mouth sucking her hard nipple. "You just can't stop sucking them! Haha!Ugh, fuck! They're so fucking big! They get in the way! Fuck! My back gets sore from lugging these suckers around every day! Shit! Yes! On hot days they get all sweaty! Fuck! But seeing you suck on them makes it all worth it! That's it. Suck my tits, babe! Ahhhh! Shit!" she groaned as I pumped up into her. "Right there! UGH! Fuck! Haha... you'll fuck your little bitches now, but it's my rack that'll make your dick throb. Isn't it? I can feel how hard you are for me. Tell me... tell me, you son of a bitch! Tell me... AHHHHHHH FUCK!" Narcissa screamed as I looked up at her, biting her hard nipple. She bounced harder at this, spurred onward. She pulled her nipple from my mouth with a pop, wrapped both arms around my head and pulled my face between her huge jugs again.
"AHHHHH! FUCK!" Narcissa screamed out as she rode my pulsing cock, taking my full length with every bounce. My cock was almost numb with pleasure. This felt so good. And it was truly coated with her slick juices, allowing her to smoothly bounce at a rapid pace. I scrubbed my face into her sweaty breasts, savouring their softness.
This was just… bliss.
And then the bliss snapped out. With a sudden move, Narcissa stopped her bouncing, pulled her sweaty breasts from my face and grabbed my chin between her fingers, directing my gaze upward.
"You'll fucking give your fucking best as I fuck your fucking brains out!" The crazy woman screamed, and then, with an equally insane look on her lust filled face, she moved down and shoved her tongue down my throat. Our mouths attacked each other, duelling for control as we kissed savagely. Our tongues mashed together as we swapped spit. After a few moments of extended snogging, she pulled her mouth from mine with a gasp.
"That's all you got?" I asked again in a daze, certainly affected by what she was doing to me, but still putting up a good fight. Her eyes were fiery with heat, and she resumed her fucking, picking up speed.
"I'M GONNA MAKE YOU FUCKING BURST!" she screamed, pulling in close, wrapping her arms around my neck. As she did, she stopped bouncing her entire body, only bouncing her ass up and down, still taking my full length. She was displaying her smooth, natural athleticism with the way she smoothly rolled her ass as she fucked me. For a moment, I wondered if this woman was going to attack me. She was Bellatrix's sister, after all.
Instead, she purred, sucking at my neck and said. "Fuck... just admit it, hon… Admit that Narcissa Malfoy can fuck you better than all those little skanks!" She kissed my neck again as I rested my hands on her hips while she smoothly rode me. "Just tell me I'm better... ugh... the best! Admit that. I'm the best fuck you've ever had. YES! Fuck! Admit that I'm a nastier slut than all those little fucking whores you hook up with. Yes! UGH! MERLIN! YES!"
"Ugh..." I groaned, her words and her tight cunt making my cock flex. Narcissa was unrelenting.
"Admit that Narcissa is the hottest, sexiest bitch you've ever laid eyes on!" She called out. "Tell me you'd rather be with someone like me, a real fucking woman, not some cheap young slut!"
"Mmmm..." I moaned with clenched teeth, trying to stifle the pleasure my cock was feeling. My tough veneer was slipping. I was going to cum soon, and Narcissa's incredible cunt was doing an incredible job of taking me right to the edge. She then took my full length inside her and stopped, grinding her cunt around my cock, flexing her hot ass against me.
"Oh... fuck!" I called out as I ground up into Narcissa's pussy.
"Do you like my pussy, Potter?" Narcissa asked softly, moving her lips close to my ear, her sexy voice and proximity making me shiver. "Isn't it so wet? So tight? Doesn't it make that enormous cock want to EXPLODE? Mmmmmmm..." She moaned softly in my ear as her words drove me crazy. I was doing my best to hold off losing it, but the task was becoming increasingly difficult. Her pussy was amazing!
"Ooooh..." I groaned, biting my lip. I didn't know why she wanted to prove herself as the best like that, but I would not give her the satisfaction so easily. Getting her to scream and get mad was half the fun.
"Face it, hon... you're gonna have to go through your life knowing the best fuck you ever had is with me," she boasted, still gripping my swollen pick with her grasping snatch. "You'll hook up with all kinds of those nasty sluts you seem to like, but you'll always think back on that one crazy summer when you had HOT..." She squeezed her cunt around me hard for emphasis. "Naked," Squeeze. "Sweaty," Squeeze. "Nasty," Squeeze. "Filthy," Squeeze. "Amazing sex!"
"Merlin... yes!" I moaned out, unable to stifle the pleasure I was feeling.
"So why not just finish this, right?" Narcissa asked, her lusty, smooth voice in my ear driving me crazy as she kept squeezing her cunt around my swollen dick. "Just let go... let go and fucking cum. Potter, I want to feel it. I want to feel you empty your big fat nuts into my cunt. I wanna feel that thick sperm just explode deep inside me. Don't you wanna do it, baby? Don't you want to cum inside your Narcissa's CUNT?" she asked, squeezing my cock hard.
I almost lost it. I was right up to the edge. Her pussy had worn me down, and her filthy words only added to my struggle. Hearing Narcissa talking to me like this was insanely hot. Nut-busting sexy. And what she was proposing, cumming inside of her... it was so hot! She was so nasty! I loved it.
I was so close.
"You date and fuck all those nasty, trashy little whores. Mudbloods. Half Bloods. Beasts. Useless little sluts! They don't know how to handle a guy like you! They don't know how to fuck a stud like you right! No,. they can't fuck you the way you need, not like I can. Can they? I can take better care of that cock than any of those whores! I can give you the best fucks you'll ever get! Tell me! TELL ME!"
I was at a loss. Narcissa was a customer here, so she was obviously getting her fair share of pleasure. Draco's reaction only confirmed that. Then why, why was Narcissa Malfoy, no, Narcissa Black so obsessed with proving her worth as a cumslut to me? What wasn't I seeing?
Then I noticed it. Her eyes were filled with tears. The nasty sex had made her an honest woman, and she was revealing the possessive side of her. Someone that, in her own words, was rejected by her husband. Someone that revelled in her Black heritage, only to be sidelined by her husband and son. Even though they were fucking girls, that didn't compare to her. Narcissa was jealous of what the other girls got, even if they were being raped by her pedophile husband. And now, she was revelling in the attention she was getting from me, and like a cougar in heat, staking her claim on me. Whether that was to bolster her own confidence, or indirectly assure that I'd come seeking her soon again and again, I didn't know.
This, I told myself, is the bloody best situation you've ever had, Harry.
Narcissa pulled back and looked me right in the eyes, holding my gaze as she kept squeezing me. She wanted to see me while I gave in. She had eyes full of lust and naughtiness. Her plump lips were curled up in wicked glee, her face coated from the sweat of sexual exertion, and her hair looked wild and sexy. I was close. So close. Taken right to the edge, driven insane with lust, until something had to give. My cock, or my sanity.
Either would ensure her win.
But I couldn't allow that. Could I?
So I smirked.
Taking Narcissa by surprise, I leapt into action, jumping forward, pushing her back onto the bed as my cock slid out of her. I got up on my knees and roughly handled her luscious body, turning her onto her stomach and pulling her up onto all fours in front of me.
"Oh!" Narcissa called out in surprise as I got behind her. I pulled her butt in close and positioned my slick cock at the entrance to her pussy again. Near feral with lust, I pumped my hips forward, sliding my cock into her wet pussy again. "Ohhhh... SHIT!" Narcissa moaned out in pleasure. It didn't take me long to work at a good pace, fucking in and out of her roughly.
I was like an animal, quickly pumping my swollen cock into her slick cunt. My dick was tingling in pleasure, and it felt like I was still close to the edge, but I had been driven into a new plane of stamina as I withstood the silky pleasure of her tight pussy.
This wasn't me asserting my cock and taking control. No, I was beyond such petty things. I had been driven to this. Narcissa's raw lust had driven the beast inside me up to the surface, and now that it was exposed, I couldn't pull it back. I couldn't think. All I could do was fuck.
"Fuck... FUCK! YES!" Narcissa squealed in pleasure as she drove her ass back into me. "Do me, baby... FUCK ME!"
I was beyond words, groaning and grunting as I drilled into her. I looked down to see my throbbing shaft sliding in and out of her pussy in a smooth and rapid rhythm. Her ass looked incredible in this position, standing out as she displayed it for me, the cheeks parting, allowing me a perfect view of her tight, clean asshole. I couldn't resist the urge, sliding my hand down into her ass crack and pushing a finger into her tight ass.
"AHHH! Fuck yeah!" Narcissa moaned out, throwing her hair back in pleasure. With my other hand, I reached forward and grabbed some of that hair, twirling her black locks around my hand before tugging her head back. "AHHH! GUHHHH! YES!" Narcissa grunted out, emboldened by the rough turn the sex had taken, driving her ass back at me faster. "Fuck me, baby! Pull my hair! Just like that! Yes! YES!"
My hips were a blur as I drove into her, using her hair for leverage while keeping one finger lodged up her arse.
"Tell me, ugh, fuck... TELL ME!" she screamed out. "FUCK! Tell me! Tell me I'm the best! The best you'll ever have! Please!" She begged, her pussy squeezing around my cock.
"YES!" I growled, finding words. "You're the fucking best! The best fuck I've ever had! You're incredible! Narcissa, you're so fucking hot! So sexy! Holy fuck!"
Then it happened.
World Anchor–Narcissa Malfoy has gone up by 18%
Gained Affinities from World Anchor — Narcissa Malfoy
Dark Arts +6%
Martial Magic +2%
Charms +2%
At 50% World Anchorage, you've gained a Perk!
Before I could even check out what perk I had gotten, Narcissa screamed her lungs out, and gripped me with an unseen strength.
"YES!" she yelled her lungs out. "YES! Yes, yes! FUCK ME, FUCK ME!
"So goddamn tight!" I groaned as I pumped into her tight cunt. Still yanking her hair back, I leaned forward over her back, sliding my hand under her to squeeze one of her massive, hanging breasts.
"God, you're amazing, baby! Fucking incredible! You are the best fuck I've ever had! Not even! Holy shit!" Narcissa moaned. I kept groping her big boobs, feeling the soft flesh in my palms. "You're amazing, honey! I can't wait to fuck you again!"
"Ugh..." I growled as I felt a tingle in my nuts. I was getting close. The pressure was becoming too much to bear. I released my hold of her hair and sat back up, putting my hand back on her hips. With the other, I slid my finger out of her tight ass before rearing back and spanking her round ass crisply.
"Ahhh! Yes!" Narcissa moaned out, delighting in this rough treatment.
SMACK!
"Ugh! YES!"
SMACK!
And again.
SMACK!
And again!
SMACK!
"Fucking damn! YES! YES! YES!" she screamed out, her cunt quivering around me. She was getting close, too. "I never…. Oh! Oh, I need you to fuck me every fucking day! Nobody's ever fucked me like you do! Nobody's ever fucked me like you!" She moaned, and it only drove me harder. "I want to feel it! I want you to cum, baby! I want it so bad. Do it, hon! Shoot your cum deep inside me! BREED ME! Yes! YES! YES!"
I drove into her roughly, driven near insane with lust in need. But as I fucked her harder, the filth pouring from her mouth got even nastier.
"Yes! YES! Fuck me, baby! FUCK ME!" she screamed out, driving her ass back at me roughly. "I want to fucking ruin you for other girls! YES! You'll never get fucked nearly as well by any other girl! Just me! I fuck that cock better than anyone! Yes! You'll never fucking forget! Ugh! You'll never move on! You'll be obsessed with my hot body forever! Yes! YES!"
I fucked into her harder than her filthy words made my cock tingle. My nuts were boiling. My cock was throbbing. I was about to explode, and there was no holding back.
But she wasn't done yet.
"UGHH! YES! Fuck! I'm not letting this fucking huge cock go anywhere! I want to fuck it forever! YES!"
"Ugh fuck! Take it! Take it!" I told her. "I'm gonna do it! I'm gonna fill you up!"
"DO IT!"
"Uh... oh! Here it comes. Here it comes! Here it cums!" I groaned, my body shaking.
"Yes! YES! YES!"
And then my world exploded. I felt my nuts twist as the first rocket-load of jizz fired out of me, exploding deep inside her waiting cunt. "UGHHH! GOD! YES!"
"FUCK! I feel it!" Narcissa screamed out as I exploded inside her. Her pussy tightened around me.
"I'M CUMMMMING! YES! CUMMING! OH FUCK!"
As my throbbing cock fired off jet after jet of thick cum deep inside her, her pussy locked around my cock, quivering as she came. I felt her juices colliding with my shaft as my dick exploded a gallon of sticky cum balls deep inside her. Our bodies were clinging to each other as I kept pumping into her, trying to bury as much cum as I could deep inside her.
As my nuts twisted and my cock pulsed, I was seeing stars. I was on a new plane of pleasure as I came in her pussy, having the biggest orgasm of my life. My hips drove into her roughly as my body jerked in pleasure as my cock finally found release. I just kept cumming, firing off huge bands of cum inside of her, filling her up.
"There's so much! Yes!" she cried out from beneath me as squealed with pleasure. It felt like it went on and on, never ending. I don't know how long it lasted, but eventually I came down from my high. After one last mind numbing jerk of pleasure, I fell off of her, panting for breath as I rolled off of her and onto my back. She stayed on her belly, curling up slightly as she tried to recover from her own high.
We stayed like this for a few minutes, frozen in place. I was utterly exhausted. I had just had the craziest, most fucked up sex of my life. Narcissa eventually rolled onto her back next to me, and I think both of us probably could have just nodded off right , I closed my eyes and summoned the screen in front of my thoughts.
PERK — FEMME FATALE
Narcissa can easily slip into the vicinity of her target, get what she wants, while making them utterly infatuated with her devilish charm, carnal attractiveness, and intelligence.
EFFECTS
Increased Luck while running stealth, tracking and covert activities.
Massively increased carnal desirability in the opposite sex.
Get what she wants indeed! The question was, what did she want from me after this? More sex? Frequent encounters? Or was she going to prove herself a nutter by trying to put an Imperius over me and locking me up in some private dungeon as her sex toy?
Meanwhile, the Screen flashed more information.
Related perks found in existing Schematics!
PERK — PHEROMONE
Why bother fighting when you can seduce instead?
EFFECTS
Ability to dissolve the wariness of men and women alike, with massively increased carnal desirability of the Host in the opposite sex, so long as the Host makes no mistake in the conversation's approach, and can probably even get intelligence from the innermost circles.
Do you wish to combine Perks?
I blinked. Combine?
Perk Combination allows for combining the positives and negatives of individual perks. Would you like to combine perks PHEROMONE and FEMME FATALE?
I thought about that for a second and agreed.
Your perks have combined to form an upgraded perk!
Perk — DEVIL'S CHARM
Seduction. Lies. Persuasion. That's your playground.
EFFECTS
Massively increased carnal desirability in the opposite sex.
Lowers inhibitions to anyone who hears your voice.
Increased Luck while running stealth, tracking and covert activities.
10% affinity boost to Occlumency.
I blinked again. The Occlumency benefit had come out of nowhere. Not that I was complaining. It made sense, however. To be a femme fatale, one needed to be in control of one's emotions and thoughts. And with both perks tied into my new Devil's Charm perk, things were going to be interesting.
Especially because Narcissa Malfoy had her world anchor crossing halfway.
This would open all kinds of doors for me. Suppressing the urge to laugh giddily, I realised she had risen, and sitting beside me, one hand softly caressing my now soft cock.
"It's late," she said at last, in a voice devoid of emotion. "Draco is waiting for me. I should leave."
"I see."
"Do you come here often?"
"No. This is actually my first time," I admitted. "I didn't even know that—"
"Twilfitt & Tattings have been providing these services for pureblood wives like me. But none of that comes remotely close to what this can provide." She gripped my cock tighter. "It'd be a shame if we forgot about this."
She met my eyes. "You didn't even get to see what I can do with my arse."
"And what do you have in mind?" I asked warily. "I hope you aren't expecting me to go out with you, or see you publicly."
She laughed, and there was no mirth in it. "Me? Seen with Dumbledore's protégé? That'd be something. But maybe if I had listened to Aunt Walburga… things could have been interesting."
"Aunt… Walburga Black?"
Her eyes flashed. "You know her?"
I instantly cursed myself for that little giveaway. "I've been studying my family tree. Walburga Black was Sirius Black's mother, wasn't she?"
"That she was," Narcissa replied, a strange affliction in her voice. Inwardly, I feared I had given a bit too much away. Me and my big fucking mouth!
"But no," she went on, "I was thinking of something more private. Fuck buddies, I think the modern term is. We… are pretty compatible once our clothes are off, I think."
I laughed. "Sure, Narcissa, we can be fuck buddies. Not sure about the 'buddy' part, but we can have sex."
She frowned. "Touche. But it's fine with me. I'm not looking for romance or love, Potter. I just want this."
She jerked my cock again.
"That I can give you, Narcissa," I said. "Once I get something appropriate, I'll let you know."
She smiled. "I'll look forward to it."
Notes:
If you want to support me, find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Chapter 24: Accursed Blood
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 1 - OUTLANDER
Ever been stabbed with a kitchen knife? Not nicked, or cut by it, but stabbed, like all the way to the hilt? If you have, I hope you got medical aid. If you haven't, then believe me, it hurts a fucking lot.
I screamed and screamed as every single nerve in my body flared, my eyes threatening to bulge out of my sockets, my nostrils wet and bloody and dripping with blood. Every single hair on my body was standing erect, but nothing, nothing compared to the feeling of knives stabbing into my body. If this was how the cruciatus was supposed to feel, I totally get why they're called unforgivable. Unfortunately for me, it wasn't the cruciatus.
It was the real thing.
"GAAAAH!" I screamed, my fingers digging into the couch, using it to remain standing. Something told me that if I fell, I'd die. I was no stranger to pain, what with the way my previous life ended. My daily morning spars with Hermione in the morning often left an occasional bruise and lacerations. Naturally, when Walburga had warned me that the path to Black Lordship would be a cruise through pain, I had come in expecting bruises. Maybe welts. Perhaps even a cracked rib or two.
Instead, I had… this.
There was a belt wrapped over my upper torso, right from my left shoulder, climbing down diagonally down to my waist. I use the term 'belt' loosely, because it had no frame, prong or loop. Instead, it was a mesh of animal tissue and skin, extracted from an immensely rare and powerful magical animal called the Barghest. Haven't heard of it before? It's what JKR referred to in her story as the 'Grim'. And no, Sirius's animagus was no barghest. From what Walburga told me, the average barghest was easily the size of a grizzly and had myriad magical powers, with shapeshifting being the most common. The moment I had worn this belt around my body and chanted the incantation Walburga had made me memorise to heart, thick, bony teeth had erupted out of the belt and dug themselves into my freaking skin, drawing blood. Hence the comparison.
"Pathetic!" scoffed Walburga, as the wraith stood on the floor, looking at me with acute disdain in her eyes. "Your mewling shows your inferiority! Stand up straight and accept the pain as your own."
"How the FUCK does this help me become the Black Lord, you sadistic bitch?"
There was a sharp hissing sound, and Walburga lifted her left hand, fingers spread. She spat something under her breath, and several more teeth erupted out of the belt and tore into me. I threw my head back and bawled my lungs out.
"If this shakes the would-be Lord, I shudder to think what will happen to the Black name after you wield it."
"Fucking bitch!" I yelled. "I'll be a corpse at this rate!"
"Your exaggerations do you no favour. None of your wounds are fatal."
That… was true. The deep gashes on my upper torso, as terrible and painful as they were, were perfectly curable by the application of Vulnera Sanentur, an advanced healing spell she had made me practise before beginning this… madness. I had to cast the spell thrice — the first to slow the blood flow, preventing death by exsanguination. The second was to clear residue and begin healing, and the third to fully knit the injured tissue, with an additional touch of dittany to prevent scarring.
Unless I remembered it wrong, it was also the same spell Snape used to heal a bloodied Draco Malfoy after Harry had cast Sectumsempra at him in his sixth year in the books.
Still. They hurt. A lot. Doubly because the belt was literally guzzling up my blood and my magic, making me feel physiologically and magically weak. It'd continue to do so until there was the absolute minimum of both in me, and then it'd let me go free. Walburga had already made me purchase a gallon of blood-replenishing potion; several vials of the incredibly expensive Draught of Blossoms, a thick-golden potion that felt strangely familiar for whatever reason; and a vial set of Wiggenweld potion, just in case things went crazy, and he needed a 'pickup'. I wasn't sure if I could trust Hestia over this, so I had Dobby purchase them for me. Turns out house-elves could perfectly enter Gringotts to draw out money from their masters' vaults.
Why was I doing this, you ask? Because Walburga said I had to keep performing the ritual for as long as it took for my blood to 'sink into' the belt.
"Now man up!" The wraith snapped. "Cease this weakling behaviour!"
I swallowed the curse that was forming on my lips with difficulty. Instead, I settled for just glaring at her.
"What good will this do?" I snarled. "Apart from torturing and bleeding me out?"
"Everything," said Walburga. "We Blacks are the children of the Coyote. It is said that the Navajo Holy Ones cursed our ancestors, forcing them to live in Ni' Hodithil, the First Dark World, where their powers mutated to become shapeshifters. They called them Yenaldooshi, dark sorcerers with twisted abilities. It is this curse that lies at the root of the Black Family Magic. It is the power of this curse that manifests through this pelt you wear and detest, and it is this curse that allows an ordinary scion to transform into the Black Lord. Between now and the time of the ritual, the Pelt will drink your blood and quench its thirst, and use your power to prepare its curse. And when the Accursed Night arrives, it will poison your skin, your blood and your soul. If you give it what it wants, it will curse you with the stench of the yenaldooshi. The power that lies at the core of a true Black Lord."
I didn't have the strength to narrow my eyes. It had taken everything just to stay focussed on her words, praying that my eidetic memory would help me keep everything she had told me.
"And… what does it want?"
Walburga gave me a sinister smile. "That is for me to know and you to find out."
I gnashed my teeth. Here I was, willingly bleeding out on her word, and she was playing mind-games with me.
"Fine…" I breathed, "Tell me this… Why are you helping me? What about… Malfoy?"
Walburga sneered. "Lucius's brat! As if that ponce has any business becoming the Lord Black. I was always against marrying sweet Narcissa with that family. No history, no culture, just a bunch of backstabbers, swindlers and gold-diggers that got themselves a family name. As if the name Malfoy means anything to the true wizard!"
Even in my half-addled state, I remembered Narcissa saying something about her not accepting Walburga's proposal. Had Walburga Black really been against the marriage? But if not Lucius, then—
"You didn't want her to marry—"
"Of course not!" She snapped. "We're Blacks. Her mother was a Rosier, true, but the Black blood flows deep within her. She was a staunch believer of Toujours Pur. If only my son Sirius had been a little malleable to our goals, but that blasted Dumbledore ate his head with his puritanical nonsense! Sirius and Narcissa, Regulus and Bellatrix. Why, if my son Polaris would have lasted to see his seventeenth birthday, he could've married Andromeda. They'd have led the world into a magical utopia."
Her expression darkened. "Instead, look at what happened! Dearest Narcissa, vainly toiling for Lucius's attention. As if that poseur ever had eyes for anyone but himself! My precious Bellatrix! Sold off for gold. As if the Lestranges ever had the eyes or the capability to see her for the gem she was. At least the Dark Lord wasn't a fool! I had hopes for Bellatrix bedding the Dark Lord! He was no Black, but the fusion of the Blacks with the heir of Slytherin would be formidable."
I laughed. It came out as a mix of a snort and a cough, but I did it anyway. "Heir of Slytherin!" I laughed again. "The Dark Lord is the offspring of a Gaunt Squib and a muggle!"
Walburga spun at me, her dark eyes locked on mine. She slowly floated towards me until her face was inches away from mine.
"What. Did you say?"
"The Dark Lord," I coughed again. "Son of a Gaunt squib. Merope Gaunt. Daughter of… Marvolo Gaunt, and Tom Riddle, a muggle. He was a muggle born. In Slytherin. Tom Marvolo Riddle."
"You. Lie."
My eyes were shutting down, but I smirked at her hiss.
"I speak. Truth."
"And how do you know that?"
"That." It was my turn to smile. "Is for me to know, and you to find out."
Walburga was not amused.
When I returned home from Grimmauld Place, it was already past eight in the evening. The potions had me sleeping for five long hours, during which they replenished me and brought me back to my fullest capacity. Dobby had gotten me a steak dinner which I'd had there, listening to more of Walburga's rants, with the occasional useful titbit that my mind filed away for later. I had also tried summoning Slytherin's locket, but to no avail. Either Salazar Slytherin or someone had enchanted the locket against summoning, or my spell was simply not powerful enough to fetch it out of whatever trunk they stored it in. There was a third possibility, one that I absolutely refused to entertain, and that was that the Locket wasn't in the house. For whatever reason, Walburga absolutely clammed up when it came to Regulus, probably because I had inquired about him multiple times. Well, that… or there was something else she wasn't willing to share with me.
Seriously, I was there to find answers, but all I was getting were more questions.
At least things were going well between Hermione and Hestia.
Hermione had interrogated me about my business at Grimmauld Place, but I had done a good job of staying shut. Hestia, playing true to her role as my secretary, hadn't voiced her opinion, but I could see the gears in her mind arriving to multiple conclusions. It was probably for the best that Hestia had stayed outside, keeping my encounter and subsequent discussions with Walburga a complete secret. Of course, Dobby knew, but there was no way they were going to get him to speak without my permission.
Dobby took his Alfred-ing seriously.
After having a bath, I headed for the kitchen to get something to drink. That was when I heard them talking. As I turned a corner, I found Hestia sitting with a cup of coffee in front of her, and a beer in front of Hermione, laughing like two girlfriends should. Hestia saw me first, and smiled at me, one of the biggest smiles I had seen on her face — discounting the blowjob, that is.
"There he is," she claimed, "hey Harry, how's it hanging?"
Both girls burst out laughing at her innuendo. I couldn't help but smile as I walked past them behind the kitchen bar to the refrigerator to pull out a beer myself.
"Talking about me, huh?" I asked. "Should I be afraid or excited?"
"Afraid," said Hermione.
"Excited," said Hestia.
And then both of them burst out laughing again.
"Hestia and I had a nice, long talk about you, Harry," said Hermione. "I never knew there was so much to explore about sex. She's promised to teach me everything she knows, in return for…" she turned to Hestia, "how did you put it again?"
"Mind-bending, toe-curling, cunt-spasming, dirty sex with your boyfriend?"
"Right, that." Hermione said, "And she told me how she's yet to have her first time with that thick, juicy cock inside her."
"Absolutely," Hestia smirked at me, licking her lips. "I've yet to be… under my boss."
"Well, don't let me hold you back." Hermione smirked. "What about you, Harry?"
"Works for me," I said, glancing at her to check if she was really consenting to it. I knew for a fact that she'd not deny me sex with anyone else, but to see her actively encourage Hestia was surprising.
"Now I'm off to bed, so you two can enjoy yourselves," Hermione said, turning to walk to her room. "And oh yes," she said, stopping and turning back around to face us, "use silencing charms, please." She tapped at her ears. "Werewolf senses."
Hestia looked over at me and grinned. "So, your room or mine?"
…
…
…
We chose her room. The moment we were inside and had dutifully cast the silencing charm, Hestia leaped into my arms, her lips meeting mine fiercely. My lips parted, and she forced her sinewy tongue into my mouth. Our tongues mashed together, our saliva mashing together as I made out with my hot secretary. Her hands clawed at my bare back as mine surrounded her, putting one on her back and the other taking a greedy handful of her juicy arse. Her body pressed roughly into mine as she backed me until my back hit a wall hard, causing the wall decorations to rattle. As she sucked on mine, our lips mashed together forcefully. I let my other hand slide down to cup her arse as well, squeezing it roughly. I pulled my lips from hers and leaned down to her neck, sucking at it.
"Oh, fuck!" she moaned out, clawing at my scalp. She rubbed her hands along my firmly muscled back appreciatively. I nibbled at her neck fiercely, grinding against her as I did so. "Sir… Oh, yes, Sir… hold on…. wait." I kept going, ignoring her attempts.
"Harry!" she called out, forcing my head back, so I was staring at her lust-filled face. She was gasping hard as we shared this moment. Finally, she spoke up.
"Harry!" she husked. "Fuck me!"
Seething with lust, I reached down and took the back of her knees and lifted her up. She wrapped her legs around my hips as her lips met mine again. The smell of her perfume hit my nose, and the pleasure I was feeling made her feel weightless in my arms. Muscles flexing, I walked towards the bed, making out with her as I did. Once we got there, I let her go, as she looked at me with lust in her eyes. She took a hold of the front of my shorts and pulled it down.
"Morgana!" she said, her eyes going cross-eyed as she stared down the length of my thick meat. For a few moments, she studied it, appreciating its size. "I know I sucked it earlier, but Merlin's balls, that's the biggest fucking cock I've ever seen!" she gasped out in awe. She tilted her head, studying it from different angles. "Morgana, look at those balls." She mused to herself.
"Is this what you want?" I asked, "Sucking my balls again?"
"Oh yes," she said hurriedly, kicking off her heels as she ripped out her tucked in blouse and unbuttoned it. "I have got to suck your cock." she gasped out.
"You don't want me to fuck you?" I asked cockily.
She smiled wickedly. "We have the entire night to ourselves, don't we?"
Her fingers deftly unbuttoned her blouse, till finally, she ripped apart her blouse, exposing her bra-clad breasts to me. The bra was snug on her, making her breasts practically explode out of it. Her nipples showed through the lacy black fabric, and the overworked bra-straps dug into her shoulders. I looked at her sexy thin belly, and another rush went through me.
She tugged on her thin skirt, and as she did, more and more of her tiny black panties emerged. Her skirt puddled at her feet, leaving her clad in only her black bra, black thong panties, and dark stockings. I shook my head at this. Hestia lacked Narcissa's curves, but she had a far more athletic body. She wasn't skinny in the same way as Tracey was. There was a definition in her arms and stomach, and her legs looked nice and strong. I wondered how it'd feel to bend her in half, something I couldn't do with Hermione or Narcissa very well, because of their large breasts. Deftly, Hestia unhooked her bra, and her breasts burst forward, causing her bra to spring down from her arms onto the floor. It was one thing to see her cleavage peeking out of her shirt when she had blown me, and to see the goods first hand."You like?" she teased, grinning proudly, cupping her arm under her jugs.
"Love 'em," I replied, as she bent over to slide her thigh-highs down. "Leave them on." I ordered, and she smiled lustily and obeyed. She moved towards me and got on her knees in front of me, between my spread legs. She put her hands on my bare thighs and slid them upward. I sighed in pleasure as I felt her fingers curl around the base of my shaft. Her mouth opened in a sigh as she gazed at my throbbing cock and gave it a slow stroke.
"Oh my, Merlin! I'm in love with your cock!" she moaned.
"Is that why you're my secretary?" I asked. "Dumbledore put you to spy on me, but look at you, sitting naked before me, thirsty for my cock!"
"Yes!" With that, she lowered her head towards my crotch, putting all her focus on my cock. Her mouth opened and as I felt her warm breath on the tip of my cock, my head fell back. I glanced back down just in time to see her open mouth surrounding my dick, allowing it entrance. Her tongue grazed along the bottom of my shaft, dripping spit, her plump lips closed around it, forming a perfect seal. Her tongue mashed against the underside, and her cheeks hollowed as she sucked. "Fuck!" I grunted out, my cock halfway in her mouth. Her tongue was swirling, and she lowered her mouth even farther on my dick, inhaling my cock.
"Fuck!" I grunted again, resting my hand on her head as she bobbed on my shaft. "You're one nasty cocksucker, Hestia!"
She lifted her mouth off my dick, the top half soaked with her spit. "With a cock like this," she panted out, "how could I not?" She resumed sucking me, attacking my cock fiercely, choking herself on my sizable meat.
I'm not exaggerating when I say this. Hestia was damn good at this. She sucked my cock hard, inhaling it like she meant it. She bobbed deeply and smoothly, taking more of my cock down her throat, sucking on it like it was the best thing she had ever tasted, revelling in the act, as if she was born to do this. The sensation of her plump lips wrapped around my shaft was almost enough to make me lose it. She looked up, holding my gaze as she attacked my pole. And she was not afraid. She knew how to do it and do it right. She attacked my cock like a starving woman, sucking long and hard, trying to savour every bit of flavour it provided, utterly unflinching in her efforts as she gave me a deep, smooth, wet and hard blowjob, her spit dripping down my shaft to my balls.
I looked up at the mirror next to my door. The reflection I saw was thrilling. Me, naked, a light sheen of sweat coating me, and my firm, lean muscles. The only part obscured in the reflection was my cock. And that was because of the kneeling figure in front of me. Looking at the reflection, I saw the back of the brown-haired woman's head bobbing in my lap, not seeing her face, just watching her work. Seeing her hair fall onto my thighs and her being so engrossed in sucking my dick that she didn't bother tucking it behind her ears affirmed in my mind what a sex-vixen she truly was. Her firm, bare back looked stunningly sexy. She was up on her knees, her hands clawing at my thighs as she blew me. But the best part of seeing this reflection was getting my first good look at her thong-clad arse as it directly faced the mirror. The black string threading between her cheeks was microscopic, so her arse was practically bared to me. Each cheek was round and full and fleshy in just the right way. Hers was an arse you just wanted to grab and squeeze and not take your hands off of. In her position, her cheeks parted naturally. I could see her arsehole behind the tiny piece of string, and it looked nice and hot and tight. Seeing her so exposed, having her kneeling in my bedroom, exposing her arsehole to me, it was a thrilling sight. It pulled me from my admiration of her body when she pulled her mouth off my cock with a smack and panted her wet, open mouth against my ball-sack.
Before I knew it, she pushed me back onto the bed as her tongue ran up my body. She climbed onto the bed, her tongue running up the middle of my chest. As she crawled up my body, her fingers ran over my lithe frame, grazing my stomach and chest. A shiver ran through me as her tongue ran across my neck. As her tongue entered my open mouth, she let her weight fall onto me. Her bare chest was now against mine as our mouths mashed against each other again. I planted my hands on her arse and squeezed it roughly in my palms. I let my fingers run presumptuously into the crack of her arse, teasing her a bit before letting my hands rise to her waist. With a jerk, I tugged at her underwear. Continuing to make out, we crawled up the bed until I was laid out completely on the mattress. She followed, pulling her thong off as she crawled with me.
Finally, she pulled her lips off of mine and she looked down at me, her tits pressed into my bare chest, her nipples hard as rocks. With a smile, she got up on her knees, now kneeling on me, and put her hands on her hips.
"Ready for the real thing?" I asked.
Smiling wickedly, she reached down and took my shaft in her hand again, pointing it upward. She swiveled her hips, positioning her dripping, bare cunt over my towering cock. She slapped the head of it against her puffy lips and raised an eyebrow at me.
"Oh yes, I am," she purred. "But tell me, are you?"
Notes:
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Chapter 25: Taming Hestia
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 1 -OUTLANDER
"I can't believe I'm doing this." she told herself. "Dad always told me to stay away from douchebag buttfuckers, and now I'm about to be fucked by one."
"Trust me, it'll be worth it." I said, grabbing her hips.
"Oh, I already know it will be." she purred. Looking at me, she lowered herself onto me. Her eyes scrunched up as the head of my dick entered her.
"Fuck!" she moaned out. One of my eyes scrunched shut as I felt the tip of my cock press against the entrance to her tight pussy, which split apart, trying to grant me entrance. She was tight, tighter than Hermione, and had to wiggle her hips. I did my bit and pushed as firmly as I could, and finally, the tip of my cock entered her.
"Ohhhh, damn, that's fucking big!" she squealed.
"Ssssshit!" I grunted out. Her pussy was clinging to the tip of my cock, and she was soaked. She really wanted this. She wiggled her frame and tilted her body, angling herself in just the right way to allow more of my shaft to enter her.
"Morgana's fucking arse! Harry!" Hestia called out. "I can't believe how thick you are. Fuck!"
I frowned, wondering if her pussy was just that tight or… I froze with the realization. Were the perks making physiological changes to my body? I glanced down at my cock, and yes, it felt a little thicker. This was the first time I had had sex with anyone after my stunt with Narcissa. Maybe testing out with Hermione would confirm my theory?
"Just keep going." I grunted out. "I want to give you every fucking inch."
She exhaled, and I swear her nipples got harder. She began pushing herself down against me, forcing another few inches of my thick shaft into her quivering snatch. It stretched the lips of her cunt to the max, desperate to take my meaty invader."Merlin, I want it all. I want to feel your enormous balls against my arse!" she begged.
"You can do it."
"Oh, I'm gonna fucking do it!" she sneered. "You're fucking a real woman, not those snotty teenage brats!"
I didn't have the heart to tell her I had fucked Narcissa Malfoy, who made her look like a skinny schoolgirl. Unlike Narcissa, Hestia was a wildcard. Also, unlike her, she had yet to score above fifty percent of her world anchors.
So I took a different route.
"Prove it!" I dared. "Prove you're better than all those teenage sluts. Fuck me better than they ever could! Fuck me so well, I never think about doing a teenage girl again!"
"Oh, hon." she said. "When I'm done with you, you won't even be able to get hard for girls your own age!"
"Not even Hermione?"
Hestia froze for a moment. "She's a werewolf. She doesn't count."
"Fine. Do what they can't do then!" I groaned out. "Take my dick up to the balls! Do it, bitch!"
She reached down and grabbed my hips and, grunting and grimacing, forcing a couple more inches inside of her. She relaxed and gasped, but there was still outside. "Ha!" I taunted her. "Hermione could take it all! Guess you're all talk!"
Breathing deep, Hestia held her breath, gritted her teeth, and drove herself down one more time. She wiggled slightly, maneuvering herself. Finally, flexing her hips, she drove herself down as hard as she could, forcing her arse into my lap, taking the entirety of my cock inside of her.
"AHHHHHHHHHHH! FUCK FUCK FUCK!" she screamed, my dick buried in her tight snatch.
"Mmmmmmmm." I groaned, my eyes shut as the pleasure was too great. Her cunt was spasming around my cock as it got used to my size, causing her to groan lightly. I just could not get over how tight she was! I tell you, even after fucking Hermione's virgin pussy and Ginny's thin and tight cunt, I've never felt a tighter cunt than her. Not even Narcissa was remotely close, and she wasn't normal by any standards.
"UGH!" she sighed, her body relaxing slightly, her full weight now on my torso as her head fell back and her arms hung from her side. She breathed deeply as she adjusted to me, and the sight of her breasts jutting outward was too much to resist. I reached up and slapped her rack, before grabbing and giving them a firm squeeze.
"Ugh! Fuck! That's nice! Do it harder!" she moaned. God damn, Hestia's breasts were perky as fuck. I wanted to just slap them over and over. I couldn't fucking take my hands off them. They filled my palms as I played with them, running my powerful hands against her soft flesh. I had been with some rather busty women lately, Hermione, Ginny, Romilda and Narcissa, but Hestia's taut rack was something to be mentioned, what with how large her nipples were. I ran my fingers across her soft flesh before taking those girls and twisting them hard.
"AHHHHHHHHHH! YES! I love it!" she squealed. Her cunt clamped down around me as a jolt of pleasure ran through her. She was slowly swiveling her hips and flexing her arse, getting used to my cock inside her, getting it ready for the rough sex we would have momentarily.
Her neck straightened up, and she looked down at me as I continued to molest her titties. She stayed silent for a minute or two, staring down at me, rolling her hips slowly and smoothly, her movements small but the effect huge. Her tight, clenching cunt smothered my cock in pleasure, her slight movements driving me to the edge, but I had enough stamina to not let her take me over. A younger girl would have just started uncreatively bouncing. But not Hestia. She knew what the fuck she was doing. She was charging up the cock, giving me slow, agonizing pleasure, making my balls swell with cum, training them to get it full to the brim without letting it lose control. She was priming it for what was ahead. Training it for a long, hot fuck session.
"You're so good!" I groaned out.
"I know." She agreed, putting her hands on my chest as she ground against my pulsing cock. Her tight, clenching cunt was driving my cock wild. My dick was almost numb with pleasure. "Mmmmmmmm. Harry! Fuck yeah! Oh yes! I can totally see why Hermione's addicted to this meat!Oh my gosh, I should! I should, Merlin! I should bring Chiara here. She'd fucking love to dance on your fucking cock! Oh yes! Oh, fucking yes! Aaaah! That's it! That's it! That's it! Oh fuccck!"
I slid my hands down from her fleshy rack, running down her sides and cupping her arse cheeks. I gave her right cheek a firm slap.
"C'mon, Hestia. Let's make this happen."
"Boys. Always so impatient!" She scoffed.
"Either you speed up, or I do."
"Is that a dare? You might have a thick cuntfucker, but that doesn't mean you can handle me, Potter!"
"Empty words."
"Alright, babe." she said, still squeezing her cunt around me. "I'll show you what I'm made of. I hope you can handle it. You will scream for mercy at the end of this.
"Talk," I drawled.
Hestia scowled and gripped her nails on my chest roughly and finally lifted herself up. Her pussy did not want to let my cock go, clinging to my cock as her arse rose from my lap. My hands rested on her lips as she lifted herself up. I looked down to see my wet, pulsing shaft appear from the warm confines of her sweet cunt. My cock had been marinating inside of her, so it was soaked with her juices. The lips of her cunt were stretched around my shaft, and I watched as she rose so it left just the very tip of me inside of her. I felt the muscles in her back tighten. I saw her arse flex, and with one fierce thrust, she drove herself into me as hard as she could.
"Ugh!" she grunted out as our skin slapped together.
"Mmmmm." I groaned out, gripping her hips as she ground into me. As if the sensation of my cock leaving her cunt was a sweet agony, she lifted herself slowly again. She again rose to the tip and then drove into me, her arse driving into me. She repeated this motion faster. Then again. Then again, building up the pace. Finally, she stopped and looked down at me.
"You ready to get the best fuck of your life?"
"Give me all you got." I told her. She smirked, and then that smirk transformed into a sneer. As quick as a flash, she bounced on my dick, rising and falling on my meat. This time, her hips didn't stop. She rose and fell, building up momentum, bouncing at a firm pace, and finally me and her were fully in action.
We were fucking.
"Damn!" I grunted as she rode the full length of my cock. She bent forward and put both of her hands on the headboard of my bed, gaining more leverage that she used to force her body onto my cock harder, her hips driving into me.
"Merlin! it's so fucking big!" she grunted out, her arse slapping against my thighs. Her whole body was tensed as she used her entire body, her lithe arms, her fit stomach, her strong legs, her round arse, to roll into me, to drive her body into mine, to fuck my cock, to pleasure me.
She was picking up the pace, and it was fucking incredible, but I was doing alright. I could handle this. She worked at an incredible speed, but I had enough self-control not to lose it. I felt like I could do this for a while. Narcissa was the best fuck of my life, though Hestia was quickly approaching a close second. I'd need to try out Hermione after this just to confirm."You like that?" I asked. "You like that cock?"
"Yes!" she gasped. "I love it! I love riding it like a fucking whore! Fuck!"
"You are a whore." I grunted out. "You're my whore! My slut!" I said confidently.
"Mmmm, yes I am!" she purred. "I'm your slut. Your cumbucket! FUCK YES!"
She was bent forward over me as she held the headboard and, doing so, allowed her breasts to hang over me. I watched as they jiggled and bounced as she rode me. I couldn't resist the urge, and attacked one of her nipples savagely with my open mouth.
"Uh, yes! That's it!" she grunted out. Her bouncing slowed down as she brought her hands down around my head, forcing me onto my back, smothering me with her rack, forcing as much of her fleshy breast into my sucking mouth.
"Hn, suck my nipple. Suck on my big tits, oh yes! Yes!" Keeping her arms around my head and my face smothered in flesh, she popped her hips, her arse bouncing up and down, still taking my cock in her pussy from knob to root.
"I love that cock! I love that cock!" she moaned. My cock and balls, well, my entire crotch really, was soaked with her juices. She clearly really loved that cock. Her juices were dripping so copiously that my cock was now smoothly pistoning in and out of her tight, squeezing cunt. Her bouncing was relentless. Up and down. Up and down. Our sweaty flesh smacking together.
My hands were playing with her fleshy tits, trying to force as much of her breasts into my mouth. I squeezed both breasts with my hands as I sucked at them, pushing her away slightly so that I could switch nipples.
This went on and on, her bouncing unyielding as she rode me. It was bliss. I could have been there forever. Finally, she pulled her breasts back from molding around my face, putting her hands back on the headboard, driving her hips into me as hard as she could, nearly taking the wind out of me.
"Ooof!" I groaned out, surprised.
Her arse was slamming into my thighs, and she was unrelenting. She just kept driving into me firmly, insistently.
"You like that, Harry? Huh! You like that pussy? Oh, why aren't you answering? You like the way I fuck? Huh? You can't take it? You can't handle it? I thought you were a big, strong wizard?"
"I'm doing just fine." I replied, annoyed at her attacking my cock, ignoring the pleasures her tight cunt was giving me. Yes, this was fucking good. But I was still better.
"You know... fuck yeah... you kept telling me you prefer hard and fast. Shit yeah, that's good." she began, driving her wet cunt down on me as hard as she could. "But look at you, letting me do whatever I want to you, not able to keep up with me, just lying there and taking it. Potter, I expected more."
I gritted my teeth as she attacked my cock again. I was holding back, not wanting to speed things up, giving her my best, but her arrogance and attacks were tempting me.
She saw my struggle and smiled. "Aww, did I hurt your feelings, little boy? I didn't realize you were so sensitive." She spat out, looking down at me as she rode me like a cowgirl.
"Wow! when you get horny, you get mean." I replied.
Hestia threw a nasty smirk. "Tonks told you, didn't she? I fit perfectly with your playboy habits. What she didn't tell you is that I'm used to tougher, kinkier shit. You're cute, your body is yummy, and your cock is to die for, fuck yes, but I expected more. I didn't expect you to just lie there and let me do all the work. Typical teenage arrogance." she said, shaking her head while riding me roughly. "Maybe your dick's enough for the virgin werewolf, Harry, but you're far from being at the adult table." Her lips twisted. "Boy."
"I thought you said you were my slut?" I said, reaching up to squeeze her boobs again. If I had to listen to her disparage me as a lover, I would at least squeeze her tits in the process.
"Hey, I tell that to any guy who can make me cum. And you are good enough to make me cum. But I thought you wanted to make me squeal. Trust me, if a guy makes me squeal, I'll do anything he wants. I'll be his slut, his whore, his tramp, his nasty bitch."
Her hair was all over her body as she jumped on my cock. Her trim, firm body was covered with a sheen of sweat, and her tits were still jiggling in just the right way. Watching her body flexing and bouncing as she fucked me made her look like this was her purpose.
"You're probably the best I could have hoped for a guy your age." She began. "Like they say, young, dumb, and full of cum. I should have known I would fuck you into the bed. Maybe that's what you need in your secretary! Someone who'll fuck you to sleep."
I gritted my teeth.
Hestia smirked. "Is that all you got, Potter?"
Her hips slapped against my thighs.
"What did you think? I was some delicate, pure, virginal, starry-eyed angel?"
She went faster.
"I'm a burner, Potter! Even at school, I was a twisted, scheming bitch that got off at blue balling boys."
And faster.
"You'll be no different!"
And faster.
"You want me to suck you off? I'll do it. I'll suck your cock and your balls till you cum. But don't think for a second that you can take me. This bitch will out-fuck you."
"Every."
"Single."
"Time."
"Okay," I said, slowly wrapping my arms around her waist. "Enough talk! It's time to teach you a few things."
I threw her down upon the bed before she reacted, and rolled over, getting on top of her, with my cock still buried within her cunt.
"First. I'm the Master in this bed, and you are my bitch. Either bend or I'll break you!"
"Try it, schoolboy," she sneered.
"Fine," I said silkily, "You asked for it."
And then with no thought, I lifted her arse and drove my cock into her as hard as I could.
"Well, we'll see how you feel about that when this is over." I said coolly. Then, without mercy or care, I lifted her arse, pulling my dick out to the tip before driving it back inside her as hard as I could.
"GAAAH! UGH!" she yelled, as I buried myself all the way to my balls. She had no time to recover, and I was drilling into her. Again. And again. And again. I didn't care how thick my cock was, or how tight her pussy was. I mauled her hips and shoved my cock, my motions a blur, fucking her harder than she was fucking me. Hestia's mouth had closed, as had her eyes, and all she could do was hang on for a hell of a ride.
"Is that more like it?" I growled. "Is this what you wanted?"
"Ugh! Ugh! It's uh! Fuck! Oh crap! Fuck! Ugh!" she began, barely able to get the words out I was fucking her so hard.
"Oh, c'mon, Hestia," I spat out mockingly. "I thought I was a disappointment. I thought I wasn't fucking you hard enough?"
My balls hit her loudly.
"Ugh! This! Is! Fuck! Oh yes! This is hard! FUCK!" she finally gasped out.
"I'm sorry. I can barely understand you." I said, putting aside the pleasure her grasping cunt was giving me. "Am I fucking you too fast?"
"Ugh! Yes! A bit! Slow down! A bit!" she panted out, her eyes still closed as she gasped in pleasure.
"Oh, you sound like you want me to stop. Do you want me to stop?" I asked teasingly, and with that, I pulled my dick out of her pussy with a pop. I couldn't help but look down and see my cock literally coated with her sex juices.
Her eyes opened, and she regained her bearings.
"Or..." I began, reaching down to guide my cock back into her hole. "Do you want me to go slow and gentle, like I'm sure the adults did? Or do you want me to keep fucking the shit out of you? C'mon, answer me!"
I began fucking her slowly, gently, almost mockingly slow.
"Please, a little faster." She begged. I kept fucking her slow.
"No, no, no." I began. "It's all or nothing, Hestia. I took my time before. No more of that bullshit. You either get slow and gentle or hard, fast, and rough. No in-between. Pick." I asked, still going slowly.
"Please." she gasped. "Fine... I want it hard."
"I want to hear you beg for it." I growled. "Beg me to fuck you as hard as I can."
She looked up at me, fire in her eyes.
"Harry, fuck me!" she moaned. "Fuck the ever-loving shit out of me! Fuck my cunt with your giant cock! Make me scream."
"You got it." I said coldly. My arse went to warp speed again, quickly able to resume the pace I had before, my cock pummeling in and out of her at a furious pace.
Her eyes closed again as I banged her. Her head rested back on the bed, rolling as I drove into her. I leaned into her and whispered.
"What were you saying earlier? You're too much for me to handle? C'mon, say that again! Say that AGAIN!"
I felt her cunt quiver around me, a small orgasm passing through her.
"What happened to the big bad bitch that was just here?" I asked. My fucking was so forceful her firm breasts were rolling on her chest. She still didn't reply, the only sound in the room was our breathing and the sound of my balls hitting her arse.
"Or maybe you're a lying liar. You're one of those, craving it hard but can only digest nice and gentle."
I slapped her arse.
"It's never been like this, has it?"
Another slap.
"You've never been fucked into the bed like this, right?"
And another.
"Admit it! I'm better!"
And another.
"I can go all day. And you're my cumslut. My whore!"
I was unrelenting, showing no mercy to her, wanting her to respond, still pressing my advantage. "Dumbledore, put you to spy on me! Instead, you're a slave to this cock!"
Her cunt was quivering, as if she was constantly cumming. As if every stroke into her was increasing her pleasure, driving her wild, keeping her small orgasm ongoing. She was frozen, her eyes closed, her mouth open, her nipples throbbing. She was loving this treatment. She was barely breathing. The pleasure was so great. I reached down and took her sweaty tits in my hands and began playing with them. Squeezing them, pressing them together, twisting her nipples, licking the sweat from her cleavage. I didn't move, letting my cock marinate inside of her dripping hole.
And right then, the Screen pinged.
World Anchor–Hestia Jones has gone up by 9%
Gained Affinities from World Anchor — Hestia Jones
Martial Magic +1%
Spatial Magic +5%
Magical Analytics +2%
Perk Accumulation Unavailable without +50% World Anchorage
Nine percent. Adding to the previous thirty-two, she now stood at forty-one percent anchorage. Just nine more and it'd be enough for a perk. This was proof that she was mine. Undoubtedly and irrevocably mine. Already she had within herself a fanatic loyalty to the Boy-Who-Lived's cause, and now, between the Vows and the sex, she was slowly shifting her loyalties to the Boy-Who-Lived. It'd be interesting to see her behavior once it crossed the fifty percent mark.
Take that, Dumbledore. I already got Hestia, and soon, I'll get every single woman you have under your banner. And Narcissa… Narcissa will help me get the ones under Tom's banner. Yes, yes, this was progress.
"Hey!" I slapped Hestia's face. "Speak up! Tell me I fucked you into oblivion!"
"...Yes!" she whispered, some volume returning to her voice. "I've never cum that much in my life. I couldn't breathe, it was so good." At that moment, she realized I was still throbbing inside of her. "How did you not cum yet?"
I smirked. "You know the answer. You just need to admit it!"
She smiled lightly. "Incubus. Yes, you're better at this than I am. Much better."
My cock twitched inside of her. She smiled and let her head rest on the bed.
"But, if you are really that good," she began. "You should be able to make me cum again, right?" she asked with a sly smile, both of her hands grabbing my arse and squeezing it firmly.
"I'll make you squeal." I said, and quick as a flash, I sat up. Before she could react, I took the back of her knees in the crook of my elbows, and rolled her up so her knees were on either side of her head.
"I want to hear you scream this time." I ordered firmly, looking down at her, seeing her eyes widen in shock to find herself in this position under me. With her ankles around my ears, I raised her arse up, keeping only the tip inside of her, before pile-driving my cock into her to the brim.
"FUCK!" she screamed out loud as my cock filled her up again. Holding onto my bed sheets, I began to piston myself into her again, my wet cock driving in and out like a well-oiled machine.
"I love it!" she panted. "I LOVE IT! You're so good at this!"
"I know." I said arrogantly, causing her to smile. "Keep it coming, Hestia. If I'm so good, tell me. Pump my ego while I pump your cunt!"
"Harry! Fuck yes! You are the best fuck I've ever had!" she said.
"Better than your werewolf friend?"
"Better than her!"
"Better than Nymphadora?"
She hesitated for a moment. "Never... had her, but probably yes."
I took note of that oddity and filed it up for later.
"The best?"
SMACK!
"YES! Yes, you're the biggest! The best!" she squealed out. "I don't know how I'll be able to keep my hands off of you. You've ruined me for everyone!"
I drove into her, focusing on fucking her.
"You like that?"
"Yeah! Ugh!" she grunted. I felt a shiver run through me. I was getting close and so was she.
"You're gonna do whatever I say?"
SMACK!
"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" she repeated. "Yes, Harry! I am your slut. Your filthy whore. Your nasty skank. Your naughty tramp. I will be anything you want me to be. I'll do whatever you want me to do, as long as you keep giving me that dick! CRAP! GOD FUCKING DAMMIT! AHHHH! Ahhh!"
SMACK!
"What about other girls? Are you gonna help me get them?"
"YES!"
SMACK!
"What about Tonks?"
"I WILL! I BLOODY WILL JUST KEEP FUCKING ME!"
SMACK!
"Don't worry!" I began, "I'll fuck you every morning, every night. My cum will be your morning drink."
"Yes!" she groaned. "Merlin, I'm so close!"
"Mmmmm, I'm close too." I grunted out. "I'm going to cum inside you. I'm gonna fucking fill your cunt with my cum!" I told her.
"Please! Do it! Whatever you want!" she squealed. "I'm close!"
My hips went into overdrive.
"Oh, fuck yes!" she squealed. "I'm close! I'm close! I'm close! I'm close! Keep fucking me! Keep fucking me! Keep fucking me! Keep fucking me!"
My hips kept bouncing, driving my slick cock into her ridiculously fast.
"OH FUCK! YES! I LOVE IT! I LOVE YOUR DICK! FUCK ME! FUCK ME HARD! AHHH! YESSS! I'M GONNA CUM! I'M GONNA CUM! I'M GONNA FUCKING CUM! PLEASE! YES! YES! YES! YES! AHHHHH!"
"FUCK YEAH!" I grunted, her cunt going crazy around my shaft, taking me over the edge. "Here it is! Here it is! I'm gonna cum! Here it is. Take my cum! Take my cum!"
I drove myself into the root, burying my cock inside her just as I began cumming. Streams of cum burst forth, firing from my cock in creamy strands, firing inside her tight, wet cunt.
"Yes! Yes! I have it! I have it all!" she babbled, belligerent, as waves of orgasms ran through her. Her body quivered below mine as we drove into each other, riding out our orgasms together. My cock just kept cumming, firing stream after stream of cum into her pussy.
"It's so fucking good!" I groaned out, my body tense with pleasure. My arse was flexing as I tried to cum as deep inside of her as possible. It felt like I kept cumming for an eternity and she was right there with me. We were both on another plane of existence as we rode the wave of pleasure.
"UHHH! UHHH! SO GOOD!" she squealed out. "Ahhhhh, that's it! Yes! I love it!"
I grunted and collapsed over her, my softening cock still inside her love canal. I pushed past her hair and dug into her neck. Hestia didn't move, completely spent and exhausted from our intense fuck session.
Neither of us moved for the rest of the night.
Notes:
If you want to support me, find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Chapter 26: Susan Bones
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 1 - OUTLANDER
Semper Eligere Victoriam.
Above all else, choose victory.
It was the motto of House Potter, and one that resonated within me. There was no honour in defeat. No triumph in being destroyed. Honor died a dog's death, drops of blood smeared onto grass from the enemy's blade. Charlus Potter had rejected his family's existing relationship with the progressive factions, walked out of muggleborn Nobby Leach's ministry, and joined hands with Arcturus Black, the new Leader of the Dark simply because he knew Arcturus would be victorious.
And he was.
For over three decades, Arcturus Black had reigned supreme at the Wizengamot. Charlus had married Dorea, Arcturus' sister, and had Fleamont. A man that had taken the potions industry by storm with his venture Sleekeazy Products Inc. Even with the Pureblood Supremacy Incursion, he had continued to prosper until Lou Gehrig's disease, ALS in muggle terms, caught up to him in 1980.
And now, as I stood, wearing the Lord ring of House Potter, I couldn't help but feel that my current growth was a perfect reflection of the Potter family motto.
Always. Choose. Victory.
Name — Harry James Potter
Age — 16
Sex — Male
Meta-Luck — 43.6
World Anchor — 313
Required World Anchor - 15
AFFINITY
Transfiguration — 42%
Charms — 57%
Martial Magic — 59%
Dark Arts — 60%
Psychomancy — 15%
Alchemy —- 21%
Spatial Magic — 30%
Magical Analytics — 23%
Magical Sensing - 6%
PERKS
Child of Prophecy, Outlander, Defiant, Horcrux, Librarian of Knowledge, Curse Born, Natural Demon, Devil's Charm.
It had been the better part of two months that I had woken up in Harry Potter's body, and already my stats had shot through the fucking roof! Transfiguration in particular, had tripled from a measly 15%, while others like Alchemy and Psychomancy had multiplied several times. I was past the fifty mark in Martial Magic, Charms and Dark Arts, and my Spatial Magic affinity was enough to practise consecutive and tandem apparition until I was blue in the face without splinching. Between my morning spars with Hermione and the Natural Demon perk, my strength, speed and dexterity were slowly increasing. I wasn't Spiderman strong or anything, but you wouldn't want me punching you in the face either.
I still continued my studies on the Black craft religiously under Walburga's tutelage, while practising standard spellcasting in the dungeons of my apartment until I didn't have power to cast a single Lumos. Then someone, Hestia or Hermione, would drag me out of the dungeon, and put me to bed, and I'd wake up to an early morning blowjob.
See? Practically a routine.
Today was a deviation though. I had come to Diagon Alley with no apparent goal in mind, just a casual stroll. Anyone who'd been to this place for the first time would have a terrible time believing that the Alley used to be bigger, much bigger than this. Apparently Voldemort had raged upon Wizarding Britain like a wilding wolf, tearing and rending at the fabric of their everyday lives. Other countries had wrung their hands but hesitated to intervene, whether out of apathetic selfishness or simple fear, for whichever was first among them to oppose the Dark Lord, their peace would be the next target of his terror.
The Death Eaters had followed in the Dark Lord's wake and in his vanguard, carrion vultures to pick at wounds, or snakes to bite and weaken. The Death Eaters were not as terrible as the Dark Lord, but they were terrible, and they were many. And the Death Eaters wielded more than wands; there was wealth within those masked ranks, and political power, and secrets held in blackmail, to paralyse a society trying to protect itself.
It was why, despite fifteen years since the Dark Lord's fall, people still flinched whenever His name was uttered in public.
Crossing past the archways and rows of shops selling everything from magical tupperware to dragon liver, I headed straight away to Florean Fortesque's ice-cream parlour. Why? Because I was wondering just what it was about this parlour that made fanfiction authors choose it over the other shops, and, because I remembered tasting a particularly exotic sundae during the previous summer.
Maybe thirty feet short of the shop, I crossed some kind of invisible line where the sounds of the alley got muffled significantly, and entered the parlour.
Florean Fortesque, the proprietor, sat behind the counter, facing the door. He was a bear of a man in his late fifties, broad-shouldered, unshaven, and heavyset with weathered muscle under a layer of comfortable living. He had knuckles the size and texture of golf balls, marked with old scars from whatever career he'd pursued before he'd become a shopkeeper.
"Harry Potter," said Florean, his features softening at recognizing me.
"Florean," I replied with a nod.
His eyes flickered over to the right, at the 'courtyard' where several tables and chairs were neatly arranged for the customers, complete with the umbrella stands.
"The usual?"
"Sure."
I paid him three sickles and walked past the counter into the courtyard, and found Ernie Macmillan sitting with two girls that looked somewhat familiar. One of them had bright crimson hair, whom I quickly identified as Susan Bones, while the dirty blonde to her left was Hannah Abbott. Hannah noticed me from afar and beckoned me to come through.
"Hey Harry!" Ernie wished, "Surprise seeing you here."
"Was out for a stroll. Thought to grab an ice-cream." I looked at the girls. "Come here often?"
Hannah shook her head. "It's a new hunt. Ernie prefers Sugarplums, but Susan loves Fortesque. So here we are. Susan's treat."
Susan eyed me but said nothing.
"So, do I get a treat too?" I asked.
"Sure," Susan drawled. Something about her attitude screamed animosity, but she was careful to keep her expression composed.
Huh. I wondered why.
"Of course you get one, Harry," Hannah exclaimed, pulling one of the chairs out for me. I saw Susan throw an inscrutable look at Hannah's exuberance, but silently took a seat. Hannah had a generous chest, as fanfiction authors have often claimed in their stories, given I could notice the curves of her breasts perfectly through her t-shirt. Ah, trusty libido. I knew I could count on you to distract me.
"Eh, what's the treat about?"
"Susan's our new pack-leader," Ernie said, gulping a spoon-full of ice-cream. "It's like a prefect, only limited to the year. Susan's elected as the pack-leader for us fourth-year Hufflepuffs. We're celebrating her victory over ice-cream."
"Ah," I said, inwardly wondering how long it'd take for Florean to get me my sundae.
Susan decided to take control of the conversation right that moment. "As I was saying guys," she said, "I'm not gonna be too strict. I won't be all over you guys, but I'll enforce the rules. If I see any alcohol, I'll confiscate it and—"
"Drink it?" Hannah quipped.
"Yeah, good one," Susan drawled, unimpressed. "And if I find anything illegal, I'll not hesitate to call Filch. I know this is Fourth year, and some things are inevitable, but I don't want to see it. No underwear on the tables. No booze bottles under the beds. Act around me like you'd around your grandma."
I snickered.
Susan eyed me.
I met her gaze but said nothing.
Her eyes shifted and she continued. "You guys need to do your best to make this as smooth as possible for all of us, and that'll make me very happy. And that's your goal. To make me happy."
I watched her with an amused smile as Susan went on declaring points, unable to take my eyes off her. There was something about her, the casual ease, combined with just enough snarkiness and humour, that was instantly apparent. It didn't help that she was extremely attractive with an extremely generous bosom. Her deep and dark eyes bristled with intelligence and worldliness, probably from having a woman as powerful as Amelia Bones as her aunt and guardian. She was average in height, maybe five-six, with pale, creamy skin and plump, soft lips. Even with her casual dressing with little to no make-up, she looked naturally pretty, especially with those crimson tresses falling down over her shoulders.
Also. Extremely generous bosom.
Man, was I noticing that part. Was it the incubus in me acting out? I should be careful. Next thing I'll know is I've got an allure.
I considered the Devil's Charm perk.
….Okay, I probably have an allure. Maybe not the Fleur kind, but enough to make a girl I hadn't exchanged two words with over the last three years to invite me over like an old friend.
But not Susan.
Why? Because of Occlumency? Her aunt was the DMLE Director, so maybe she had been trained in it for safety. But that wouldn't explain the dislike in her eyes. Had I unwittingly done something displeasing to her? Susan Bones was part of the fifth-year DA and apart from wearing the Potter-Stinks badges in fourth year, she hadn't demonstrated any hostility whatsoever. Then… What brought this on?
The sundae came in right then, and I decided to dig in while engaging her a bit.
"Hey, Susan, can I ask you something?"
"Sure," she said, meeting my eyes as she took a scoop of her own ice-cream.
"I've got this weird vibe, and maybe I'm wrong, but have I done something to offend you?"
"No," she said simply.
"Then uh, what's the problem?"
She shook her head. "What problem?"
I narrowed my eyes. "I'm not stupid, Susan. I have this feeling you've something against me."
"Must be those gases from Trelawney's class. You're her favourite after all."
Both Ernie and Hannah were looking at us with perplexed looks.
"Look, if there's anything you think I've done…" I began.
"Are you trying to convince me not to like you?" She retorted, anger vivid in her eyes. "Because you're doing an awesome job."
"I don't think any convincing is needed at this point."
"Well, the more we talk, the worse this becomes," she said, utterly pissed and looking at me like I was worse than scum. She must have seen through my confusion and showed me some mercy. "Okay. it's not like I hate you or anything, but I know guys like you. You act all charming and smooth to girls, take advantage of your celeb status, and end up with your dick in her butthole. Then, you toss her away! I knew Smith was like that. Finnegan, Zabini, those too. You too are one of them, only better at hiding it."
"What gave it away? All the nothing I said to you?"
Susan's eyes glinted. "No. Romilda did. You're seeing both her and Ginny Weasley. And you're living with Granger."
Damn. Romilda and her big mouth. The girl might have saved my arse from getting kicked out of this reality, but it seemed she couldn't keep herself from blabbering about doing it with the Boy-Who-Lived.
"And you know everything about the exact circumstances? Or why Hermione's staying with me?"
"I admit I don't," she said, "but I know your type."
"People can surprise you."
Her eyes glinted. "Is that so? Well, good thing we have four years ahead of us for you to change my mind."
I narrowed my eyes. That sounded more like a challenge. She was daring me to change her mind. Prove her wrong. And to be honest, there was nothing stopping me from accepting it. No moral or ethical barriers holding me back. Hermione had given me a carte blanche to go ahead and develop my incubus powers, and Hestia was my secretary. Neither woman had any qualms over me seeking out another woman. Narcissa… we were each others' dirty secret. And Tracey was just… business. Ginny was an oddity, one that I could handle, and as for Romilda?
She didn't matter. I couldn't care less if her anchor stayed or got ripped to shreds. She wasn't important enough.
I could play this game however I wanted. A game of seduction, where her Occlumency acted as a counter against my Devil's Charm perk. I liked that bit about her. Her verbal sparring with me, and talking me down, spoke more than just annoyance over finding out about a boy being a douchebag. No, I think deep down, Susan had it hot for me. She was one of those girls that denied the guy initially, even though she secretly liked him, just because she wanted to see what he'd do. She was a player.
That was fine. So was I.
I'd have Susan Bones screaming my name in bed. And if I was right, that was exactly what she wanted.
"What about you, Harry?" Hannah interrupted my thoughts. "You come around often?"
"I thought you lived with your muggle relatives." Ernie commented.
I frowned at the thought. "Not anymore. I got myself a nice building on the muggle side. Got it enchanted from Gringotts. Mostly I have my elf deal with the purchases, unless something catches my fancy."
Ernie whistled. "Nice. You and Granger live there all by yourself?"
I nodded.
"What about food?"
"Got a muggle takeaway nearby. Usually that does the job."
"Oh no, no, no. That won't do," Hannah shook her head aggressively. "Harry freaking Potter depending on muggle takeaways? My mum would have a conniption if she heard of it."
Susan rolled her eyes.
"Your mum?"
"Hannah's mum runs a restaurant on the other side of the street," said Ernie.
"It's not really big," Hannah admitted, "Just go to the lane right opposite Magical Menagerie, and you'll find The Burning Brownie. My mum runs it. I can show you around. Right now, if you want."
A small smile formed on my face, rapidly extending at the scowl on Susan's lips. I met Hannah's exuberant glee with a small nod.
"Yes. Let's."
Notes:
If you want to support me, find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Chapter 27: The Unexpected Guest (Part 1)
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 1 - OUTLANDER
Cynthia Abbott hated Wednesdays. Maybe if she had a nine to five job, she could have welcomed it as an average day, but with her work hours toiling by her lonesome, it just meant the week was half over and the next half was probably gonna be just as bad. She had only just finished with the customers for the afternoon, closed the door, and was resting on her couch, wondering where her elf was. As a devout Christian turned muggle born witch, all she had after marriage to a wealthy pureblood Iacomus Abbott was a lifetime of misery, a batty old elf that looked like it could fall dead any moment, and a daughter that was neck-deep in debt to her pureblood uncle in return of keeping themselves afloat. Still, she wasn't expecting any customers until evening, so it was a surprise when the doorbell rang. Mentally preparing herself to rebuff whatever ruffian had disturbed her, she walked towards the door, annoyed by the insistent ringing.
Instead she got by the familiar brown hair of her assailant. "Hannah!" She greeted, "this is a surprise. I didn't know you'd be coming."
Hannah was barely allowed to come home, even during summers. During those three months, her uncle Gideon, current Lord of House Abbott and an all-around douchebag, wanted his niece at his manor to train her on being a 'nice, pureblood wife.' The reality was that Gideon was a pedophile that took advantage of her youthful form, and forced himself upon her during those months, while also training her to bag a rich, pureblood husband and get Gideon a healthy ransom, enough to cover all the investment he made on Hannah.
And more.
Several times over.
"Hi Mum!" Hannah said, pulling back from the hug. "I've a guest today."
"Guest?" Cynthia's brows furrowed. Hannah was never allowed to bring guests to this eatery. All of her 'guests' were to be entertained at Abbott Manor, as befitted the daughter of a pureblood house, albeit one that still went by her muggle born mother's family name.
"Umm, mum," Hannah exclaimed, her face flushed. "You know who Harry Potter is, right?"
Cynthia blinked. Harry Potter? Of course she knew who that was. Who wouldn't? The Boy-Who-Lived was a public hero, and a celebrity. Cynthia knew he was supposedly in Hannah's year, but she had never been able to muster the courage to go talk to him.
"What of him?"
Hannah took a step to the left, and Cynthia saw a vaguely familiar figure, standing a couple of feet away from them. The glasses were missing on the face, but the lightning-bolt scar was clear as day.
"Ha— Harry Potter?"
"Nice to meet you, Mrs. Abbott," Harry Potter said, walking up and offering his hand, grabbing hers and giving it a shake.
"Tha—err… thanks," Cynthia replied, feeling oddly reticent about losing the hand in his grasp. Jaded over her husband's death and the subsequent misery, Cynthia had no time or interest in fawning over celebrities. But the moment she touched his skin, a strange warmth started spreading through her body.
"Uh, I wanted to show Harry my room," Hannah said, directly jumping to the point. Cynthia noticed that she hadn't passed through the door yet. Chances were that if she denied her, Hannah would take him to Abbott Manor. Though why she'd bring a celebrity to this hovel instead of the manor was anybody's guess.
"Of course dear," Cynthia said, "are you perhaps hungry? Maybe I can make something for you two?"
"I'll pass," said Hannah, "Harry's got a new house in London and is eating out of muggle takeaways. Can you believe it? I told him how you have an eatery, and he can just get his food from here."
"Yes," said Harry Potter. "I mean, if it isn't any trouble."
"Nonsense," said Cynthia, allowing them in. "Lose the chance of having famous Harry Potter as my customer? What am I, crazy?"
"Li'l bit," Hannah joked. "So uh, Mum, could we…."
"Huh? Oh yes, sure."
Cynthia smiled to herself as she put the sliced bacon into the oven, preparing her pastry plate. Most of her customers were either half-bloods or the kind that spent more time in Knockturn Alley than in Daigon. To have Harry Potter as a permanent customer would enrich her reputation. Plus, he was friends with Hannah. Hannah had said she didn't need anything, but it'd be so wrong if she let Harry Potter leave her eatery without having something. Maybe if he liked it, it'd cement his opinion about her eatery.
Effortlessly, she added the well-grounded spices, and waited for her Quiche Lorraine to be ready. A special dish for a special guest. Speaking of him…
Cynthia looked up.
It had been quite some time since the two had gone upstairs. Wondering if there was any problem, she cast a stasis charm on the oven, and climbed up the stairs to the upper floor, intending to see if they needed any help. The light in Hannah's room was burning bright, and through the crack of the door she saw….
Her daughter. Naked. Bouncing on an equally naked Harry Potter. Seventeen-year-olds were supposed to be sex-crazed, but Hannah looked a little too excited.
Then Harry Potter's cock came out.
Her breath was caught in her throat, and all the noise around her disappeared. Thick and meaty, her mouth began to water. Her eyes studied the thick, protruding tube underneath, which carried his dense, potent cum from his heavy swollen balls all the way to the prominent, spongy tip. She studied every inch of smooth skin, all the way to how Hannah's juices were smeared all over it, burning it to her memory. Her eyes went to that bulbous sack, those big nuts swollen with cum that was bursting to get out.
"...Merlin!" Cynthia gasped and instantly palmed her mouth, fearing she'd be discovered. This… this wasn't a cock. It was a work of art. She knew that her husband Iacomus hadn't exactly been tiny, but this… this was incomparable.
And it was drilling into her daughter's pussy.
Potter… he was sucking Hannah's nipples, keeping her in place above him as the rest of her breasts were sliding against his face. The bed was shaking violently from their movements but nothing, not a creak, a moan or a grunt escaped it.
Silencing Charm, Cynthia realized. Seconds passed by, but she remained standing there, watching her daughter make-out with him with unrepentant fascination. Hannah's hips didn't stop for a second, continuing their rhythmic fucking. Cynthia froze, hypnotized, knowing not what to do. A small, distant part of her was surprised by the fact that her daughter was able to take it all inside her at once. Before she knew it, her hands were browsing her body almost unconsciously. They fell lower and lower, before the sudden wetness of her folds sent a jolt through her.
Cynthia blinked. Had she just… pleasured herself at the sight of her daughter having sex—
She paused, her face reddening at the thought. Not sex. They were fucking.
Hard.
Her hand moved up like it had developed a mind of its own, and she pushed her wand through the small creak and whispered.
"Finite!"
And the voices exploded.
"FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!" Hannah wailed. "I can't believe how good your mouth feels on my tits! FUCK! YES! FUCKK!"
Okay. Her daughter was a screamer. Not a realization that any mother needed to have, but hey, you learnt something new every day.
"Yes! Fuck!" The Boy-Who-Lived grunted, biting her nipple, making her scream out in pleasure even louder, her pussy lips wrapped around his swollen shaft.
"You like that?" Hannah demanded, slamming her arse against his thighs, her tits hitting his chin. "You like my fucking cunt?"
"Yes! Your cunt is amazing," Potter replied quickly through clenched teeth. "It's a fucking expert cunt."
"Ugh! Yes! Fuck! You have no idea... yes!" she squealed, her beautiful face twisting up in pleasure. It was so wrong, but to Cynthia, those moans felt like music. She simply couldn't get enough of it. Sliding further against the wall, Cynthia rested her back, her own fingers digging into the folds of her pussy. As Hannah squealed and yelled, Cynthia kept increasing her motions. One finger became two. Two fingers became three. Her other hand grabbed her breasts and squeezed them tight….
"FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! UGH! You're the best, Harry. The best! I swear to Merlin you're the best fuck EVER! Oh, YES! Fuck it!" she howled. "I swear, I'm done with Smith. I'll only fuck a real man from now on. A real man with huge, beefy cocks that knows how to make me scream in pleasure. UGH! YES!"
The Boy-Who-Lived fucked her even harder at that. Cynthia turned to her right, peering through the creak, watching his balls slam into her firm arse, as if on autopilot.
"Potter... promise me! Fuck! Promise me one thing! Yes! One small thing!" Hannah said, barely able to talk without moaning. "Promise me... promise you'll keep fucking me even at school. Promise me."
"I'll fuck you anywhere." Potter promised.
"Even when I'm with Neville?"
Neville? Neville Longbottom? Even in her lust-crazed mind, Cynthia remembered that Gideon Abbott was working with the Longbottom family. No doubt he had thrown Hannah at the Longbottom boy.
"Yes!"
"In the Huffle! Ugh! In my dorm?"
"Yes!"
"In the greenhouses?"
"Yes!"
Hannah's eyes glinted. "In Susie's bed?"
I barked out a laugh. "If you can arrange it."
"I bloody will!" She panted, as I kept thrusting. "Promise me you'll fuck me in front of Susie. Make her watch! And then shoot your cum on my breasts! If she wants it, she'll have to lick it off them."
Susie… Susan Bones. Hannah's best friend. Just what was going on?
"What about outside the Headmaster's office?"
Okay, that was being a bit too brazen. Cynthia thought drolly, her own fingers rubbing furiously against her clit.
"The Headmaster's office?" Potter asked.
"Against that! Gargoyle!" Hannah said. "I wanna cum on that stupid thing."
"Ugh! Fuck!" Potter groaned. "Yes! Definitely!"
"Yes!" Hannah squealed out in delight.
"Yes!" Cynthia bit her lip, as her first orgasm triggered, drenching her insides. Merlin, she shuddered, unable to believe it. What was happening to her? There she was, standing outside her daughter's room. Voyeuring on her own daughter, and getting off on it. What was… what was wrong with her?
"Do you want me to make you cum, Harry? Shoot your jism into—-"
…
…
Cynthia paused, at the sudden intruding silence, and peered into the room. Hannah was now down on all fours, with that assault weapon ramming into her behind. She was yelling, she was groaning, she was throwing her head back and screaming her lungs out, but there was no sound. As if—
As if her counter-spell had failed. Or someone had recast the silencing charm.
Obviously not Potter. He was too busy fucking her daughter. Then… her own charm must have fizzled out. Yes. That must have happened.
Had Cynthia been more sober, she'd have realized that a counter-spell didn't fizzle out. Especially not against area-of-effect spells like the silencing charm. She'd probably have realized that there was no way the silencing charm would've reactivated without someone recasting it.
Cynthia didn't care. She grabbed her wand using her cum-stained fingers and recast the counter-spell. And the sounds were back once more.
"—live it!" Hannah was saying. "I'm shagging Harry Potter! I'm shagging Harry Potter! Oh this is Soooo! Goood!Oh yes! Oh yes! OH YES! YES! YES!" Cynthia watched as Potter reached up and groped her daughter's huge, sweat-covered tits greedily. Her own cum-covered fingers rose in tandem, mimicking Potter's actions, and began mauling her own breasts, massaging them with her own fluids, as she threw her head back in pleasure.
This… What was this feeling? Why was she being so horny just by listening to him fuck her daughter? What would it be like… to have him do the same to her? To have her bouncing on that pole, his hands on her breasts? To have him ram her against the wall and be taken and abused in every—
SPANK!
"Ahhh!" Hannah moaned, as the sound of his palm against her arse reverberated in the room. Cynthia dug deeper into herself.
SPANK! SPANK!
"FUCK!" Hannah groaned, and Cynthia hissed, feeling another orgasm around the corner. Her eyes were closed, perspiration all over her face, three fingers of her left hand deep inside her folds while her right hand was too busy rubbing her fluids against her breasts and abdomen.
SPANK! SPANK! SPANK!
"OH! Fuck! Oh!" Her daughter groaned, the sounds of her hips getting smacked against his balls sounding like a lunatic woodchipper. Every single thrust came in at blinding speed and before the sound could die out, there was the next one, and the next and so on. Harry Potter wasn't slowing down. He wasn't showing mercy. He was just drilling his monstrous cock so deep into her daughter's pussy that Cynthia feared she'd not be able to walk straight for the next week. Even
"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Wai—Wait!" Hannah kept calling out, but nothing seemed to get to Harry Potter. He didn't let her up, and only fucked her harder and harder, slamming himself against her arse crudely, making her take his full, thick, lengthy cock in her hot, tight pussy.
"MERLIN! FUCKKKK!" Hannah screamed her lungs out, Potter drilling his monstrous cock deep into her, carving her a new one. Cynthia was amazed at her daughter's stamina, wondering how her daughter was surviving the onslaught. Just hearing about it had brought her close to exhaustion. And to feel that monster driving into her pussy non-stop—
"Oh! Oh! Oh!" Cynthia groaned, head up, her fingers deep inside her as she came. Her pussy was burning, fingers rubbing frantically against her clit. She couldn't breathe. It didn't matter. She needed more. More of him. Wanted him to bend her and have his wicked way with her. Her body quivered, as dizziness gripped her. Darkness was creeping into the corner of her vision.
"Cumming from hearing your daughter fuck. You really are a slut."
"Yes," Cynthia said. "Your slut." She was struggling to get air in her lungs, her mouth open, ready to accept the cock of her dreams. And having him stand so close to her like that felt—
…
…
Cynthia froze.
And then her brain rebooted and she realized who she was talking to.
"Hi," said Harry Potter, with a predatory grin on her face. "You look like you need some help walking downstairs."
Cynthia stared at him, cornered and aroused. Half of her expression swam with lust while the other half looked like a little girl who had been caught by her mother nicking cookies from the cookie jar.
Only this time, instead of her mother, she was caught with her hand in the nookie jar by Harry Fucking Potter.
Notes:
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Chapter 28: The Unexpected Guest (Part 2)
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 1 - OUTLANDER
The predatory smile on Harry Potter's face scared the crap out of her.
Cynthia stared at him, her body paralysed with fear, arousal and indecision, her fingers still digging into her pussy as she watched Harry Potter's breath on her face. He was her daughter's age, and yet, he towered over her, in ways over one. He was huge, with broad shoulders and a firm jaw. Cynthia could see his muscles bulging, smelling of sweat and sex. A thin stubble on the sides only stressed his features.
Not for the first time, Cynthia wondered how his lips would taste.
"Mrs. Abbott?" He asked, his bright green eyes dancing with amusement. She didn't buy his concern at all. The bastard was playing with her.
And she was letting him.
Damn it. What was wrong with her? She had seen her fair share of good-looking men, but never had she fallen to pieces. A smirk crossed his face, and hers burned red. He was staring directly at her breasts. Cynthia felt his gaze slowly crawl to her moist, sensitive pussy lips. Her heart quickened, and she twirled her hair nervously.
And yet those hands… her traitorous hands... they didn't move an inch from her flooded pussy.
"Um, I—" She tried.
"Let me save you the time and cut to the chase," he said. "I saw you standing outside. You undid the silencing charm just so you could listen to your daughter moan and get fucked. I reapplied the charm, but then you neutered it again."
Cynthia gulped nervously. She tried to stand taller to look intimidating, even though the look that he was giving her half-naked body was sending shivers down her spine.
Potter smiled. "Does Hannah know her mum's such a naughty voyeur?"
"No, it's just… you know — I mean—"
"What?"
"... Nothing," she stomped her feet, standing up straight, her fingers finally leaving her folds. "I — I need to go downstairs and finish making the meal."
She tried to walk past him, only for him to grab her right arm, and then drag it up, until her fingers were on his mouth-level. With an exaggerated wink, he licked her fluids off her finger. Cynthia did her best to look anywhere and not melt into a pool of unbridled lust. Just what was it that this man did to her?
"You've been naughty, Mrs. Abbott. Spying on a guy your daughter's age. Spying on this…" He dragged her hand downwards, her fingers softly touching his chest, falling through his abdomen, before finally ending on a thick piece of meat. She had already seen it in action from afar but felt it with her very hand, feeling the impressive length, the veiny growth beneath the skin and the bulbous head within her grasp…
Cynthia felt her nipples stiffen until they were hard as diamonds, and her center burned with lust, as her hand lingered over his assault weapon, like it had a mind of its own. Her daughter, her fucked-to-unconsciousness daughter's fluids were still all over it. Just the feel of it was sending pulses of heat between her legs. This… this was torture, no doubt about it. She closed her eyes, trying to return to reality. Trying to grab some focus, any focus really, something that wouldn't allow her to just lose herself to her lust.
Harry Potter pulled her back.
She didn't resist.
Harry Potter touched her cheek.
She shivered.
His hands crawled down her chin, down her neck, and then her breasts, all the way until he was in her cleavage.
Cynthia clenched her other hand. One part of her wanted to jump his bones, while the other was impotently screaming at the utter loss of control.
"Do not pretend, Mrs. Abbott. We both know the truth. Your husband was the Lord Abbott, and yet, here you are, trying to make ends meet in this hovel, while your husband's brother is enjoying the Abbott fortune. Enjoying the wealth that should be yours. Enjoying your daughter's warm flesh during summers."
Indignation flooded her being, as did the realization of the truth in his words.
"Do you know why Gideon feasts on Hannah's flesh and not yours?"
Her eyes went as large as saucers.
"How — how did you—?"
Potter smiled. "I have my ways, Mrs. Abbott. But this is about you. Do you know why Gideon feasts on your daughter, but not on you?"
Her nails were digging into her skin.
Because he's a pedo—"
"Because you're weak," Potter hissed. "He owns Hannah, but she still fights. Every. Single. Day. She fights by being defiant. By living her life. By shagging herself to exhaustion on my cock. Even if she's her uncle's toy, she's defiant. And that fire makes Gideon fuck her again and again. And again. But you? You're nothing. You're weak. A filthy mudblood in his eyes. You allowed him to take your fortune. He robbed you of your daughter, and you let him. He fucks your daughter every summer, and makes her his bitch, filling her with his seed. And what did you do? You live here, in this stupid eatery, serving customers, and accepting that this is what you deserve. You, Cynthia, are weak."
His words felt like slaps on her face. Every single word dug into her very soul, resonating with the frustration brimming within her.
"And that is why he hasn't so much as touched you. You. Are. Weak."
His fingers rose from her cleavage and grabbed her neck. He could have just strangled her, but for all her anger, her frustration, Cynthia could do… nothing.
Weak. Just as he had called her.
"Your cunt's dripping, isn't it?"
Cynthia gritted her teeth. It was partly because of his words. Partly because of the helplessness. Partly because he was right.
"Don't bother lying," he said. "I can feel it. You know why? Because I am strong. Because you are weak. I can sense your weakness like a shark smells blood. I have just fucked your daughter, and I will take whatever I want from you, and you will let me, because you're weak. Unless…."
He brought his lips close to her ear. His breath felt like ice.
"Tell me to stop," he said. "Just like that. Just say 'stop' and I will. I'll leave. No strings attached. You'll never have to see me again."
NO! Alarm bells rang in her head. Not seeing him again would mean she had failed to get him as a regular client. She needed it. She needed the repo boost her eatery would get with Harry Potter as a regular.
"Oh, I know what you're thinking," he continued to whisper, letting her hand go. Instead, his hand moved to her back, feeling the small of her back, before slowly moving upward, until he was fingering the knot that tied her blouse. Just a slight pull, and it'd be undone. And she wasn't doing anything to stop him.
"Don't fear. I will still buy from your shop. I'll even be a…" he brought his lips closer until they were all but touching her earlobe. "Valuable customer. But…"
Cynthia waited for the bomb to drop.
"I'll never touch you."
She stilled.
"I'll meet you every single day. I'll call you Mrs. Abbott. Hannah's Mum. I'll take your cooked meals and be a loyal customer. But I won't. Ever. Touch You."
The silence that filled the room was deafening. Cynthia's mind was racing. Harry Potter was literally giving her the best option available. He would let her go, and remain a loyal customer, without her having to do anything in return. All she had to do was ask him to stop.
She opened her mouth to say it, but…
Why can't I say it?
It was easy. Too easy. Yes, that was what it was. People didn't just do good things without conditions. There had to be something else. A hidden facet of this entire deal. Something he wasn't telling her. Maybe all of this was just a lie? A facade to make her choose to tell him off, and then he'd walk away, and she'd get no business from him.
"And…" her traitorous mouth moved on its own. "What if… what if I don't tell you to… stop?"
Harry Potter smiled. Wolf-like. "If you welcome this… welcome what I am doing to you, what I will do to you… then I will ravage you. I will throw you on the counter you cook food on, and fuck you until you've begged for mercy."
Cynthia trembled.
"I will bend you over the tables, and bugger your arse, until the only thing it can feel is my cock."
She all but orgasmed at the image.
"I will own you. Make you my whore. I will maul your breasts like you've never had, and shove my cock down your throat until you choke. I will bathe you in my cum. You will be mine."
Oh, sweet Morgana! Cynthia thought to herself as she felt her breasts ache. She needed something, anything. She'd do anything to feel some relief. There was a gaping hole between her thighs that needed something thick and bulbous to fill it in the worst way possible.
"Your day will start by drinking my cum. Your nights will end with my cock up your arse. I will fuck you while you're cooking for your customers. I'll squeeze those nipples and drill your insides while your customers eat your food outside. And then…" he whispered, "I'll make you cum in the food, and serve it to your loyal customers."
Cynthia's knees all but gave away.
"Tell me. Should I leave? If you don't, then I will tear your clothes off. Right now."
Cynthia met his eyes.
And right away forgot what she was about to say.
Instead, her head moved in a minuscule amount. The smallest of shakes.
Snap!
He pulled hard and ripped her blouse open, buttons popping. Her bra was next, torn in half in his hands, with a strength that just wasn't human.
"My clothes…" she protested. He paid her no mind. His hands grabbed her breasts. He squeezed them violently and pulled on her nipples, twisting them roughly. She moaned. One hand gripped the waist of her skirt and her panties, and then they were ripped off as well.
Cynthia didn't care.
His rough treatment of her breasts was consuming her mind. He brought his hands back up to her shoulder and pushed her to her knees roughly, not caring to ask for anything. She wasn't even sure of what she was doing, but her hands worked faster than her mind. She had never been in this position before. Not even with her husband. But her instincts were taking over.
And faced an eyeful of cock.
Desire and fear bubbled within her.
This… this was going to get inside her? Could she really…
Cynthia thought of her daughter lying on her bed, spent and asleep.
"Look at me," said Potter.
Sitting there, with that monstrous cock before her lips, Cynthia looked up at Potter. Here was a man, a powerful man. He was right. The strong will always fuck the weak.
"Suck."
Cynthia did as told, her lips opening wide. The head stretched her mouth, but she opened wide enough. She tried to bob her head, but the tip bumped against her throat before the entire head was in her mouth. She pulled back. Or at least tried to, when he grabbed her head and forced the cock all the way in. She could feel her cheeks stretching, getting sore, as his hands clamped down over her head against his cock. Each brutal thrust forced more of it down her throat. She was gagging. Loudly. Her eyes were watery, and tears were dripping out, but Potter kept thrusting at a furious pace. He was breathing loudly and grunting, enjoying the feeling of her mouth on him.
It hurt.
Oh, how it hurt.
But it turned her on. She was wet, really wet. Her cunt was dripping. She was his toy, and it felt right. Her fingers reached down and masturbated. It was clumsy, but it felt so good. She couldn't breathe. It didn't matter. Needed more of him. He pushed her down. Darkness was creeping into the corner of her vision. The last of his cock rammed into her mouth. His swollen balls slapped against her chin. A wave of pleasure exploded out of her cunt. Her body quivered, the orgasm coursing through her.
And then, blackness.
Notes:
If you want to support me, find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Chapter 29: Investigations
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 1 -OUTLANDER
"Tell me what you got. Any tail about how he does things?"
"Tails ," said Hestia. "I set three different investigative agencies on it. You'd be surprised how cooperative they were at being paid gold up front. Some of this shit goes so deep I cannot fathom how the Ministry overlooks it."
We were sitting in my office room. It had been two days since I had charmed Hannah and her submissive mother to become my bitches, a position they were too willing to be in. Hannah, because it fulfilled her fantasies about the Boy-Who-Lived, and her mother, because she was a repressed slut that needed a powerful man to take control of her life. She was utterly content to be at my knees, my cock in her mouth, and her face and tits drenched with my body fluids. Both women would occupy relevant positions in my plan, and when it passed, their sexual submissiveness would turn to blind loyalty to me, bound by extreme anchorage values, not unlike Hermione.
But that is for later. For now, I had asked Hestia to get me a thorough check-up on Lucius Malfoy's dealings as Regent Black over the last sixteen years. Gringotts was only willing to give me a statement of holdings, but any further than that would require an official notice to be sent to the man himself, with me giving away my position as Lord Conditional. But Gornuk, despite being the busy goblin he was, was accommodating enough to lend me an ear while verifying financial documents. That the documents belonged to House Black were merely a coincidence. It certainly wasn't Gornuk's fault if someone had quietly duplicated them when the goblin had visited the loo.
And all it took were a pair of chalices, crafted of pure goblin silver, taken from Grimmauld Place.
"Investigative agencies?" I asked. JKR said nothing of that sort in the books. Did she?
Hestia grunted. "There's a private company that uses house-elves for that. And a gang of werewolves operating out of Edinburgh. Got them through Chiara. The final one was an official search through Gringotts channels."
"Right, wouldn't want them to feel left out," I drawled. "About the tails?"
She pulled out a bunch of files and slapped them on the table. "House Black has a total of twenty-six investments. Seventeen of them are Share-purchases in famous companies. Firebolt Broom, Owlmaster, CYS Gailbraith, Magical Menagerie, Kwikspell Company, and so on. The profits are through dividend payouts, mostly between five to seventeen percent. Out of these seventeen, Lucius Malfoy set eight of them up, and almost all of them are performing adequately."
I grunted. "And the other nine?"
"Angel investments from House Black. Acts of support to help fledgling businesses to thrive in a cut-throat world."
Translation. Helping shady dealers help them make money in shady ways without reflecting it in the books.
"Lucius Malfoy set five among these up, but so far, two of those deserve the most attention."
She pushed the files towards me.
"Gallo-loans. It's a payday loan company, set up under Lomfay Enterprises. Unaffiliated with Gringotts. Gives out loans at a hundred and fifty percent to three hundred and seventy percent interest."
I blinked. Lomfay, really? What was it with wizards and anagrams? "And… that's normal? Overcharging like that?"
"Without collateral, yes. It's a bit over the top," Hestia admitted, "but it beats the hassle of getting a loan passed at Gringotts."
Briefly I wondered if Fred & George would've ever managed to kick-start their business without Harry's help.
"What about the collection agents?"
"Petty criminals from Knockturn Alley."
I cocked my head. "A company of criminals, set up by a criminal, to help other criminals harass people. House Black's being an actual angel."
Hestia snorted. "And you're it's Lord."
"I feel angelic already."
Rolling her eyes, Hestia pointed to the next file. "This one's especially interesting. Mystical Meanderie. On paper, it's a wizarding distillery that manufactures knotgrass mead. Again, owned by Lomfay Enterprises."
I narrowed my eyes. "Have you gotten anything about this company? Any ties to Lucius?"
Hestia shook her head. "I'm working on it, but nothing so far. All I've got is that they set it up in 1983, and they distributed their shareholdings all across Europe, most of which are owned by tertiary companies."
That sounded suspiciously like a network of shell companies owned by someone in the shadows.
"My agents report Mystical Meanderie is also an illegal potion manufacturer."
"Illegal potion manufacturing inside a distillery? What's the world coming to?"
"Shocker, right?"
"Absolutely," I said. "I'm practically shaking! The scandal!"
Hestia snorted.
"How does it get the resources?" I asked.
"It purchases the ingredients from Phyllida Greenhouses, an asset under Greengrass Exports, owned by Broderick Greengrass. They have several greenhouses and distilleries, and are big in the herb extract trade. I think only Sleekeazy Products Inc and Green Valley Inc, owned by the Longbottoms, are the ones stopping it from establishing a monopoly in the market."
I cocked my head, years of experience in under-the-table corporate dealings rising at the back of my mind.
"This Phyllida, what does it produce?"
Hestia shrugged. "Mostly flux weed, but it's open to taking jobs from other companies."
"Like growing ingredients for Mystical Meanderies."
"Yes." Hestia agreed. "On paper, it's the least productive asset for Greengrass Exports."
Ah.
So that's how it was.
I smiled at her and pushed back into my chair. "Right, now let me see if I clearly understand the situation, and in case there are any holes, I'll need you to fill in. Phyllida Greenhouses grows the ingredients for Mystical Meanderie, owned by Lomfay Enterprises, which is owned by several shell companies, likely owned by Lucius Malfoy, or Greengrass or both. Mystical Meanderie is a cover, paid by House Black's fortune, that sells these potions in the black market and makes Malfoy and Greengrass all the richer for it. For all I know, both Gallo-loans and Mystical Meanderie are shown as non-productive assets in House Black's books. Is that about the size of it?"
I looked up and found Hestia staring at me, her jaw kind of hanging limply.
I arched an eyebrow.
"...Nothing. I mean, I know you're smarter than you look, but… I didn't expect you to be this familiar with wizarding economics. Just… how do you know all this?"
Because I spent over a decade building my fortune through illegal deals. That's how.
"My uncle Vernon is a corporate Exec. He used to do a lot of this stuff," I said. It seemed like the most convenient excuse. "You'd be surprised by the kind of stuff you pick up if you're sufficiently bored out of your mind."
"So you say."
"Would I lie to you?"
"In a heartbeat," Hestia said quietly. "Honestly, if I didn't know better, I'd have said you aren't Harry Potter at all."
I smiled. "Let's return to the business at hand. What about the profits made by Gallo-loans and Mystical Meanderies? How are they faring?"
Hestia gave me an inscrutable look. "Like you said, they're non-productive assets. Gallo-loans is practically broke on paper. Nearly had to sell one of its offices two months ago. And Mystical Meanderie is barely coping up. I had the elves' service locate the place. It's in Bangor, Wales. They set the entire facility up on a stone hill, some portable units stored outside in a yard with a twelve-foot razor-wire fence, and obfuscation wards."
I drummed my fingers on my desk. "Lucius Malfoy and Greengrass are running these businesses, and funnelling the under-the-table profits directly into the Malfoy coffers. That's what bolsters his fortune and lets him keep the Minister on his payroll."
"But we have no proof."
"But… we have no proof," Harry repeated after her. "And I can't go demanding about either without revealing my status. And even if I did, the companies are broke, and House Black is an angel investor. Risk of loss comes with the territory. However…."
I drummed my fingers. Lucius probably knew of my status as a Black. Narcissa knew it, and it wouldn't be a long shot to believe that Lucius had made a study of the Black family line, just in case anyone tried to obstruct Draco-poo's ascension to Lord Black.
But…
But…
But…
"However?" Hestia asked.
"This…" I placed a finger at the document on Phyllida Greenhouses. "You said it's the least productive asset in Greengrass exports, right? Say…" I drummed my fingers again. "What happens if this unit gets taken off the market?"
"Taken off?"
"Bought," I clarified.
Hestia narrowed her eyes. "I imagine Mystical Meanderie would be in trouble?"
"Why not just move the entire setup to some other spot?"
Hestia shook her head. "Harry, this is agriculture we're talking about. Magical herbs require specific conditions, environmental factors and a bunch of other things before you can cultivate them on a mass scale."
"And Phyllida fits in perfectly for ingredients used in Mystical Menagerie."
"...Yes."
I smiled. Shark-like. "Good. That means Greengrass cannot move it. Cannot stop it. Cannot unveil it or sell it either."
"Harry?" Hestia asked warily. "What's going on in that anarchic mind of yours?"
I smiled. I'd tell Hestia about it, but only after her anchorage crossed the fifty mark. Until then, I'd be playing things close to my chest.
"Oh you know," I said. "A little of this. A little of that. I've some more work for you. Get me everything on Daphne and Astoria Greengrass."
"Are you…?" She trailed off.
I smiled. No doubt she was thinking I was gonna use my incubus powers to influence the Greengrass daughter. And to be honest, she wasn't wrong. Just not completely right.
"Yes." I said simply.
"Harry?" Hestia said, wariness seeping into her voice. "You're smart. I don't know how, but it's obvious you've got hands-on experience at this thing. Honestly, it's insulting that you'd think that excuse would fool me. But you know what? I don't care. I work for you, and protecting the Boy-Who-Lived is my priority."
"What are you going to do?" I asked, my fingers dancing on the table. "Run to Dumbledore and spill my secrets?"
Hestia stayed silent for a long moment before her head moved in the slightest of shakes.
"Why?"
"Because you're Harry Potter. And whatever secret allows you to be like this, I'm sure you've excellent reasons to keep it safe. That and…"
"And?"
Hestia exhaled. "Our world needs change. A big one. A drastic one. And I've not seen Albus Dumbledore be that force of change, not even in the last war. He was a… shield. You, on the other hand, are a sword."
I decided I rather liked that analogy.
"My oaths at the Order prevent me from giving out its secrets to you, just like the ones I gave you keep me from spilling yours to them. But I know Professor Dumbledore believes you should be protected, and I agree, so I'll protect you, with my life if need be. But whatever you're doing, are you… are you absolutely sure you're ready to tread through those dangerous waters? Digging into Malfoy's records was one thing, but directly going after him and Broderick Greengrass?"
"You think I'm not up to it?"
"Honestly? I think you're way out of your league here. They called Lucius Malfoy the 'Boogeyman' back during the last war. The Dark Lord might kill you, but Lucius Malfoy would destroy your reputation, your finances, your family, and leave you down on the ground, screaming your lungs out in impotent rage. And you're going after him."
I smiled. Back in my world, I too had a reputation. And it was time this world bore witness to it. Who better than Lucius Malfoy to do the honours?
"You called me a sword. There's a saying. A sword cares not where it falls, only that it is swung."
Hestia narrowed her eyes. "And you believe in it?"
I stood up from my chair. "No. I live by it."
It was only a few minutes later after Hestia left that I slowly trundled down the stairs to the living room, right next to the foyer. The sight of Hermione stopped me in my tracks. She was bending over, her head in the Floo, talking to someone, her side profile visible to me. I could see her breasts hanging down, pressing against the silk fabric of her robe, her nipples cutting large dents in the otherwise smooth surface. My cock stirred instantly and my mind travelled down all sorts of naughty paths.
"Now that's an excellent sight," I announced my presence.
Hermione lifted her head out of the flames, and I watched with erotic fascination as her breasts bounded and swayed until finally coming to prominent rest tightly against the silk fabric. She caught me looking and moved her arms to cover herself, somehow managing to only look more voluptuous in the process.
"I was talking to Ginny."
"About what?"
"I invited her."
I arched an eyebrow. Ginny and Hermione had been fast friends in canon, with Hermione going so far as giving Ginny advice on snagging Harry. But in this reality, knowing Hermione's deepest desires, her vow to be on his side, her being cursed, and most importantly, her living with me, things had gone sideways. Ginny had a possessive streak a mile wide, but it was mollified by her anchor crossing the fifty mark. On the other hand, Hermione knew of his need to fuck other women. Was that why….
"To do what?"
A small smile formed on her face. "To get fucked by you, of course."
She said that it was the most natural thing in the world.
"Hermione—"
"You told me you need to bed other women to gain strength. And you've already fucked her." She lifted her shoulder in a half shrug. "Two plus two is four."
"And I don't get a say in that?"
She arched an eyebrow. "No. You only get to make me feel better about it."
I chuckled. "So be it."
I strode ahead and grabbed her by the hips. She let out a yelp as I pulled her to me, her hands caressing my face softly, and my throbbing cock pressing against her.
"Is that for Ginny, or are you just happy to see me?"
I rolled my eyes. Hermione laughed, and locked me in a deep, passionate kiss, my tongue generously invading her mouth. I slipped a hand under the soft fabric of her robe, running my fingers lightly over her full breast. I moved over her smooth flesh until hitting the thick, hard nub of her erect nipple. Hermione sighed deeply as I lightly pinched the sensitive tip between my thumb and finger and pulled slightly. I made sure to tease her sensitive, hard nipples, which she clearly loved. I spun her over and kissed her ear and neck softly. Hermione was always there for me, giving me free rein to conquer and bed other women. It was only fair to make her feel that she mattered, and no matter whom I bedded, she'd always excite me in ways that no one could.
I pressed my hardness against her back and could feel my cock settle in the crack of her ass. Subconsciously I was making slow, purposeful thrusts against her and she reacted by pushing back against me encouraging me to continue. I spun her back again, and pulled her robe open, freeing her large breasts from their silky confines. Dropping my mouth to her nipples, I sucked them hard, my tongue moving around the tip. Hermione gasped as I moved from one breast to another, taking in as much of their softness into my mouth.
"Lick my pussy," she whispered.
Without waiting for my response, she swung a leg up and over the counter, beyond which lay my mini-bar, exposing her full body to me. Not wanting to disappoint, I dropped to my knees and quickly drove my tongue inside her dripping pussy. Gently at first, and then sucked her as hard as I could.
"Oh, my! Merlin Harry! Yes! YES! Kiss my cunt! YES! FUCK! You are so fucking good at this! FUCK!" she moaned out. As I felt her juices dripping from her naked cunt, landing on my jeans, I ceased the kissing and extended my tongue, attacking the tight folds again. "God fucking damn! Yes!" she squealed, shaking with pleasure. She reached back with her other hand and grabbed the back of my head, joining her other hand, now relying on me fully to keep her standing as she really pulled my face into her pussy.
"YES! YES! YES! Get in there! Please, Harry! Get your tongue deeper! Yes!"
Her fingers criss crossed over the back of my head, her werewolf strength putting pressure on me, as I eagerly complied. I pushed her legs further apart, and grabbed her arse-cheeks, with a thumb penetrating her arsehole as I dug my tongue deeper into her.
"Yes! Yes! Fuck! Suck my cunt! Suck my fucking pussy! Yes!" she squealed with delight. My tongue wiggled inside her, making her squirm in pleasure. She was getting worked up, her pussy dripping with her heated juices, her tanned body shining with a sheen of sweat, adding to her wicked appeal, adding to the lust of the moment.
I shook my face against her juicy ass, revelling in the wicked act. As my eager mouth attacked her tasty folds, the work required had its effect. My tongue was tiring, forcing me to slide my tongue from her tight asshole and resume rimming the clenched hole. It was time to make her orgasm.
"Cummm!"
"OOOHHHH! YESSSUHHH!"
Hermione's eyes rolled back into her head and she arched her back. Her luscious tits tightened, her hard nipples sharp as steel. Her nails dug deep into my neck and her legs locked my head forcefully as she screamed as loud as possible. Greedily, I drank her nectar, and pushed myself up, meeting her in a steamy kiss. Hermione tasted herself in my mouth, our tongues twirling around each other.
Hermione collapsed forward as I pulled her off the counter. She draped against my back as she clutched onto me, reaching around and taking my cock, which had conveniently found the hole in my boxers. She grasped my hardness firmly as she moved up and down my shaft, trying to catch her breath.
"That was fucking amazing, and you're so hard," Hermione murmured behind me, in obvious satisfaction and desire as she continued to jerk my cock.
"My turn."
Hermione turned me around and looked directly at me as she switched hands and continued moving up and down my shaft.
"What do you want?" She cooed, her brown eyes searching deep into mine. Eyes that had developed a faint trace of silver in them.
My fingers reached to her arse-cheeks, and I dug a finger into her tight hole.
Hermione's eyes flashed with lust. "Is that what you want?"
I smiled at her mischievously. "Unless you don't?"
Hermione closed her eyes and tensed a bit as the words rang pleasurably through her. "I… we haven't done that before."
"If you're uncomfortable.."
"No… no…" she said, embracing me. "I told you, Harry. Everything I have is yours. My mouth, my pussy, my arse, everything. Just…"
"Just?" I arched an eyebrow.
"Ginny…" she said, "we didn't finish our talk. She's probably still waiting for me to call back. But it's okay, I can always do that late—"
I shushed her with a finger. "No need. You can have your talk with Ginny." I brought my lips next to her ear and whispered. "While I bugger your arse."
Hermione shivered. "But Ginny—"
"Without her knowing. Show me how much restraint you've got."
"Restraint?" she asked incredulously. "With your cock in me?"
I took the point, knowing full well that if we fucked, she'd scream in hot pleasure. Honestly, I was looking forward to seeing Hermione lose control while on the Floo call. With Ginny listening to her cries on the other side. And if Ron was nearby…
My cock throbbed at the idea.
"So?" I asked the lascivious witch in my arms. "You in?"
Notes:
If you want to support me, find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Chapter 30: Best Served Over Floo
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 1 - OUTLANDER
Hermione was having second thoughts about this.
Having monkey sex with Harry within the confines of the house was one thing. But sticking her head inside the Floo, talking to Ginny and who knew else would be on the other side, with Harry plowing her arse, for the first time, she might add?
It was mortifying.
It didn't change a thing. She'd still do it. For Harry.
"Turn the fuck around, slut!" Harry ordered, slapping her tits with one hand. A big red mark showed on them. Hermione turned around, hurriedly rushing to obey. Sex between them had changed from the supple, comforting, lovemaking to harsh, painful fucking. Just the feeling of his cock in her folds wasn't enough. Hermione wanted to be fucked. Mauled. Taken like a bitch. She had absolutely loved it when Harry had thrown her down on the cold stone floor the last time and speared his cock into her from behind, before pulling her by the throat and fucking her doggy-style.
She gripped his hand, positioning before him, on her knees, her arse ready for his perverse pleasure. He gave her a spank and thrust into her pussy. Hard. Pain shot through her body, and each thrust felt more violent than the last one. Harsh spanks fell. Tears were leaking from her eyes, but her pussy clenched tighter and tighter. Hermione rolled her hips. His vicious slaps stung, but each spanking made her wetter.
She felt another orgasm bubbling.
"Lean back," he ordered, accenting with another spank. Hermione quickly obeyed. She loved it when Harry acted all authoritarian with her bending on her knees. She pushed her upper extremities backward, squealing as he grabbed her hair and pulled it back, hard. His other hand grabbed her throat and clenched it, thrusting deeper. He was reaching deeper this way. Hermione fucked him back with gusto, matching his thrusts.
"Rub your clit."
Her fingers quickly obeyed her master. Yes, he was her master. In body, in mind, and in soul. She'd do anything for him. Anything. Her fingers found her slit and began rubbing furiously, making her orgasm unavoidable. Within seconds, she was writhing, jets of her cum exploding out of her folds.
Hermione didn't care. She just rubbed harder.
"What are you?"
"Your whore," she answered, all too happy to give him what he wanted.
"Say that again." His grip tightened around her neck.
Enthusiasm bubbled within her. McGonagall might have just awarded her a hundred points.
"Your whore.
"He squeezed further.
It was getting difficult to breathe. He was pulling her hair too hard. Her neck was hurting. His cock was too deep inside her. She was choking. Her face was blue.
But all she could feel was pleasure.
"Your whore. Your slut. Your fuck-toy. Your slave. Whatever you want."
"Damn right!" His fingers pulled away and Hermione squealed as he slapped her pussy. She came, legs shaking, pussy squirting, as he squeezed the life out of her. He released her. In a second, Hermione spun around, her mouth firmly around his cock. She needed it. She plunged down recklessly, deep throating him. His pre-cum was heaven. She was slurping. Gagging. Her tits clapped as she sucked desperately.
Harry laughed at her wanton display.
She liked it. She loved being demeaned by him. He grabbed her hair roughly, collecting it into a leash of sorts. Hermione hissed as he forced her up, dragging her like an animal from the counter to the left until she was facing the Floo. Pulling her head back, he shoved his cock into her throat. She was gagging noisily, spit dripping out around his pole. Her eyes were watering as he forced himself deeper. But her cunt was on fire, and she needed more.
Needed him to fuck her.
Hermione tried to struggle, so that she could get fucked again, but Harry held her viciously in place. After a few more vicious thrusts, he pulled himself out and slapped her cheeks with his wet meat. Hermione held her mouth open and pushed her tits together, offering him the best target for his jizz. He burst like a dam, grunting, his cum coating her forehead, then her cheek, her eyes, her breasts, her hair, everywhere. Hermione greedily swallowed every single bit that fell into her open mouth, ignoring the white cum trickling into her eyes.
"Yes!" Harry said, cocking his head back, observing her like an artist admiring his own handiwork. "Perfect. You look perfect for your meeting."
What? No way. She wasn't going to floo-call like this. He had said he'd be buggering her while she'd be on call. But this? No way she was going to talk to Ginny while looking like this. No fucking way—
SMACK!
"Yes," said her traitorous mouth.
"Good!" Harry slapped her again, and pushed her ahead, until her face was literally inches away from the fireplace. Hermione barely saw his wand flying into his hand, pride filling her at his accomplishment. Wandless magic, even something as standard as the summoning charm, was beyond her at this point. For Harry to have achieved it was amazing.
She felt him hit her with a spell, but before she could voice her thoughts, Harry pushed her towards the fireplace.
"Weasley Burrow!" said Hermione loudly and clearly, surprised at the lack of exhaustion in her tone. Blaming it on her werewolf stamina, she stuck her head into the Floo and waited for Ginny to respond, feeling Harry's rough hands sweep over her delectable arse.
It was mortifying.
It was exhilarating.
Her brain rebelled against it.
Her pussy clenched harder.
"Hermione?" Ron came into view as he stood in front of the fireplace. "Uh, Hi. I wasn't expecting a Floo call from you."
Her heart clenched. She thought she was over it, thought that her infatuation with Ron had vanished after he had spurned her over the werewolf curse. It mattered little before her ironclad devotion to Harry, but she had liked him. And she knew he liked him, too. More than a friend. Seamus had seen him whispering her name as he jerked himself to sleep every night. Lavender had told her that.
In a different life, maybe things would've been different. One in which Lupin hadn't slashed her, where she hadn't been cursed to become a werewolf. A life where she'd have stayed with her own parents, with Harry having no reason to take her in. Maybe she'd have watched over Harry as a friend, content to see him moon over Chang. She'd have taken Ron as a boyfriend, probably after a couple of years of dancing around each other. She'd have become Hermione Granger Weasley.
The mists of a different future vanished as her eyes glazed. No, it wasn't because of tears trickling down her eyes. It was Harry's cum, slithering down her eyebrows, painting her vision in monochromatic white.
Hermione steadied her voice. "Err, I was looking for Ginny. We were talking before it got disrupted. Is she—?"
"Ginny's showering," said Ron. He appeared a little distracted. Or maybe he was uncertain about what he thought of her? Good. This meeting would give her an inkling of what to expect next term. Hermione felt Harry's smooth hands massage her arse-cheeks, and a moan erupted out of her throat.
"Hermione? What's that?" asked Ron, looking strangely interested.
Hermione suppressed a grin. Ron had lost all chances of being with her the moment he let his fear and bigotry win. She wondered what he'd think upon knowing how she had become, what her affliction had done to her sexuality. She knew Ron suffered from an inferiority complex a mile wide, often using his friendship with Harry to assert dominance over everything else. He went over the board to dominate Harry's time, ensuring that he stayed his best mate, often making Harry's decisions for him. And in an equally twisted way, he was also insanely jealous of Harry. Knowing that Ron's actions had snatched Hermione from being a potential girlfriend to be Harry's whore would….
What would it do to him?
Hermione wanted to know.
Her lips curled.
Should I tell him?
It'd be so dirty, admitting the dirty deeds that she and Harry went around about in the confines of this building. For her to admit at how Harry had her on her knees, screaming his name as he fucked her. That he had done so mercilessly and tirelessly at every opportunity they got, only that the more they fucked the more she needed to get fucked by him, so she looked for more time, more places, more chances to fuck. In the bed. In the Living room. The kitchen. The lawn. They had fucked in the pool outside. Harder and faster, their orgasms grew more intense the more they had sex. She had cum harder each time, Hermione all over Harry's cock and he thrusting deep into her pussy. How would it be to share those titillating details with Ron while she was bent over, with Harry buggering her arse?
It'd be so… nasty.
Hermione licked her lips.
"Hermione?" Ron asked again.
"Oh nothing, it's just oh-hn!" Hermione barely suppressed her moan, feeling Harry push a finger into her arse. Her tight, clenched hole was gripping Harry's cock like the hardest vise possible, swallowing it inside her broiling arse. The heat… the tightness… it was nothing like she had ever experienced. She wanted to push him away and also wanted him to push further. She couldn't move, couldn't think. Despite having cum like crazy not long before, jolts of pleasure were traveling through her arse cheeks and her pussy.
The bastard had pushed his cock into her at that exact moment. Convenient? No freaking way. Harry knew she was about to talk to Ron, and he was doing this intentionally. Yes. That must be it. He had hit her with a listening charm so that he could thrust at the worst imaginable times.
It was just so like the Harry she knew in the summer. Really, if she didn't know better, she'd have said he wasn't Harry Potter at all.
"Hermione?" Ron asked a third time, apprehensive. "Are you… well? You sound like you're—"
"Oh nothing, nothing," Hermione said, barely holding back another moan. "It's just… it's a bit of a tight situation here. I wanted to talk to Ginny and get back to — ah — work." She felt Harry's fingers move up her body, shivering at his spidery touch. His fingers ran through her cleavage, and grasped both breasts, squeezing them so tight that she had to close her eyes and bite her lips to keep the groans from escaping her lips. Good thing she was talking through a Floo which prevented Ron from seeing her actual face or else things would get even more complicated.
"Oh," said Ron, disappointed. "Have you heard from Harry? He hasn't written to me at all this summer."
Hermione gave him a coy little smile. "Of course I did. I'm staying with him, after all."
"What?" The look on his face was priceless.
She knew that Harry often ensured that Ron got a share of the limelight. Ron was smart, and he used that to his advantage, sometimes to lord it over others, and others, to get access to things he'd otherwise not have. Hermione had caught him twice, trying to impress some Hufflepuffs over how he was Harry's partner and mentor.
It was almost silly how, despite all of that; he let his jealousy cloud their relationship.
"Oh, yes!" she said, a moan slipping through, as the cock shifted slightly within her. Damn it Harry! "Harry's got a new place in London. It's an enormous apartment with tons of rooms. Like a manor."
"A manor?"
"Yes!" Hermione winced in pleasurable agony as her small, tight hole adjusted to having Harry's man-sized meat lodged deep inside it. She could feel him pushing further. Her whole body shivered as she lowered herself a tad, allowing him to push deeper.
"It's a big thing, with thirteen bedrooms. A library, and a—ah — ah — a pool. Yes! A pool. A huge one!" Inwardly, she was hoping how long she'd be able to continue this, while also marveling at Ron's lack of comprehension. The vacant look on his face was something she was too used to seeing. "I've been staying with Harry all this time. Will be there all — oh my! — all summer."
"Summer?" Ron spluttered. "Hermione, then maybe I could too—"
Oh, hell no! "Ron, you can't!"
"What? Why?" He demanded, agitated. "I'm his best mate."
"I'm a — ah — werewolf, remember? What would your — ah — parents say?"
"Why're you making those noises? Are you like… unwell?"
"It's just — oh fuck! Cramps! You know! Girl-things. Wanted to talk to Ginny about those! Never stayed in a wiz—ah—ardly mansion before, so Ahhh!"
Any thoughts of pushing him away were gone. Harry was gripping her by her hips and pushing himself balls-deep into her. This was, without a doubt, the greatest thing ever. The greatest experience in her sex life. Hermione pushed her hips upward, and her head down into the Floo, feeling him go deep by yet another inch.
"Too much information, Hermione. I'll — uh — go get Ginny," said Ron, utterly oblivious. For a moment, Hermione thought he was going to do the same, but then he paused, and turned around. "Err… think you can call Harry for a moment? Wanted to say Hi."
"I really don't think that's an option right now."
"Huh? Why?"
"He kinda has his hands full right now."
Mauling my breasts.
As if in acknowledgment, Harry squeezed them just a little harder. Hermione bit her lips, feeling the need for his cock within her pussy triple in an instant.
"Oh, what's he doing?"
Damnit! So fucking tight! Hermione had no words that could describe what she was feeling right now. Harry had pulled the entire thing out only to shove it back in one go. Before she knew it, her arse was colliding with his thighs.
And again.
And again.
"Fuck!" She groaned. "Oh! Oh fuck! It hurts!"
"Hermione? What's — what's wrong?"
"No—oh thing! Cramps! Remember?"
"You need to see a healer, Hermione!"
"No—ah! NO! Were — werewolf, re-mem — uh! No one will treat me. This'll — oh! I'll deal with it. I'm used to it."
Fuck! He was so big! His bone-hard weapon was inside her again. Its entire length speared into her arsehole, with his hands groping her greedily, digging into her soft, squeezable tits, sometimes toying with her nipples.
"And don't worry about Harry! This is the first time he's getting to live away from the Dursleys, so he's taking everything he can get his — ah — his hands on!"
"You bet!" Ron laughed.
Hermione laughed back. It barely concealed another groan.
"He's like a kid in a candy shop, you — uh know! Digging into every— AHHH!"
SPANK!
"Hermi—"
SPANK!
The rest of Ron's words faded, the pain from the force of the crisp spank flooding her thoughts. She almost wished she could pull away from the Floo and look back at him.
SPANK! SPANK! SPANK!
"Guh! Ughh! Oh, it hurts so…"
"Hermione you need a—"
"Ugh! No. No healer Ron. I'll be fine soon. Just tell Ginny. Just! Ugh—"
The rest of her words died as she was bodily pulled out of the Floo by an excited Harry Potter, his cock still submerged into her. She looked back at him, her eyes glassy with lust. "GODS! Harry! You're being so—"
But Harry wasn't listening. He pushed her down until her nose was touching the floor, and pulled her legs apart, wedging himself deeper into her. He gripped both hands and held her down, sliding his juice-coated cock out of her clasping arsehole, all the way out to the head, and then drove it back inside her.
She moaned out as he shoved his lengthy cock back inside. In. Out. In. Out.
Hermione moaned. "Wait. Wait a minute! Please!" She begged, asking for mercy, but she got none. Harry's forceful fucking drove her entire body forward, barely able to withstand the rough anal sex he was forcing upon her. Overtime they got softer and softer.
"Wait… wait… wait…" she sighed and turned a corner. The rough, intense fucking he was giving her was taking its toll on her. Any pleas for mercy died on her lips as she prepared herself for passing out.
Then it happened.
"Potter Manor!" came Ginny's voice through the fireplace. "Potter Manor!"
She met Harry's eyes, his eyes shining with excitement at the possibilities ahead.
"Round Two," he said.
Notes:
If you want to support me, find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Chapter 31: Arse Is Now In Session
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 1 - OUTLANDER
Some women have this quality about them, something completely intangible and indefinable, which gets called a lot of different things, depending on which society you're in. I always think of it as heat, or fire. It doesn't always have to be about sex, but it often is — and it definitely was with Ginny Weasley.
The moment I heard Ginny's voice through the Floo, I felt the temperature in the room go up. Or maybe it was just my libido going into overdrive, except that didn't seem sufficient to cover the rush of purely physical hunger that suddenly hit me. Ginny Weasley was a damned attractive woman, but I hadn't exactly been starved of female attention since the onset of the summer holidays. It had started with Hermione, with the two of us exploring the limits of her newly discovered sensuality and werewolf-induced stamina, but it had soon brought several others into its fold. There was Hestia, twisted as a spring and downright sadistic in bed. There was Tracey, my official whore and spy; and Narcissa, the most gorgeous MILF I had ever set my eyes on. Bigoted to the extent that they could classify it as a psychological dysfunction, yet absolutely starved for sex. Hannah was practically itching to jump my bones while her mother was the sexually haggard submissive that needed someone to make her his bitch.
You'd think after having all of them, I'd have all but forgotten about my best-friend's sister. No sir, not at all.
With a flick of my wand, I adjusted the Floo, allowing Ginny partial entry. She'd be able to hear everything on this side of the Floo, just like we would. But it would also effectively blind Ginny for the duration. In principle, it was the same as a voice call, only performed through the Floo.
Then I smacked Hermione's arse.
"Ohhhh!" Hermione sighed, mouth open, eyes lidded over in desire, her clenched throat barely able to form words. Her head swayed from the sheer force of my intense fucking. Her arm gave out and she fell forward, her face resting against the floor as I kept drilling into her. Head down, ass up, she surrendered to the thorough fucking I was inflicting upon her. She stayed silent, mouth open in ecstasy as I kept smoothly driving my thick weapon into her clenched ass, demolishing her cute arsehole. I pushed past her own perceived limits, taking her to new heights of pleasure. Her asshole was quivering around my thick, pulsing shaft, spasming violently in satisfaction.
"More! More! Give me More!" she chanted, voice barely perceptible.
"Hermione?" Ginny cried out, "Is that you?"
I sped up, fucking my resident bookworm as hard as I could, heaving my aching cock into her waiting arse. Hermione had been a little unsure of anal sex before, but she had completely surrendered to the intense, brutal sex we were having. I kept plowing into her, taking her to new heights as I dug her ass out to new depths, fucking her more deeply than ever before. And through it all, she just bent over and took it, her asshole swallowing up my full length easily, loving every minute. The meaty slapping of my swollen nuts hitting against her cunt rang in our ears. She pushed herself up on shaky arms, trying to regain her composure.
SPANK! SPANK!
"AHHHHH! Fuck, Harry!" Hermione sighed as I spanked her again hard, waking her up from her daze. "Oh! MERLIN! YES! YES! YES! OH MY GOD!" she screamed out, pushing back at me again as I drove into her, each new pump into her causing new, unexpected jolts of pleasure.
"Hermione!"
"Ginny!" Hermione wailed. "Ginny Fuck! He's fucking me! Harry — Harry's fucking me right now!"
"What? Harry! Harry, let me in!" Ginny yelled, her frustration at being unable to see anything obvious from her tone.
"He's so fucking huge! Fuck! And Thick!" Hermione screamed. "And he shoved the whole thing up my ass! His cock is! UGH! Massive! Holy fuck! YES! YES! He made my arse cum! He's fucking me so fucking hard and deep he made my arse cum! It was the biggest cum of my life! And he's going to do it again! Oh! Oh my!"
Hermione continued to moan and babble as I filled her ass up. Seeing her moist, sweat-soaked hair against her back spurred me into further action, reaching down, grabbing hold of her hair, and yanking back roughly. "SHIT! FUCK!" she screamed out loud at the harsh treatment. Her asshole spasmed around me again in pure pleasure. She was now facing away from me, head up, as I used the added leverage to dig deep into her. This position allowed me to see her large, smooth, swaying breasts. In my hunger, I couldn't help myself, reaching under her and grabbing at her hanging tits crudely. I was now over her back as I continued to drill her, groping her huge breasts. Pinching her nipple caused her asshole to spasm again.
"Harry! Ugh! Harry, please let me in! Please let me in!" Ginny wailed. "It's been ages, Harry! You can't do that to me! Please let me in!"
I could almost imagine her hands on the other side of the Floo, already slipping into her wetness and fingering herself as she heard Hermione moan like a Knockturn Alley whore. I looked at Hermione, who looked back at me and smirked, letting me know she was in the plan. As I smacked her cheeks again, she let out a lewd moan.
"MORGANA'S TITS! HARRY! FUCK! Keep fucking me! Just like that! I'm gonna cum! I'm gonna have the biggest orgasm of my life! HARRY! YES!"
Her entire body shuddered as a tremendous orgasm shook her to the core. I released my grip on her hair and tits and leaned back, focusing on fucking her. I focused on destroying her fucking asshole. As I did this, her head fell down, unable to support it as the pleasure consumed her body. As she came, she reached down between her legs, rubbing her pussy roughly with her fingers, quickly gushing all over them, her juices splattering against the floor, her legs and my bouncing balls.
Meanwhile, Ginny kept screaming and kept begging me to allow her in. To get her the chance to feel what Hermione was feeling. I didn't know if it was her natural disposition or her raised world anchor that was making her so susceptible. Either way, I wanted to see how far she would go, how depraved she was going to get, especially after knowing what Hermione was enjoying.
What she was being deprived of.
"Fuck! Yes!" Hermione screamed out, the little sadist, though I couldn't really blame her. She was staying on all fours as I continued fucking her ass throughout her world-shaking orgasm. The tight, clenching hole was spasming like crazy around me, but I was in such a state that even that wasn't enough to take me over the edge. I just kept going, fucking her, not stopping, not slowing down, carrying her on my enormous cock through her massive orgasm. After a few more minutes of this, the orgasm ran its course. I left her on all fours, coated with sweat, panting for breath, her head sagging and hair hanging down. Finally, as I kept fucking her tight ass, she looked back at me with a look so lustful I almost lost it right then.
"Oh! Oh!" she sighed, her voice heavy with lust. "I've never cum harder in my life! Holy shit! That was amazing!"
"We aren't done yet! Sweetheart!" I spoke up for the first time, slowing down slightly, and her eyes went wide with recognition. At this, I sped up again, resuming the intense, brutal fucking I had just been performing on her.
"HOLY! FUCKING! SHIT!" she screamed, her face a mask of lust again. She turned away and faced forward, mouth open in lust. "Fuck! Oh, my! MY! You're amazing! HARRY! YES! SHIT! YES!" she squealed as I drilled into her. Her mouth hung open as I kept pumping into her tight ass roughly.
"YES! HARRY! YES!" she screamed out. Her eyes would squeeze shut as waves of mini-orgasms kept coursing through her. "Yes! Fuck! SEE THIS GINNY! THIS IS WHAT I'M GETTING! BUGGERED IN THE ARSE! FUCKED LIKE A WHORE! EVERY! SINGLE! DAY!"
She looked back at me, eyes heavy with lust, while yelling, lost in pleasure.
"DAMN IT BITCH!" Ginny yelled. "Let me in, damn it! Harry! Harry! Let me in!"
"Not before he cums on me," Hermione shouted back, spasming. "I'm not letting you get the results of my hard work, Weasley. He doesn't—he doesn't need you. He has me! I'm a werewolf! Last! I can! I can! For Hours! Yes! Yes! Fuck my arse! YES HARRY! YES FUCK ME! YES! YES! YES!"
That did it.
"Fuck!" I groaned, her tight asshole and filthy words carrying me over the edge, my balls twisting as a huge stream of thick fiery cum shot out of me and deep into Hermione's arse. Her butt clenched around my cock violently as she came again, as rough as the last one.
"OHMYGOD! OHMYGOD! YES! YES!" she screamed loudly, driving her arse back at me aggressively as she came hard. Her head fell against the floor, and she reached between her legs again, strumming her clit and making herself squirt again. Her entire body quivered around me, as if on fire, spasming violently as she came.
"Ugh!" I moaned loudly as cum rocketed out of me. I held her arse right against me, holding my full length inside her as I came deep inside her again, filling up her arsehole with thick, potent cum. Somehow, after having cum like crazy recently, this orgasm was even bigger. My swollen dick kept firing out long jets of copious boiling cum, firing off deep in her arsehole. Her tight butt was practically coaxing more hot cum from my nuts to fire off deep inside her. More and more of my seed exploded out of me, and my entire body was jerking and shaking as I came violently in Hermione's arse.
"Fuck!" I groaned, my voice shaky. "YES!"
"UGH! YES! IN ME!" she screamed out, her entire body still shaking from her rough orgasm.
"UGH!" I heard Ginny moan. Knowing her, she had probably cum as well.
With a flick of my wand, I opened the Floo gates and allowed her in. Caught off-guard, Ginny tumbled through the Floo and fell face-first on the floor.
Right on top of a very naked and exhausted Hermione.
"Hi," I whispered, with a small, vague smile, eyeing her as she stood up. Her eyes went wide as she looked at me, almost in disbelief at what she was seeing. I couldn't really tell what was going on in her mind, and to be honest, I didn't care.
For she wasn't looking at me.
She was looking at my cock.
One that was freshly covered with juices from Hermione's arse, and oozing with cum.
I smiled. "You want what she has? Then you'll have to get it from the—"
Ginny was already down on her knees, wearing her birthday suit, my cock being pulled into her mouth.
I blinked.
Huh! Guess she really wanted it badly.
Notes:
If you want to support me, find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Chapter 32: New Day, New Plans
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 1 - OUTLANDER
It hurt.
No, that was an understatement of what I was experiencing. Physically, I was fine, but magically, I was worse than Neville back in his first year. I'd be hard pressed to even cast a first-year charm without screaming myself hoarse. I knew Hermione would smell the dark enchantments on my person, if not the coppery stain of blood, so returning to my apartment was not an option. And after spending an entire morning with that cilice belt digging into my flesh, I didn't want to spend another minute in that goddamned haunted-house.
Hence, Diagon Alley it was.
I got honked at a lot on the way to the Leaky Cauldron. I didn't care. I considered it an achievement that I made it without crashing into anyone. Pulling my trusty limo over into the little parking lot next to the other side of the pub, I sauntered my way past the customers and the magical wall into the commercial district.
It had been over a month and a half since the summer began. I know it's been about sex lately, but let me assure you, I didn't skive off my magical education. Like, maybe in the first couple of days of living in the new building with a hot werewolf, but I had developed a proper routine for my studies, most of which started after lunch and extended all the way until supper. The constant supply of sex from an increasing number of partners helped in boosting my magical affinity, which sped up picking up new spells.
But that wasn't the only change that had happened to me.
As days passed by, I realised that Hermione's perk, Natural Demon, was having a rather deep effect on me.
PERK — NATURAL DEMON
Hermione's furry little problem grants her greatly improved physical characteristics with the small caveat of turning into an uncontrollable monster once a month.
EFFECTS
Passive increase in strength, speed, and reflexes. Upon activation, the User becomes on par with a fully grown werewolf under the full moon, without being affected by lycanthropy.
Shut up, Screen. Just because I'm thinking about it doesn't mean I want you to flash it. Damn it.
Let's get a couple of things straight. I've gotten strong. Not like Hulk strong, but stronger than someone built like me can be, and I'm not exactly a tiny guy. Trust me, you don't want me to punch you either. The average person can manage about sixteen to twenty miles an hour over a quick sprint. Me? I can probably push it to thirty if I really give it my best, and can do it without slowing down for more or less as long as it is necessary. I didn't know if this perk was granting me an inhuman stamina or it was magic that was augmenting my muscles, but it felt great.
Back to the present.
I don't think I mentioned this before, but Diagon Alley is a dull, dim, drafty sort of place, not unlike the insides of a great many people who work there. It's like a maze, a network of lanes crisscrossing itself, often without symmetry, and bustling with shops, their walls covered in carvings of mystic runes and sigils, of stylized and genuinely beautiful artistry. Something about the ambience always made it feel like stepping into the eighteen-hundreds with a grey-scale background.
"Harry Potter?" a female voice called out to me. Shaken from my reverie, I turned to look for the source of the noise. And it was not who I expected.
"Hannah," I said, barely keeping the surprise and annoyance from my voice. The Black Family Magic was not exactly nice, and like all powerful magic, left traces. Hannah had gotten me two points at Magical Sensing, which made her the last person I wanted close to me right now.
Hannah walked up to me before stopping a few feet away.
"Well, how do I look?" she asked, holding out her arms. I couldn't help but admire her. I had almost forgotten just how stunningly sexy her body was. She was wearing a tight crimson t-shirt, hugging her fit, mature frame. There was a picture of the Weird Sisters on the top, the logo stretched around her breasts and leaving part of her flat belly exposed. Trackers adorned her lower half, accentuating her long, firm legs. Her lips were curled in a smile as she flashed her teeth brilliantly, her hair hanging past her shoulders, looking full and sexy.
"...good," I said, with a slight, confident smile.
"You've been ignoring me," she said, jutting her lip out in a pout. "I tried sending you a letter, but you never responded. I'd have tried Floo-calling you, but I don't have your Floo address."
"Sorry, I've been distracted," I replied. "What's up?"
Hannah gave a half-shrug. "The usual. Susan and I met up for some ice-cream. Want to go meet her?"
"And make your friend angry with me?"
Hannah snorted. "Oh, drop it. You know Susan's just being a bitch. Maybe if she'd get off her royal bitchiness, she'd have gotten something nice and hard in her.." She trailed off, hugging me, though it had less to do with the hug and more about smashing her breasts against my chest.
"You don't want to make it seem too obvious that we're being intimate, darling," I said, as her hands crawled across my back. "It might hurt your chances with Neville."
Annoyance flickered across her face, and she stepped back. "I don't know what you're talking about, Harry. We're just friends that bumped into each other."
As if to make her point, she jiggled a bit, causing her breasts to bounce.
Bumped, indeed.
Hannah was not wrong. Well, not completely. I was, in fact, subtly ignoring her. The boosts in magical affinities were nice and everything, but Hannah was a clingy creature, and such people could be dangerous. Her home-life and her ancestry presented a strange dichotomy that struck gold, but should things go south, end up horribly for me. Especially if she acted prematurely. Cynthia was a better bet in this case. The sexually submissive, buxom mother was my unofficial bitch, and she knew it. Both mother and daughter would come useful in my plans. And hopefully, if things went right, it'd get them the fortune they deserved.
So long as they stayed my vassals, that is.
I looked at Florean's parlour and saw Susan sitting there all by herself, occasionally looking around, probably looking for Hannah. As I steered across the parlour, I found Draco Malfoy and his goons saunter into the place, finding themselves a table. Seeing him reminded me of Narcissa. It had been some time since that day at Twilfitt. I had promised her I'd arrange something to ensure another meeting, but had yet to act on it. My gaze shifted to the waitress, a young woman, early twenties at most, dressed in a long skirt and turtlenecks, all in colours of grey. Her medium brown hair was held up into a bun, and she wore glasses. She looked less like a parlour waitress and more like a secretary in some paper-pusher's office.
I knew her.
Penelope Clearwater. Ravenclaw. Head-girl, and unless I was wholly wrong in my assumptions, Percy Weasley's ex-girlfriend.
A small smile formed on my face.
Maybe I'd end up keeping my word after all.
"—unless," Hannah was saying, "you have plans for elsewhere?"
I turned to her. "No plans. Not anymore. Let's go say hi to Susan."
Hannah's breasts jiggled.
…
…
"Back again, Potter?" asked Susan. "I thought you'd take a while before getting bored with my friend."
Her forehead crinkled as she looked at me, her 'resting bitch face' set at tiger mode. If I was a smarter man, I'd probably have raced in the other direction. But I was a horny man, and I couldn't help but wonder how her breasts and her long legs would feel when spread apart in bed. There was also an ulterior motive for being here, but Susan fit in as a perfect excuse.
"I saw you looking around. Figured I'd see what's going on."
Susan gave me a look of intense disdain. "And Hannah just met you on the way?"
"She bumped into me. Yes."
"It was a good bump," said Hannah.
Her breasts jiggled. Again. I swear she was doing this on purpose.
The forehead crinkled again, this time accompanied by her knuckles on her hips. "I can't believe this. You've been fooling around with Hannah and somehow you've got the guts to try hitting on me in front of her?"
"Would it help if I asked Hannah to stroll off somewhere?"
I'll be honest. The more her sharp nose and sharp eyebrows turned down, the more turned on I got. Maybe it's the masochist in me, or maybe I just have a thing for angry, and dominating women. All I could think of now was her insulting me while Hannah and me made out on top of the table in front of her.
It's a weird kink. Deal with it.
And this is where Susan's personality shone through. Honestly, I expected her to throw a fit and walk away, if not shove her wand tip at my face. Instead she stood up, planted her heels, swayed back on one hip, and frowned and smiled at the same time, as if even she couldn't believe we still had a conversation going.
"No," she said, "it's fine. Hannah likes it, so I've no problems."
"Right," I said, taking a chair. Hannah took a seat between us to my right, her left hand slowly crawling over my jeans. Either the girl was simply that sex-starved or there was more to Devil's Charm than what I knew. Alternatively, Hannah could have an ulterior motive I was oblivious to, in which case, I'd need to elevate her anchorage to cross the halfway mark and make her susceptible to my manipulations.
I blinked. Manipulations? That was such a dirty way to put it. Suggestions? Yeah, much better.
"Just out of curiosity," Susan asked, "what exactly is your relationship with her?" Her gaze flickered at Hannah for an idle second. "I've asked, but she isn't willing to tell me."
Damn. She doesn't shy away from hitting hard.
"Susie, I told you—" Hannah began.
"We're friends that just get along," I said, interrupting whatever she was about to say. "Oh, and I get my daily meals from her mum's eatery. Cynthia makes some really delicious stuff."
"Just friends, huh?" Susan narrowed her eyes.
"Why?" I challenged her. "You don't think she can be friends with me?"
"No. I thought you were fuck buddies."
Well, yes. Probably shouldn't say yes, though.
I shrugged and opened my hands in a gesture of conciliation. "I don't know what to tell you…"
"Uh-huh," Susan said, not buying my bullshit at all. "Hannah stayed at my house last week. She's…" she turned towards her friend maliciously. "She's been whispering your name in the bath. Quite vocally, I might add."
"SUSIE—" Hannah began hotly, her face imitating a tomato. "We're in public."
"Don't worry," I pacified her. "There's a privacy ward around this table." I met Susan's eyes. "Clearly, someone took precautions."
Susan's eyes flashed with interest. "You can tell?"
"Yes."
"What gave it away?"
I gave her my most wizardly smile. "I have some skill at magical sensing."
She bought it. Hook, line and sinker. One advantage of being a wizard is that people always attribute anything you do to magic, if no other immediate explanation leaps to mind. She would not think about how no one from the other tables so much as reacted to her scandalous statements or Hannah's loud reaction, when she could assign my foreknowledge of her privacy ward to my mystical Boy-Who-Lived powers.
And yes, I know I recently gained some affinity for magical sensing. But it was patiently sitting for its turn. It might not look like it, but believe me, I lead a busy life. Conducting vampiric, dark rituals, while modelling around naked in front of Walburga Black, and let me tell you, my John Thomas does not discriminate between real buxom women and wraith ones. It makes for an interesting life.
And then there are meetings with business executives, corporate agencies and, of course, goblins, though I usually have Hestia to deal with that sort of stuff. There's my own private education and daily sparring with Hermione, and honing my newly gaining physical strength. And finally, of course, fucking women. Sometimes for long hours.
"I see," said Susan, her eyes scrutinising me, flipping her crimson curls. "I suppose there are other sides to the Boy-Who-Lived apart from being a playboy celebrity."
Oh girl. You have no idea. Part of me resented the idea of being stereotyped like that, but it was Hestia's suggestions, and I had learned the hard way not to challenge her ideas, especially when it came to public perception. So long as I wasn't tying myself to any family through betrothal contracts, or didn't end up breeding someone, I was free to explore the field to my liking.
"You'd know, if you tried being friends with me."
Susan snorted. "Pass."
I smirked and looked around. Malfoy and his cohorts were still sitting at their tables, sending odd glances in our direction. Harry's memories of Draco painted the picture of a pureblood bigot drunk in his father's wealth and influence. In Narcissa's own words, Draco thought that Lucius's power was his own and acted like he already had it. And after the incident on the train, it seemed really odd that he was sitting like that. I glanced across the parlour but found no one around. Was it Susan that was keeping him from acting out? Possible. Susan wasn't just the last of the Noble and Most Ancient Family of Bones, she was also the niece of Amelia Bones, Head of Magical Law enforcement. He had already picked a fight with me earlier and lost it, both on the train and through that silly assault charge. Directly assaulting me in public with Susan present could backfire terribly for him.
My gaze fell on Penelope.
Perfect. I smiled.
Ever so subtly, I pointed my wand.
Irascor.
The colourless spell hit Crabbe in the back. Just as planned. Casting on Malfoy could be a problem just in case Lucius tried to check his son for potions or magical influence of any kind. Crabbe and Goyle were natural buffoons, and quick and easy to enrage. And this spell did exactly that. Enrage. Grindelwald's right hand, Vina Rosier, was credited with inventing it, along with several other spells. The total package, in the hands of a skillful caster, could twist mob perception in whatever way the caster thought best. The ICW had banned the use of these spells, and redacted all information about them from the masses, shortly after Grindelwald's fall.
Naturally, I found a copy of the book in the Black Family Library.
Druella Rosier, Vina's only daughter, had married Cygnus Black. They had three daughters, one of which was Narcissa Black. Now, Malfoy. That I was using her ancestor's spell to fuck with her son's life was a delicious irony. Knowing her, she'd probably get a kick out of it.
"Say," I turned to the girls. "Why don't we order something? My treat."
I looked at Susan for objections, but she only shrugged.
I turned to Hannah. "Want to do the honours? Anything you can suggest?"
Hannah's face lit up. "Well, there's this awesome pistachio ice cream I tasted the other day…"
I smiled, idly listening to her. Things would shape up to be quite interesting. And soon.
Notes:
If you want to support me, find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Chapter 33: Penelope
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 1- OUTLANDER
"Two pistachios and one raspberry sundae," said Penelope, "will that be all?"
You'd think after spending the better part of two months in this twisted version of British wizarding society, I'd have stopped being surprised by the curve balls this world threw my way. I had first-hand experience with Hermione, a genius by all rights, yet shunned because she got afflicted with lycanthropy. There was Hestia, a talented solicitor that got thrown off her job simply because she got on Lucius Malfoy's bad side. Tracey was a quintessential example of purebloods taking undue advantage of halfbloods and muggleborns just to fuel their own agendas— suffering the bigotry of her own father, only to be thrust into the hands of the scheming, crafty House of Greengrass. And here was Penelope Clearwater— Prefect turned head girl, serving ice-cream and other delicacies to customers when by all rights, she should've been spearheading some high-ranking department in the Ministry.
What was worse was that the muggleborns and halfbloods did not have a way out of this mess. Lured into magical society by the wonders of Hogwarts, they didn't even understand when their education turned into shackles that bound them to a lifetime of slavery and bigotry. The first five years gave them a little breathing time, but as the OWLs set in, the situation changed. Muggle money had no meaning to the goblins, and no pureblood worth his salt would ever hire a muggleborn or halfblood in any substantial Ministry position, which meant working for private corporations or worse, selling themselves in Knockturn Alley. Paying off the education debt tied them for the first decade or so, and by the time they got some breathing room back, they were already shackled by their children turning Hogwarts' age, and the cycle began anew. Those that wanted to skip this struggle by escaping to other lands were persecuted and dropped into Azkaban, or worse, punished by extravagant fees, enough to shackle them into working for some snotty pureblood pedophile for the rest of their lives.
This wasn't mere bigotry. This was a magical French revolution in the making.
I wondered how it'd be if Tom Riddle, a halfblood that suffered through the same bigotry as these people, would've grown up to become the leader of a Muggleborn movement. A Dark Lord that championed the cause of the tortured, a scourge that brought the pureblood aristocracy to its knees. I have no doubt that with his power, Tom would've become the greatest figure in British history, and the father of a glorious revolution. How terribly sad that he chose the safer route, choosing his own immortality and championing pureblood propaganda, satisfied with purebloods kneeling before him and kissing the hem of his robes while he paraded himself as the epitome of pureblood elitism.
I wondered if he realized that the muggleborn and halfblood population outnumbered the purebloods by a magnitude.
The kind of information you'd get if you had a former Secretary of the Department of International Magical Cooperation as your assistant.
"'…xcuse me?" Penelope's words took me out of my reveries.
"Uh… yes?"
"I asked, would that be all, sir?" She offered a small smile that did not reach her eyes.
I wondered how she did this day-in day-out without breaking down, but I suppose when life pushes you around, the majority of people just try to move faster, compromising every step out of the way. Very few actually have the courage to push back.
"No," I said, "that'll be all."
Penelope nodded and turned to leave. A part of me wanted to make small talk, just to get a better picture of her talents. Bigotry or no, one didn't just become the Headboy or Head Girl for nothing. I knew for a fact that your OWL results, your NEWT pre-test results at the end of sixth year, as well as your all-around performance, class participation, general popularity and contribution to House Points were all taken into consideration before choosing someone for the position.
Such a person could be very useful for my newest venture with the goblins.
But I couldn't just bring up her achievements without insulting her, at least not in public. So I kept quiet, and waited for the magic to happen. If things went like I had planned, Penelope would be mine.
In ways more than one.
"What's going on in your deviant mind, Harry Potter?"
I turned to Susan, seeing the frown on her face. Susan was a complicated girl. She had a good head on her shoulders, and knew a playboy when she saw one. But despite her self-proclaimed disdain for the stereotype, she went out of her way to ensure she held my interest, whether it be leaving a window open for me to convince her otherwise, or by bringing up my playboy attitude all the time in conversation. Maybe she was one of those tsundere-types that weeaboos on the internet kept chattering about.
"Oh you know, thinking of ways to get you in bed," I said with a straight face.
"In your dreams," she shot back.
"Oh long past," I said, "we've gone way more than that in my dreams. Why was there this thing with honey and candle wax and bright red lingerie..."
"Behave!" Hannah slapped me on the thigh. I grinned at her and found her rolling her eyes at me. Her hand still didn't leave my thigh though.
Susan had gone bright red in the face, like that aforementioned lingerie. "You're truly a lowlife."
"And you're sitting there, eating ice-cream and flirting back. Nobody's perfect."
She moved closer. "I'm not flirting with you."
I smirked. "Of course you aren't."
Susan, from what I had seen, was never quite idle. Whether it be in getting advanced dueling training from her aunt's bodyguards, or being a constant participant in the Under-19 dueling tournaments, or playing Mom to her fellow Hufflepuffs, she always had to be doing something. A woman so full of energy had to be a wildcat in bed. I'd go out on a limb and say that she was one of those women who knew better but always sought the type that she held active disdain for. And then she'd get burned, or worse, break things up, and double down on her disdain. Behind that mask of superiority was a bitch in heat that just needed someone to surprise her, and take control of her life.
Make her his submissive.
Poor girl didn't know she was sitting in front of a predator.
Susan might have some emotional and psychic control in her, but that didn't mean she was immune to the Devil's Charm. She was thinking me to be one of those snotty purebloods trying to get into her pants and then worm themselves into her fortune.
She'd learn to expect better of me.
"But you're right," I said, "I am scheming something. That girl, Penelope Clearwater, was the head girl, wasn't she?"
Susan narrowed her eyes. Even Hannah stopped fondling my thigh.
"What if she was?"
I sighed. "Look, we can't have a conversation if you keep taking offense at every word that leaves my mouth."
"Well it's not my fault that—" Susan began, but Hannah let out an annoyed throaty noise.
"Fine!" Susan settled for a frown, and crossed her arms over the table. "Yes, she was. Why do you ask?"
"Just wondering what a head girl is doing in a place like this."
"She's a muggleborn," Susan said, a flicker of sadness mixed with resignation flashing across her face. "There aren't many opportunities for her kind."
"Surely there are more opportunities for muggleborns than just being…" I paused, and looked around to see if she was nearby, "parlor waitresses?"
"It's a long story," said Hannah, pushing her ice-cream away and pulling her left hand.
"I'm all ears," I offered, "I admit it isn't as interesting to have Susan fire insults and flirt with me," Susan glared at me which I happily ignored, "but I'm genuinely interested."
"Why?" Susan asked again.
"Does it matter?"
"Why always matters."
I sighed. "Fine. I've taken control of my family's finances recently, and might have started a venture or two. Someone of her talents could be useful in my firm."
Susan narrowed her eyes. "What venture?"
"Moonforge Inc," I told her, "it deals with enchanting products."
That was, technically speaking, not a lie. Moonforge Inc. was an enchanting company, but it didn't enchant products for magicals. No, it enchanted muggle products for magical use, a market that was still unexplored, thanks to pureblood bigotry and lack of genuine creative interest. Getting them approved through the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts office was going to be easy, given Arthur Weasley was the Head. It was getting through to the next stage— the Body of International Magical Standards, a sub-office of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, that was being the real issue. The worst part was that the guy leading the office was Albert Gibbon, the guy that Hestia had tried to get arrested, only for the Malfoys to turn the tables and get her kicked out instead.
Interestingly, it was this department that Percy was first hired after passing out of Hogwarts. Who knew inspecting cauldron-bottoms could be part of that job description?
"An enchanting industry," she raised a single eyebrow with more grace than I had in my entire body. "There's like a ton of those. Couldn't you've gone for something more unique?"
I shrugged. "Gotta start somewhere."
She rolled her eyes and muttered something like dimwit under her breath.
"And now the story?" I asked. "What's a head girl doing in a place like this?"
"You've got it backwards, Potter," said Susan, "Penelope's here precisely because she was head girl."
I blinked.
"Come again?"
"Penelope's committed two major faux-passes at school. The first is that she's biased against Slytherins—"
"Means she calls a spade a spade," muttered Hannah.
Susan threw her a dirty look. "She made no friends when she sentenced Draco Malfoy to detention several times during her time as Prefect. She went out of her way to catch contraband smuggling inside Hogwarts. Attracted the ire of the Carrow twins and Theo Nott. Honestly, I'm surprised she… got off like that."
"And then she made head girl." I said, the pieces of the puzzle slowly fitting together in my mind.
"Yes," said Susan, "probably the worst decision she could've taken. A muggleborn head girl? I know Andrea Selwyn, and Xi Chang were possible choices, but she was chosen over them. The Selwyns are equally bad, if not worse than the Malfoys, and the Changs, well they're the ticket to a long and prosperous magical dynasty going back over a millenia. A thousand years of esoteric magical lore and mystery, that enabled the Changs to get the Ancient and Noble status in Wizarding Britain, and Professor Dumbledore chose an ordinary muggleborn."
I winced.
"Honestly," said Hannah, "that was like the worst thing that could've happened. Slytherin House was in rebellion. At least Flitwick knows how to keep Ravenclaw House under control. Snape just… lets them run amok."
That he does. No doubt about that.
"Is that why…" I paused, wondering how to best phrase it, "Is that why Percy Weasley left her?"
This time it was Hannah that gave me a speculative stare.
"How do you know that?" she asked.
I shrugged. "The Weasleys are like family, and I know Percy was dating her, until…"
That seemed enough for her. Hannah nodded slowly and exhaled. "Percy Weasley is an opportunistic snob. He got in a high position in the Ministry, and couldn't be seen associating with someone so… disgraced."
I arched an eyebrow.
"Penelope told me," Hannah admitted. "We talk. She eats at my mum's eatery. Mum adores her. In a fair world, she'd have been a star. Muggleborn, enchanter, runesmith, head girl… But here she's a disgrace."
"Enchanter and runesmith?" I asked, surprised.
Susan leered at me. "You didn't know? Isn't that why you were looking to hire her—?"
I shook my head. "She was just a prospect. I didn't know about her talents."
Penelope was simply too useful to let go.
"Oh," Susan flipped her hair. "I doubt she'll accept. I offered to ask Aunty to get her placed somewhere dignified, but Penelope wouldn't have it. Her stubbornness is only making things worse for her."
I pursed my lips. Part of me was feeling terrible about what was about to happen, especially after hearing her story. But now, it seemed like this was the best way to ensure things went my way.
I turned and looked at the Malfoy table. I had fired an extremely weak version of the spell— the only thing I was capable of right now, given my experiences all morning, but the symptoms were visible. Crabbe was already growling, and smashed his fist on the table, demanding quicker and faster service. I saw Penelope faze through his brash words and silently accept their orders and walk back to the counter.
"Yes, Malfoy and his goons come here every day," Susan said, noticing my gaze.
I turned back. "Do you think they—"
She shook her head. "Nothing very bad. Mostly it's just insults, at her blood, or her stupidity. Penelope never says a word so even they stopped taunting her after the first week or two."
Today was going to be different. But Susan had no way of knowing it.
"You seriously didn't know anything about this?" Hannah asked.
I shook my head.
"Probably too busy bedding fangirls," Susan muttered.
"Yes," I said, not even bothering to correct her. My recent actions notwithstanding, anyone with two eyes and a brain could see that Harry Potter was a recluse. But Susan seemed to get off on trying to get a reaction out of me, so my best response was to deny that.
The sudden sound of plates crashing caught my ear, and I turned around, seeing two plates of ice-cream fallen on the floor, and a shell-shocked Penelope, standing, with a spray of ice-cream and spit over her robes, and an angry Crabbe standing before her.
"Is this what you call service, you stupid sow?"
And then he slapped her.
I clenched my fist.
"Harry—" Susan warned. "Don't. You'll make things worse for her."
I turned around and met her eyes. "Don't worry. Crabbe just looks like he's in a bad mood. I think I'll go see what that's about."
Notes:
If you want to support me, find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Chapter 34: Reckoning
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 1 - OUTLANDER
"Is this what you call service, you stupid sow?" said Crabbe, and slapped Penelope in the face. The girl probably tried to withstand the slap like she did everything else. Silently. Unfortunately, she underestimated her own strength, or the force of his beefed hand. Penelope fell back reeling, crashing against a chair.
Several people stood up at that.
I idly observed that despite the reaction, not one of them did or said anything about it. Instead, they just muttered among themselves. Some displayed looks of anger, while others were just flustered, listening to their more knowledgeable partners who whispered furiously under quickly cast silencing charms.
The conclusion was clear. No one was going to do anything.
"Potter," Susan grabbed my hand, which surprised the fuck out of me. Any quip I'd have made about her being possessive died seeing her unusually serious expression.
"Don't," she said, "you'll make things worse for her."
Oh that I definitely would. No way I was going to limit myself to slaps. But Susan didn't need to know that.
"Don't worry," I said with a smile that fooled no one, "Crabbe just looks like he's in a bad mood. I think I'll go see what that's about."
And then I got up.
It was one of those moments that would've been accompanied with dramatic music had my life been a movie, but instead all I got was minor whispering from the adjacent tables, Hannah's furious whispers as she tried to control an unsettled Susan, and the sounds of the broken chair Penelope had crashed upon. My highly sensitive ears also caught on Penelope's deep breaths, accompanied by an occasional sob, but most of all, I could spot the sudden stiffening postures as Malfoy and his cohorts noticed me walking towards them. No doubt our previous encounter was still fresh in their minds.
I smiled. It reminded me of things back home. You know, before I got murdered.
"Heya guys!" I said.
Malfoy blinked. I couldn't blame him. It was not everyday when your nemesis just casually strolled up to you and gave you an old-pal treatment.
"Potter," Draco said evenly. "What are you doing here?"
I raised an eyebrow. "On an ice-cream date with Susan," I said, jauntily waving back at Susan who looked like she'd exchange her soul for a spell that'd open the floor and swallow her up. Hannah gave me a mean stare, so I quickly backpedaled, "and Hannah. Much like you are, I imagine?"
It took a moment for the implication to sink in.
And then a couple more for him to react.
Crabbe and Goyle… I doubt they really understood it, or maybe they did and found it normal, in which case, I had pretty much nailed it on the head. I took a second to pray for the broken hearts of all Dramione fans.
"Mind your tongue, halfblood!" Malfoy snarled. "Pay respect to your superiors."
"Superiors?" I asked, tilting my head slightly. "I don't see any. But either way, sorry for the disruption. I was here for something else, actually."
That stopped him short.
"Well?" Malfoy demanded, "finish and be off. I don't have time for you."
I smiled. "See, I was in the middle of this nice date with Susan and Hannah, having ice-cream which by the way," I gave Penelope a small smile, "was delicious. Thank you."
The brunette blinked.
"Now," I turned to Crabbe. "As I was saying, I was in the middle of this nice date with—"
"Oh shut up about that already!" Susan yelled at me.
I winced. "See? She's hard to please. So I was in the middle of this—"
"Date with Susan," Malfoy growled, "get on with it."
"Right, so I was having ice-cream, which by the way was—"
I looked at Penelope.
"Delicious," she said, her eyes filled with a surreal fascination even though her one hand was still attached to her cheek, which glowed an angry red.
"Yes, thank you," I nodded, before turning to Malfoy. "And then I heard someone getting slapped, which by the way, is totally fine. I mean, I understand people have predilections, and some think it as the height of pleasure, and that's all right. I know there are places where you've got to pay to get slapped around, and it's totally okay if you liked being slapped around by Crabbe and Goyle, what with his large beefy hands—"
Malfoy was now imitating a tomato.
It didn't help that Hannah had snorted in the background.
"Just shut the fuck up, Potter!" he said, growling, raising his wand.
"Allright, alright, sheesh!" I said, raising my hands up in surrender. It was a deception. I could easily yank his wand away with a thought.
"What do you want, Potter?" demanded Crabbe, glaring at me. Good. Just a little more.
"Well you see, I was in the middle of this—"
"Date with Susan having delicious ice-cream!" yelled Malfoy. "What about it?"
I blinked. "And I heard—"
"Someone slapping!" Hannah chimed in.
"Right," I nodded, "which is perfectly fine and—"
Crabbe raised his wand.
"Oh," I said, "you're really quick with a wand, aren't you? I wonder if you're practicing after that stunt on the train. But I've got to wonder, is it really helpful? I mean if your hands are boneless and jelly, you can't really hold the wand, can you? You need fingers for that."
Goyle flinched at the memory.
Crabbe didn't. Instead, he decided to directly attack me. With a yell, he shoved his wand like a sword and yelled, "FURNUN—"
And paused.
Then his eyes went to his empty fingers.
I stared at him, idly twirling his wand in my fingers.
Crabbe blinked, shifting from a flustered to angry and then back to flustered expression.
"Willow with dragon heartstring," I said, doing my best imitation of McGonagall, complete with the pinched nose thing she did, "Reasonably springy. You suffer from a lot of insecurity issues, don't you? Willow wands often align themselves heavily with the fire element, and dragon heartstrings only make it worse. Tut! Tut! You do have a temper problem."
I gave Malfoy a penetrating stare. "You really should reconsider if you like being slapped around. This guy can really take things far."
Someone choked in the background. I wondered if that was Penelope.
I was really interested in wandlore, especially with my desire for the Hallows which included the deathstick, so I had purchased a couple of books on the subject. I was no specialist, but had enough cursory knowledge to know the basics. And so far, I was quite impressed by my progress. I knew Ron had a willow wand too, only with unicorn hair. probably suppressed the anger and instead allowed it to burn cold, only raising its ugly head in the form of jealousy from time to time.
I reconsidered the wand. "Eight inches. Oh well, that's unfortunate. Size issues are not uncommon, which makes me wonder if that's the cause for the temper problem."
I gave Crabbe a pointed look.
"Gimme my wand!" Crabbe bellowed and lunged for me.
You might have heard the expression, the larger they are, the louder they fall? Well, that's perfect for Crabbe. He wasn't very much on the height side, but held a lot of lateral potential. For my enhanced reflexes, he looked like he was falling in slow motion, All it took was a quick sidestepping, followed by a precise palm thrust at the joint. His elbow snapped as he slipped on the fallen ice-cream on the floor and crashed against the chair behind me.
"Oh yeah," I said, twirling the wand. "I was so right about the temper problem."
"Potter!" Draco all but yelled, "you'll pay for this."
"The ice-cream?" I feigned obliviousness, "I mean I will, but if you expect me to pay for that ice-cream, you've got another thing coming. It isn't like…"
I paused, feeling his wand tip aimed between my eyes.
"You really don't want to do that, Malfoy," I said in an even tone, all traces of humor vanishing from my face. "Unless you've forgotten how it ended last time."
He held the wand tighter. I didn't care. All it would take is one hit at his wrist and it'd shatter. For all his brawn, Draco wasn't the smartest tool in the shed.
"This isn't school Malfoy," I said, keeping my voice low and sharp, "neither is this the Express. We are in public, there are witnesses and you have your wand pointed at me. And unless you've messed your head by getting slapped around in the summer, let me remind you of what this looks like. I am Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived and Lord Potter, and you, a scion of Malfoy, have your wand pointed at me, just after you and your goons humiliated and harassed a muggleborn in public. Do you understand what I am saying, Draco?"
The blonde just clenched his wand tighter. "Shut up! Just shut up! Think you're so smart, Potter? If I were you, I'd worry about your life. What's stopping me from cruciating you right now?"
I arched an eyebrow. "The cruciatus? Do you even know how to cast it? And what would people say?" I raised my voice, "Son of the famous philanthropist pureblood Lucius Malfoy, casting an unforgivable on Harry Potter."
I should tell you that Crabbe in the meanwhile wasn't exactly silent. He was grabbing his elbow and whimpering in agony. Draco on the other hand, looked one step away from an aneurysm. I wondered how long it would take for him to explode. Goyle just looked confused.
"My father has the ear of the Minister," he snarled, and pushed the wand against my temples."
"Oh, right," I said, "that makes sense. The imperius defense. Your Pa's infamous for that one."
Between the shock that flitted across his face, and the moment it took for the realization to settle in, I casually grabbed the wand close to the tip, and plucked it out of his face. "See there's this thing, Malfoy. When you have someone at wandpoint, you better curse. You never know when the tables might turn against you."
And then I casually flipped his wand away behind my shoulder. It hit the floor and rolled away.
"You son of a mudblood whore!" Draco swore, and grabbed Goyle's wand, and yelled—
"Reducto!"
Too slow. I casually side-stepped again, letting the curse hit a nearby table which exploded into splinters. I took careful note of where Hannah and Susan were, and stepped away from their direction. Both girls had stood up, and had their wands ready. The other customers quickly rose up, and moved away, sheep that they were.
Or maybe they just didn't want to get in the way of two political powerhouses.
"Vandalism, Malfoy," I taunted. "Maybe I should complain to the DMLE about that. I've even got witnesses. Tell me, would it work? It didn't the last time you filed it, or so I heard."
"FURNUNCULUS!"
I dodged it. "Or maybe it was because you didn't have witnesses? I mean, goons that look like a baboon's backside don't classify as witnesses, right? You've got to have brains for that, I think."
"Shut up! Shut the fuck up! EVERTE STATUM!"
More destruction. "Oooh! Someone's done his homework. What? Daddy planned a Let's-torture-muggles summer session for you? Was it private or just Death-Eater exclusive?"
This was fun. Between his sloppy casting speed and rage, it was hilariously easy to get out of the way. His spell selection was limited to blasting curses and common hexes, the kind with too many wand motions to be of use in direct combat.
"GOYLE! Get him!"
"Oh? Having problems, Malfoy? Maybe I should stand blindfolded? Would that help you score a hit?"
"Shut. Your. Fucking. Mouth!"
Goyle grunted and threw a heavy-handed meaty blow at my face. Amateurs! The way they were projecting their every move could be made into a course about the number of things one must not do while fighting. I side-stepped, and grabbed his wrist and yanked him further, slipping my leg between his feet. Between his own weight and momentum, Goyle crashed into Crabbe with an even louder grunt.
What? I know I'm a wizard now, but did you really expect me to forget my entire life's worth of habits and shoot coloured lights out of a twig all the time? Give me a break. Sides, there was a strange satisfaction in kicking these pureblood arses the muggle way.
"That's two for zero," I grinned at Draco. "Or wait, should that be… seven for zero? You've yet to make a hit."
It was just around the corner. I could feel it. There I was, wandless, while he was casting curses at me non-stop. Given I had Susan and Hannah as my primary witness, things were heading to an interesting turn. Really Draco, you shouldn't have given me the DMLE idea. But turnabout, as they say, is fairplay.
"Admit it, Draco," I said, "there is no shame in admitting your inferiority. Your father is a shining example. Politician extraordinaire, leader of the Malfoy-Black Alliance, and a proud card-carrying Death Eater, I'm sorry, I meant member of the weak-willed Imperius Victim Association."
Susan snorted in the background.
"Enough!" He yelled, and aimed the wand at me.
Then it came.
"CRUCIO!"
The twisting red beam sprang out of his wand like a living thing, and within a fraction of a second, crossed the distance between us.
I didn't move.
The curse touched me, and then came the pain.
Forget everything you think you know about the cruciatus. No matter how Rowling might describe it, not that she ever did, or how imaginative fanfiction authors might put it, trust me, they've got nothing on the cruciatus. The curse flared the victim's nervous system, causing untold agony in every single nerve-ending. A properly cast cruciatus didn't need to be cast for minutes or even seconds. Just a single second was enough to turn a fighter into a writhing, quivering mess on the ground.
More than that? Your brain's toast, and you're lying down at St. Mungo's.
Fortunately, it isn't that easy to cast a perfect Cruciatus. You needed a specific mindset for that. Anger, especially righteous anger, was not just inadequate, but also a subpar mindset for the cruciatus. You needed a mind that delighted at the idea of someone in pain. Walburga had admitted, with glowing praise, how she and her niece Bellatrix had some of her best orgasms while cruciating mudblood filth.
Yes. They're all cuckoo. Trust me, I know.
But here's the thing. Subpar mindset or not, rage does produce a Cruciatus, no matter how weak. And I had Draco casting the unforgivable in broad daylight, with multiple witnesses, one of which happened to be the niece of the DMLE Head.
I'd love to see how Lucius got his son out of this mess.
But that was for later. For now, I was down on the ground, pretending to be the aforementioned quivering wreck. Honestly, I had had worse. Plus with my enhanced reflexes and healing, the pain had reduced to a throbbing in the background. But I stayed on the ground, while Draco casually strolled up to me, his pea-brain still unable to register what he had just done. He stood right before me as I tried to get up, his wand pointed at my head.
Several people gasped at what was about to happen. I could hear Susan yell out my name, only for Hannah to hold her back.
Hannah had good instincts.
"Who's smiling now, asshole?" Draco snarled, pushing his wand against my skull.
I looked him in the eye and smiled. "I am."
I took my weight on my left elbow, and slammed the heel of my right palm into the jackass's knee.
I'm not sure how much stronger I am than the average person, since my sparring partner is a werewolf with enhanced physical strength, and I am able to put her through the paces. But that just might be because of my natural agility and quidditch-training over the past years. So I didn't have a very good idea of how I stacked against plain, old, Harry Potter. Or plain, old anybody.
But I'm pretty sure it isn't bad.
Draco's knee popped like a balloon from the force of the strike, and bent in towards the other knee. Too bad witches and wizards could heal fractures like nobody's business. It was such a cheat. He howled in startled agony, and like an amateur, stayed in his place, bending downwards to clutch his broken appendage. I pushed myself up in one go, grabbed him by his hair and slammed his head down upon my timely-raised knee.
And then I let him go.
Draco staggered and fell upon his back, whimpering. His eyes were bloodshot, and blood was oozing out his mouth.
"You filthy muggle!" His voice slurred, as he tried to get up, only to fail every single time.
"Go home, Draco," I said. "Keep in mind that there are bigger fish in the ocean than you. Remember that before…" My gaze shifted to Penelope who was watching me with a flushed expression, "slapping someone."
"You— you—" he slurred like a drunk, and kept yelling spells at me. Half of them produced fizzling sparks, while half didn't work in the first place. Disorientation was not a good thing for a spellcaster, as he was listening. And the best part? His wand would register all of them as perfectly cast spells, when examined under Priori Incantatem.
The kind of things you know when your Secretary as an Auror as a BFF.
Finally, I flicked my wrist, my wand spinning into my palm as I walked towards Draco and held it to his face, fear vivid in his eyes.
"No—No—"
"Vulnera Sanentur!" I intoned. "Vulnera Sanentur! Vulnera Sanentur!"
The triple-fold healing spell. The first would stop the blood from oozing out, the second kickstart the healing and the third would reknit injured tissue. The only trade-off was that it was a magically-intense spell, one that took its toll not from the caster, but from the victim. I saw Malfoy's eyes roll up as he dropped down on the floor.
Unconscious.
"Well?" I chirped, looking around. "Is there anybody else?"
Notes:
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Chapter 35: Baby Steps
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 1- OUTLANDER
"Is there anyone else?"
The crowd was giving me strange looks, like I had just sprouted off an extra head. They were simply too unused to the idea of someone throwing a Malfoy down from their self-claimed pedestal. Granted, it wasn't a big pedestal, especially since little Draco was only banking on his father's power to make himself look intimidating. Honestly, Draco was being stupid. Inherited power was great, but only when used in the right context. Or else, you could end up painting yourself as a prodigal son at best, to an uninspired loser at worst, living through the glory of his ancestry.
Draco belonged to the latter category. In retrospect, it was probably for the better that I planned to throw him out of the family. And today's events would go a long way in getting me there.
Sending my wand back into the holster, I walked up to Penelope, who was still on the floor. I had seen her crawling earlier to escape the spellfire, so she must have hurt her knee or something.
"You alright?" I asked, offering my hand. Trepidation flashed across her face before she grabbed my hand. She fell over my shoulder, so I grabbed her by the waist for support, and helped her up.
"It hurts…" she said, looking down at her soiled attire, which was dripping blood.
"Where?"
"Above the knee," she said, "I think I sprained my leg."
"Can't do anything about sprains unfortunately," I admitted, "but I'm a fair hand at re-knitting wounds. Are you familiar with the Episkey spell?"
She nodded. Susan and Hannah came up and helped me help her sit on a chair. Neither of the two commented anything about my actions, and not for lack of interest. Hannah had a strange, knowing expression on her face, while Susan looked like she wanted nothing but to put me through an Inquisition.
I felt a slight tinge of agony in my chest at that. Healing spells or not, I was one step away from magical exhaustion. Really, what was I thinking, doing that stunt with Malfoy and taking the cruciatus to the face?
"Harry?" asked Hannah, concern flooding her features. "You… you need to rest."
"No…" I breathed, though it came out as a pant. Damn it, I hated looking weak. "I'm fine. Just…"
"You're not fine," claimed Susan, grabbing my hand, "you were just hit by the cruciatus. You need rest."
"I'm fine," I stressed, and looked at Penelope. "Sorry, I couldn't heal it any more than that. A pain-reliever should solve things, though."
I faltered slightly, but grabbed a chair right on time.
"Harry—" Hannah grabbed me, and helped me to the chair. "No," she asserted before I could voice my objections."You took an unforgivable head on."
The sound of someone apparating attracted my attention. To my surprise, it was Nymphadora Tonks. She looked exactly like she did back at my apartment. Pink hair, heart-shaped face, large, bright, hazel eyes and a willowy figure cloaked in Auror attire. Our gazes met, and she froze for a second, before that spark of hesitation vanished as her eyes quickly scanned the area for potential trouble, before she keyed in on Susan and walked into the patio towards us.
Nymphadora's brows furrowed as she surveyed me. How she adopted elegance into such a common motion was beyond me.
"Being in the presence of an Auror twice in one summer is considered a bad thing, no?"
I shrugged. "I enjoy living dangerously."
"What happened here?" She asked, turning to Susan, "I received your distress signal."
"Them," said Susan, pointing at Malfoy's fallen form, and the still frothing and whimpering Crabbe and unconscious Goyle.
I could almost see the gears running in Tonks's mind, as Susan quickly recounted everything that happened. She conveniently omitted Crabbe's treatment of Penelope and instead focussed on my altercation with Draco. She stressed on how I had never once used my wand, and only dodged the attacks from them, incapacitating them using minimal but effective muggle techniques. Nymphadora's gaze switched from Susan to me and back, as if trying to verify her statement with what she knew about me.
And then Susan finally went round to talking about the cruciatus.
"He used an unforgivable?" Nymphadora whispered furiously, glancing at Draco's unconscious form with anger, before quickly scanning my entire form. No doubt she was seeing the entire image of me sitting in the chair, looking slightly haggard in a different light. Given who I was, and the use of an unforgivable in public, in the presence of multiple witnesses, and given the offender was Draco Malfoy, I wouldn't even fault her if she tried to shake her hands off the case.
Palming her face, she finally asked me, "Are you fine, Mr. Potter?"
"As fine as I can after cruciatus exposure, Auror," I replied in my best formal voice.
"You don't get to say that," Hannah snapped. "What were you thinking? Casting advanced healing spells right after, to help Malfoy, of all people?"
"Oh, you know, just wanted to see what being a saint feels like," I quipped.
Hannah growled.
"Potter's an idiot!" said Susan briskly. "I told him not to involve himself. And look what happened."
"What I don't understand," said Tonks, rubbing her temples, "is why would you even do such a thing?"
I didn't reply. Instead, I just smiled and looked at Penelope, who was staring at me as if seeing me for the first time.
"... why?" she croaked.
"Because I am not a fan of people in power treating others unfairly." I shifted my gaze to Tonks. "I don't care if you're the biggest cat in town. If you look down on those weaker than you, I'll judge you for it."
I turned to Penelope. "I will not ask why a former head girl has to work in a place like this. It's obvious you ran out of options to make ends meet in our esteemed society. If you wish, I… My firm can have a place for you."
Penelope mumbled something under her breath.
"I'm sorry?"
"I said I don't need your pity," she said. The defiant look in her eyes offered a sharp contrast to the red in her cheek.
"Wrong!" I told her. "Pity is exactly what you need. For you, Penelope Clearwater, are an idiot."
Penelope flinched, as if struck.
"Do you know why? Because you do not know the difference between pity and opportunity. Hannah's mum gave an offer. You refused. Amelia freaking' Bones could've gotten you an offer, but again, you refused. And now, Harry fucking Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, is giving you an offer in public, right after standing up for you, and you, Penelope Clearwater, are refusing. Why? Because of your pride? Pride that has you falling from the prestigious position of Head Girl to mopping tables for Malfoy and his ilk."
"I'm here because of Malfoy and his ilk," Penelope said hotly.
I smirked inwardly. That display of anger meant it was getting to her.
"Wrong," I sneered. "You're here because you're a fool. You're stupid enough to show public bias against Slytherins, dumb enough to grab the Head Girl position despite knowing the bigotry in the system, and stubborn enough to not take whatever opportunity life throws your way. Penelope Clearwater, you're a fucking imbecile. That's what you are."
"You don't know what it's like for us, muggleborns, Potter!" she snarled. "You're a Lord. You don't know what it is to be like me."
A frightening rage flitted through my mind. This girl… did she have any idea what Harry Potter suffered over his entire childhood? Did she have any idea what pains I took to reach the heights I did in my previous life?
"You're right," I said, my voice dangerously low. "I do not. I do not know what it is like to be you. Because unlike you, I'm not a dumb idiot. I kept you uninvolved in this mess, but turns out I was wrong. You. Deserve. This."
Every single person around me flinched. Even Tonks.
I turned and met Nymphadora's gaze. "Auror Cadet Tonks, I wish to file a complaint against Draco Malfoy, Gregory Goyle and Vincent Crabbe. Both Crabbe and Goyle have tried to physically and magically assault my person, despite no aggravation on my part."
Tonks arched an eyebrow. "No aggravation? Somehow I doubt that."
"No aggravation," I stated firmly. "I was in the middle of a pleasant conversation with Susan and Hannah, and I heard Crabbe slapping Miss Clearwater. I found that irritating the ambience and simply went to ask him what his problem was. It is not my fault he reacted that badly, or took my curiosity as provocation."
Susan snorted. I ignored her.
"Draco Malfoy fired lethal curses at me, including, but not limited to, an unforgivable. And then he was about to cast even more curses, but I managed to… restrain him."
Susan snorted again. "That was more than restraining, Potter."
"Without magic, I might add, only as an act of self-defense." I said, ignoring her again, and flicked my wrist. Goyle's wand came flying into my palm.
Susan's laughter died. Ignoring the surprised looks on their faces, I continued. "This is Goyle's wand. Malfoy used this to attack me. He also boasted about his lack of fear of the DMLE. To quote him, my father has the ear of the Minister."
"Why didn't you use magic?"
"And risk under DMLE inquisition?" I teased, "you remember how the last one went, don't you?"
Tonks turned pink.
"That said, I did cast two spells. Healing ones. The first to re-knit Draco Malfoy's wounds, and the second, to help our ungrateful friend here."
"I'm not—" Penelope began, but one look from Tonks silenced her, before turning to me.
"You can cast healing magic?"
"Enough to pass by."
Susan snorted again. She liked to do that a lot. "Enough to pass by, he says." She looked at Tonks. "I heard it. He used Vulnera Sanentur. In triples."
"But that's—" Tonks's gaze flickered at me in apprehension, "an advanced healing spell. How does a third-year know something like that?"
I sighed. "I read. You should try it sometime."
Tonks rolled her eyes. "I'm registering this complaint. You'll receive official intimation from the DMLE to provide your testimony."
"We'll do the same," said Susan. Hannah quickly nodded in consent.
"I'll testify as well—" Penelope began.
"No," I snapped at her. "Your presence doesn't count, muggle born. Neither do I care if you were, or were not present at the scene. Get back to your waitressing."
Penelope flinched, but stood up and left.
"What a waste of space!" I muttered behind her, as I glared at Susan, as if this was her fault.
"I told you," Susan said, the usual heat absent from her voice. "You should not have interfered. You cannot save someone that doesn't want to be saved, Potter. Not everyone is a damsel in distress."
"I've no idea what you're talking about," I murmured.
"But I do," said Susan. "I'm not blind, and neither am I deaf. Hermione Granger, Ginny Weasley, and then Granger again earlier this year. And I know you've a contract with Hannah's mum. And now this… You're a playboy and a jock, but that doesn't mean I don't know the way you think, Harry Potter."
I arched an eyebrow. Even Hannah was looking at her friend curiously.
Susan looked like she was about to imitate a tomato, but somehow stayed composed. "You're going home now. Auror Tonks, can I request you to apparate him home?"
"Uh, yes?" Tonks replied. I wondered just how used she was to taking orders from Susan. Given the entire distress signal she mentioned earlier, perhaps she was put on Susan's protection team? The DMLE Head's niece and Bones Heir was a VIP citizen after all.
Susan turned at me, put one hand at her hip and arched an eyebrow. "Well? Get going, Potter. We haven't got all day. I'll take care of things here."
"Yes, mother," I chanted.
The aftermath of the event was, well, not uneventful, but not surprising either. Hermione had been conflicted between being mortified about my cruciatus exposure, and trying to get me to bed. Nymphadora had called Hestia in as well, and unless I was terribly wrong, informed Dumbledore as well. And even if she didn't, Hestia definitely would. There was no doubt the attack would be the headlines of tomorrow's paper, and I needed to prepare for it.
Now only if Hermione stopped bossing me around.
"No, means, no, Harry," she put her foot down, standing at the edge of my bed, "You need rest, and that's it. If you don't, I'm calling Professor Dumbledore."
I exchanged an amused glance with Hestia, who stood next to her. I had a member of the Order of the Phoenix assisting me in day-in day-out activities. That Albus Dumbledore had not shown up, or worse, sent the Weasleys in his stead, only spoke of the level of control and his trust in Hestia's ability to manage things.
The attack was in public. Eventually, the Weasleys would get to know about it.
Great! I cursed. More drama.
"There is just one thing I don't understand," said Hestia. "Why didn't you take him seriously?"
I narrowed my eyes.
Hestia crossed her arms. "I talked to the witnesses, Harry. Every single one agreed you were playing with Malfoy and his goons. You didn't even cast a single spell, and I know how quick your spell casting is."
Oh yeah, Hestia had come down to the dungeons a couple of weeks ago, and seen me training. Spellcasting, that is, not the twisted, bloody, mind-bending horrors that Walburga made me take part in. She had literally seen me go through half of my arsenal of combat spells against moving targets simultaneously. It was the best I could do when not actively using the Natural Demon perk. I don't know how that performance stood compared to standard Auror training, but Hestia definitely looked impressed.
She had shown her admiration in extra detail that night. And without silencing charms, too. Poor Hermione didn't get an ounce of sleep that night.
"You're overthinking things, Hestia. Everything went according to my plan."
Hestia narrowed her eyes. "You set it up."
"What?" Hermione asked, startled. "A setup? Harry! What were you thinking? What's wrong with you?"
"I told you, Hermione," I said, pushing myself against the pillow and sitting up, "Sirius wanted me as his heir. I told you I will go to any lengths to prove myself worthy of it."
"But why this? Why did you have to—" Hermione began.
"It was risky," said Hestia, frowning. "I can admit it ended nicely, but it was a major risk. You were foolish."
I arched an eyebrow. "Was I? 'Cause this was just the best situation I could ever have conjured."
"Draco Malfoy cast an unforgivable."
"In public. On the Boy-Who-Lived, with the Bones Heir as my official witness. And I didn't even use any magic against him."
"And then you registered a complaint."
"Draco Malfoy turns seventeen in five months. Even with my Lord Conditional status, I couldn't stop him from becoming Heir Apparent. And when that happens, my status would clash against him, and Lucius Malfoy and Fudge would ensure Draco won the toss."
"But now Draco cast an unforgivable." Hermione caught on.
"And is thus a criminal," finished Hestia. "You cannot take up family mantles registered to the Wizengamot without an active clearance from the DMLE." A small smile formed on her lips. "Impressive. I imagine this is why you wanted to keep the Lord Conditional status secret from the masses?"
I cocked my head to the right. "One of many reasons, yes."
"And yet you displayed it to Auror Tonks." She challenged. "For someone willing to play the long game, you're being awfully bold."
Damn. She was a quick one, wasn't she? Then again, that was why I hired her.
"I consider myself an excellent reader of people. And I believe Miss Tonks will not betray my confidence."
"And that she's a member of the Black family," Hestia finished, her tone almost accusing.
"Yes."
There was no point in denying that bit.
"I have one year to prove Sirius's innocence, and today's event will ensure Draco Malfoy doesn't get to butt in and destroy my careful planning."
"Do you really think that, Harry?" asked Hermione, "Knowing Malfoy? You know his father forced Professor Dumbledore out back in our second year."
"That was that, and this is this," I told her. "The Board of Governors runs Hogwarts, and Lucius Malfoy is one among them. This is a Wizengamot matter. It's about Ancient Houses. And you're right, Lucius Malfoy might get the Minister to drop the charges or twist the event to something else, but it does not negate the fact that Draco cast an unforgivable. And that means he ought to be sent to Azkaban."
"He won't if the Minister orders the Aurors not to," Hermione replied stubbornly.
"True. But will the Wizengamot allow a criminal to take up a mantle as prestigious as Black? What precedent would that set?"
"You cannot be sure, Harry," said Hestia, frowning. "Lucius Malfoy has the Wizengamot eating out his hands. For all we know, this complaint might not even get registered."
I stopped resisting the grin that was threatening to break out of my lips. "And that, my dear Hestia, is exactly what I am banking on."
"..."
I smiled.
Notes:
If you want to support me, find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Chapter 36: Aggressive Negotiations Part 1
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 1 - OUTLANDER
The Ministry of Magic was ostentatious.
Like, seriously.
Hestia and I had floo'ed to the Ministry atrium, and I found myself standing at one end of a very long and splendid hall with a highly polished, dark wood floor. They inlaid the peacock blue ceiling with gleaming golden symbols that kept changing like some enormous heavenly noticeboard. The walls on each side were panelled in shiny dark wood and had many gilded fireplaces set into them. Every few seconds, a witch or wizard would emerge from one of the left-hand fireplaces with a soft whoosh. On the right-hand side, short queues were forming before each fireplace, waiting to depart. The more I took in, the more I realised how horrible the movie interpretation felt compared to the real thing.
"This way," said Hestia, and I turned to glance at a familiar fountain. The fountain of Magical Brethren stood in all its glory, golden water sprinkling in and out of it. A group of golden statues, larger than life-size, stood in the middle of a circular pool. The tallest of them all was a noble-looking wizard with his wand pointing straight up in the air. Grouped around him were a beautiful witch, a centaur, a goblin, and a house-elf. The last three were all looking adoringly up at the witch and wizard. Glittering jets of water were flying from the ends of their wands, the point of the centaur's arrow, the tip of the goblin's hat, and each of the house-elf's ears, so that the tinkling hiss of falling water was added to the pops and cracks of people apparating in, and the clatter of footsteps as hundreds of witches and wizards, most of whom were wearing glum, early-morning looks, strode towards a set of golden gates at the far end of the hall.
Hestia prodded a star-struck me to move forward. "We need to register our wands first."
"Is that a rule?" I asked, slipping the wand hilt I had purchased from Borgin into the bottomless depths of my mokeskin pouch.
"Why did I know you were going to ask me that?"
"It's a mark of an excellent secretary."
Hestia looked at me, amused. "Good point."
The registration desk had eight aurors, all of them having their wands out, and three more, in a bluish-variant of the Auror robes, that were standing in three different places, away from the Desk, looking around scrutinizingly.
"Hit wizards," Hestia explained. "And before you ask it, yes, they curse first and ask questions later. They're allowed to do so."
Silently, we passed through the wand inspection, followed by a quick Wand-summoning charm and something that felt loosely like a Scourgify, but was a scan for anti-summoning trinkets. I almost objected when an Auror demanded me to reveal the pouch before another quick diagnostic spell scanned through the contents. Finally satisfied with the proceedings, they let us move towards the elevator section.
If this was how the real Ministry of Magic was, just how dangerous was Voldemort and his Death Eaters?
It was a sobering thought.
I had several people recognizing me and shaking my hands at the elevator, a behaviour I was still getting used to. We steered clear of the elevator crowd at the first exit, dropping out to visit the DMLE offices. We passed through several glass-rooms divided into cubicles that looked too small to fit even a single person, but somehow squeezed an entire table and chair set, a fuck ton of paper, and several people looming over them.
We walked across the corridor until we reached Courtroom One, where the case would be formally submitted, and testimonies taken.
"Hestia, it's about—" came Nymphadora's voice as she approached us. She paused midway, realising the breach in decorum, and quickly changed her tone. "Ahem, I mean, Mr. Potter, you and your secretary… Please come with me."
She took us to a large, sprawling desk where a slim guy in Auror robes with fish white skin, square face and ink black hair sat, with several chairs spread out on our side of the table, separated by a partition. I barely suppressed a grin as I saw Narcissa Malfoy seated on one side, next to a rather stiff, dour-looking woman dressed in dark purple robes. I noticed a third Auror in the room, with thin, sunken eyes, a face tapering in a thin goatee and long, shoulder-length hair. He gave me a squinted look, as if trying to determine if I was real or a figment of his imagination.
Narcissa met my eye for a single second, the edges of those thin eyes narrowing ever so subtly, before looking away.
This was going to be interesting.
"Mr. Potter," said the slim guy as we took our seats, while Nymphadora moved around to stand in one corner. "My name is Gawain Robards. I'm in charge of this investigation. I understand you filed the complaint against Messrs. Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle?"
I nodded.
"Cadet Tonks has claimed that Messrs. Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle assaulted you at Florean Fortescue's ice-cream parlour yesterday, during the evening hours between four and five. Is that correct?"
I nodded again.
"I also understand that you did not raise your wand against them."
"No, he beat them with physical force like a muggle," sneered the other Auror. He had a thick, throaty voice. I noticed how he moved around to stand behind me. It was a simple psychological ploy I had seen the FBI use back in my previous life. His presence, now out of my line of sight, was an irritant and a distraction.
Especially since I didn't know his name.
I inhaled and exhaled slowly. "I'm sorry, but is this an interrogation? If it is, I must wonder why I'm the one being questioned, while Malfoy was the one that used the unforgivable on me in front of multiple witnesses?"
"This isn't an interrogation, Mr. Potter," said Robards. "This is a deposition."
"It could be," said Goatee from behind. "We know you were behind it, Potter. It's best you speak the truth before we force-feed you veritaserum."
"Thicknesse," said Robards, "Get out."
"You can't order me out," claimed Thicknesse as he stood next to me. "I'm a duly appointed representative of the Minister and an Auror."
"You're useless, unprofessional, and impending this deposition," said Robards, his tone flat. He turned his dark eyes at Thicknesse and said, "Now Get. Out."
Robards had one hell of a glare. Some men do. They can look at you and tell you, without saying a word, that they are perfectly capable of doing violence and willing to show it. That look doesn't convey any particular, single emotion or anything that can be put to words. Robards didn't need any words. He just stared at Thicknesse with some faint shadow of Death himself in his eyes and did nothing else.
Thicknesse flinched. He muttered something about the Minister knowing about it, and left the room.
Robards turned towards me, and his expression softened briefly. "Apologies for that interruption. Auror Thicknesse is rather… spirited, when it comes to the Minister's orders."
"I understand," I said with a nod. Robards gave me a sharp look before glancing at the file on his desk. "I've studied the file. Crimes under Section 307 subsection 11 on Use of an unforgivable, Subsection 7 on Attempt on murder or cause grievous injury, and Section 206 Subsection 2 on spell violence in public."
His gaze flickered from me to Narcissa and then back to me. "Normally a case like this is directly relegated to a customary Wizengamot hearing, but Mr. Malfoy is, as you'll know, the Heir Apparent of House Malfoy, and the Heir Presumptive of the Ancient and Noble House of Black, not to mention, juvenile. The Minister has requested that I oversee this case, especially since he believes, and Miss Snyde, Mr. Malfoy's In-House counsel believes — you are the primary instigator behind this violence." He held up a finger as I opened my mouth to speak, "However, the degree of this instigation, if it exists, is so far unproved, and …"
"There is nothing to prove," spoke the Snyde woman. "There were witnesses at the scene. A veritaserum testimony will prove exactly what Mr. Potter did there. He walked into my clients, instigated them to attack him, and things went out of hand. This boy is just as, if not more guilty than my clients."
"That's Lord Potter to you," Hestia bristled. "But I can see where you're coming from, what with defending a criminal and everything."
Snyde sneered at her.
"Miss Snyde," said Robards, "your client isn't accused of his crimes. We have found him guilty of his crimes, and we have witnesses that can testify against him."
"They coaxed him into it," Snyde shot back.
"Perhaps," said Robards, "but it does not justify the use of an unforgivable. Even the mere casting of an Unforgivable is punishable by a three-month stay in the low-security wing of Azkaban, and for juveniles, it is Six months community service, plus a black mark on their resume. Mr. Malfoy did not just cast it, but also performed it on Mr. Potter, in front of multiple witnesses."
"Bah!" scoffed the woman. "They're just Potter's fangirls, crushing on the Boy-Who-Lived."
"I have nothing but disdain for Potter," came Susan's voice from behind, as she walked in, with Hannah and Penelope in tow. "Take care what insults you offer, Madam Attorney."
That actually gave me a moment's pause, as they say. Susan walked in and sat on the chair beside Hestia, while Tonks conjured more chairs for Hannah and Penelope.
"Miss Bones," said Robards, "I understand you're a prime witness in this?"
Susan nodded. "As is my friend Hannah and Miss Penelope Clearwater."
I wondered if they trained all pureblood women to speak with that elegant mix of charm and disdain in their tone, or if it was just Susan and Narcissa that turned out that way.
"Auror Robards," said Narcissa, "I wish to discuss matters privately with Mr. Potter. Perhaps we can reach an out-of-court settlement?"
I narrowed my eyes. During this entire debacle, Narcissa had stayed mightily quiet, content to watch the discussion devolve from the sidelines, while occasionally throwing me strange, knowing looks. I won't deny that it made me feel somewhat uncomfortable, especially now that she wanted to have a private talk. Was she trying to blackmail me by spilling our private secret? No, that would do more harm to her than me.
"Lady Malfoy—" Robards began. "Your son—"
"Cast an unforgivable. I've heard." Her eyes flickered at me. "However, I believe I can convince Mr. Potter to… shall we say, reconsider things considering a classmate's future? Perhaps Mr. Potter is a believer of second chances like Albus Dumbledore?"
I snorted. Fat chance of that happening. Still, I was undeniably curious what she wanted to talk to me about.
"After all," said Narcissa, "Mr. Potter is a Black himself. As am I, as is my son. Surely we can reach a compromise?" Her eyes drilled into mine. "Between one Black and another?"
I narrowed my eyes. Surely she wasn't suggesting what I thought she was? Either way, it was enough to stir my curiosity.
Narcissa turned towards Robards. "If you would, could you kindly set up one of the settlement rooms for us to discuss in private? Provided…" her gaze flickered at me, and I sensed a challenge in them, "Mr. Potter does not object to it?"
No. Say no. She can't do anything. Say no and let him suffer. This doesn't need to get complicated.
"Okay," said my mouth, without confirming with the rest of me.
Damn it. Me.
"Har—sir," Hestia objected, doing her best to maintain her professionalism while doing her best not to glare at me. "I strongly object to that."
"Miss Jones, isn't it?" Narcissa drawled. "I see you've latched yourself to young Mr. Potter here. Unfortunately, you haven't learnt to keep your mouth shut in the presence of your betters. This is a conversation between myself and your employer, and, as I've just stated, matters that involve the Black family. It's a very… intimate thing," her eyes stayed on my face for a second as she said those words, "so kindly… keep out."
Hestia looked ready to mutiny and instead glared at me.
I held her gaze for a long second and said. "It's alright."
"But sir—"
I turned to Robards. "I assume these talks are private?"
Robards nodded. "If you wish."
"I do."
"Alright," he stood up, "both of you will have to leave your wands here. I will administer a privacy ward and close the door behind as I leave. You have an hour to discuss and come to a settlement. And I… don't see why this has to turn out this way, but I know better than to poke my nose into Ancient House matters."
"Potter," said Susan, narrowing her eyes. "What the hell are you thinking? You don't need to do this."
Tonks didn't actually say anything, but the curiosity in her eyes was open for everyone to see. Hestia, on the other hand…
"Sir," she said, "can I request a moment of your time before you do that?"
I glanced at Narcissa, who looked utterly indifferent, and then at Robards, who was studying me like a hawk, before nodding. We walked to one corner of the room, and Hestia cast a privacy ward around us. I had seen those in action before and knew that as far as the others were concerned, we just faded out of existence. And then Hestia whirled around and faced me.
"What the hell is this?"
I arched an eyebrow, but said nothing.
"Do you not realise the foolishness you're about to do? That's Narcissa Malfoy. She's a shark, Harry. She'll tear you to bits and you'll thank her for it. I don't…" she paused, before she met my eyes for a second.
"You know her, don't you?"
"Yes," I said, "she's Narcissa Malfoy."
Her lips pursed. "You know what I'm talking about."
"No."
Hestia considered that, a faint frown line appearing between her brows. "Liar."
"If I tell you, you will not believe me. So no, I don't know what you're talking about."
Hestia nodded for a moment. "What she's doing could be construed as obstructing and interfering with the investigation. If you decide to accept whatever settlement she offers, they might even see it as fishy on your part. Not to mention it will anger little Red there."
I rolled my eyes. "I'm not trying to woo Bones, believe me. Honestly, Hestia, I wish you'd start trusting me with things."
"And I wish that you'd tell me what that bitch has on you. But I guess neither of us is going to get what we want."
I propped my chin on my hand and thought about it for a moment. I gave it even odds that if it displeased Hestia, she might get the Order into investigating things, to ensure my safety if nothing else. She would not betray my secrets, but neither the vows I had her take, nor the slowly growing Anchorage would keep her from acting behind my back. It was during moments like these when I truly wondered if having her was a boon or a bane.
"This stays private?"
"Of course, sir."
"This has to do with my long-term plans involving the Black family. I plan to do something far up on the food chain in the corporate constellation that Narcissa Malfoy belongs to. And yes, I believe she will aid me in this venture."
"You are out of your mind."
"Good to know that you've so much trust in me, Hestia," I chirped.
"So I was right. You know her."
"Yes."
"Does this…" she paused for a moment, "you know, have anything to do with your powers?"
I arched my eyebrow, trying to mimic Susan.
"... Never mind," Hestia murmured. "I was just… no, that'd be just stupid. But you realise that she'll try to hold her future contributions as a bargaining chip to get her son out…"
She paused, and her palm went to her lips. "You — you absolute, crazy son of a bitch!" Her eyes shone. "You set this up, didn't you? Knowing that she'd wish for an out-of-court settlement and you'd get her to do whatever you want. This — you were expecting this to happen right from the start!"
This time, it was my turn to smile. "You know what they say. A charging bull always looks at the red cape. Not the man with the sword."
Hestia grinned.
Notes:
If you want to support me, find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Chapter 37: Aggressive Negotiations Part 2
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 1 - OUTLANDER
"Fuck me, Potter! Fuck my arse!" Narcissa grunted out as I drove my thick shaft into her tight arsehole as hard as I could.
…
…
Okay, I know that took you by surprise. But trust me, there's a story to that.
Let's rewind things back by ten minutes. After I had convinced Hestia, or more specifically, let Hestia convince herself, Gawain Robards ordered a conference room to be opened for us. I only met Susan's eyes for a brief moment and knew that the next time I spoke to her, she was going to grill me through such an intense session that it would make the Spanish Inquisition look tame. I made it a point to never let her and Hermione be in the same room.
Unless it was for a threesome.
Both Narcissa and I had left our wands outside, mine with Hestia, while Narcissa had to settle for Snyde. The room had a pair of couches for us to sit on. The Auror stood before us, and waved his wand in a familiar, complex motion, as an invisible barrier formed around myself and Narcissa, cocooning ourselves away from the world outside. Cave Inimicum, the strongest privacy ward out there— it blocked all physical senses from sensing what was happening on the inside. Dumbledore had cast the same spell when he had talked about his strange divinatory powers.
I saw Robards's eyes dilate, looking in our general direction instead of us. Then he turned around and walked out of the door, closing it after him.
"So… what do you want to disc—" I began, but Narcissa had other plans. No, it had nothing to do with the case, or the danger hanging like a sword upon her son's future. Instead, she was all over me, pressing herself into me as we made out. We fell upon the couch on the left, our hands all over each other, her groping my muscles and my crotch, and my hands molesting her round arse and massive titties.
Naturally, I gave in.
We were too hot for each other to just get naked and make things easier for us both. She savagely attacked my dick, pulling it roughly from within my jeans and devouring it with her hungry mouth, inhaling it to the root. I returned the favour, pulling up her robe around her waist, pulling her soaked white thong to the side and sucking at her needy cunt.
This went on for a while, her soaking my cock and balls with her spit and me nibbling at her tasty pussy with my tongue. Finally, she pulled herself off of me and got on all fours, shaking her hips at me, looking back at me hungrily.
That brought us to the present, me behind her, my jeans around my thighs, my shirt thankfully discarded as I drove my throbbing cock into her needy arse.
"Merlin, I've needed this! No one can fuck me like you can!" she panted out as I slammed into her. Her thong was still pulled to the side, her robes at her waist, and her top pulled up over her breasts. They swayed under her as I fucked her, and I couldn't help but reach down and squeeze those mammoth, smooth breasts again, pinching her nipples roughly.
"You like that, bitch?" I grunted out savagely. "You like that young dick?"
"Merlin, yes!" she squealed out. "I love that thick teenage dick! It's so good! C'mon, fuck me, Potter! Fuck me as hard as you fucking can! I fucking need it!"
I picked up the pace, slamming my cock into her, her hips slapping against my torso loudly.
"What, Lucius is failing to meet your expectations?" I asked arrogantly.
"Of course not! Fuck! I wish I could've dumped him!" Narcissa panted, as I slapped her fleshy arsecheeks. She turned to look at me, her head bouncing as I pummelling her, "You made me an addict, Potter! I've been dreaming of this thick, virile cock. No one I've ever had hits the same spots that you do."
"I've gotten even better!"
"Oh I know, baby! I can feel it! It's— Oh! You've ruined me for everyone else. MERLIN! FUCK!"
"I haven't even started!" I grunted out, "and after I'm done with you, you won't cum from anyone else but me."
"FUCK YES!" Narcissa screamed out. "YES! I love it! I love your cock! Merlin! You're so deep in my fucking arse! I love it!"
I slowed down for a second, savouring her tight arsehole. Given my prior experience with her, I was expecting Anchorage points to start popping out any second. Narcissa had gone from stranger to cum-bucket in a single fuck-session, and this was the first time since then that she was getting a taste of her forbidden fruit.
"This is what you came here for! Not to get your son out of prison, but to get reamed by my cock."
"Yes!"
"Does Draco know how big of a slut his mother is? That she's too busy taking my cock up in her arse instead of pleading for his life?"
"NO! Oh Fuck!"
"Maybe we should discuss compensation and get him out of prison first."
"No! No fucking way! We're not— Ugh! We're not doing anything until— Morgana's tits! Fuck!"
"Look at you!" I spat out. "A fucking whore for a guy half your age!"
She slammed the couch with her hand repeatedly. Clearly, my words were very appealing to her. I kept it coming.
"I own your arse! Don't I, Narcissa?" I groaned out.
"YES! You own my fucking arse!" she panted out.
"Anywhere, anytime, your arse is fucking mine!" I boasted. "I want you to get a fucking tattoo! I want it to say "Potter's Slut" and I want right on this fucking arse!" I said, slapping it firmly.
"Anything you want! Anything you fucking want!" she gasped. "Just fuck me! Make me cum! Fuck my motherfucking arse! Make my arse cum! Please!" she begged.
I roughly pushed her head down, so her hips were the only part of her raised off the couch. I moved forward so part of my upper half was over it. Grabbing her hips and gaining leverage, I pulled back and began to drive my cock into her, pistoning my thick shaft into her as hard as I could.
"AHHHHHHHH YES!" she squealed. As I drove into her, I looked down to admire the way her tight arsehole wrapped around my cock, stretched so taut, yet so eager to swallow every inch of my shaft. Straightening my back, I drove into her, my hips flexing as I pummelled her. Her moaning turned into a babbling mess as I hit the sweet spot in her ass.
"UHHH! FUCK! FUCK! I LOVE IT! FUCK! SHIT! YES! YES! YES! AHH! UGHH! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! YES! YES! YES! AHHHH! YESSSS!" Narcissa screamed as she came. Juices squirted out from her cunt, and her arsehole tightened around my driving shaft. The sensation of her asshole tightening and squeezing my cock was enough to send me over the edge.
"Ahhh! Fuck yeah! Oh, shit! Here it comes! FUCK YEAH!" I groaned out. I drove into her, burying my shaft into her completely just as the first rocket of cum burst from my dick. I ground my dick into her, as shot after shot of cum burst from my balls deep into her ass.
World Anchor–Narcissa Malfoy has gone up by 2%
Gained Affinities from World Anchor — Narcissa Malfoy
Magical Sensing +1%
Yeah! About time.
"I feel it! I feel the cum inside me! I feel it in my arse," Draco's mum babbled, flexing her hips further into me as I ground into her, my cock pulsing as I pumped her full of cum.
My body tightened up as I fired the final few streams of cum into her arsehole. She kept her hips planted against me, eagerly accepting each and every drop of my cum inside of her. Finally, my body relaxed and I pulled back, removing my shaft from her stretched, puckered hole. I fell back onto my bed, admiring my work, while she collapsed upon her belly, panting for breath. We lied next to each other, facing opposite directions, as we both regained our strength.
In the meantime, more prompts kept coming.
World Anchor–Narcissa Malfoy has gone up by 3%
Gained Affinities from World Anchor — Narcissa Malfoy
Magical Sensing +3%
Spatial Magic +1%
Everything considered, I wasn't feeling much guilt at this point. Like, sure, I had instigated the entire matter and landed Draco in prison, but when his own mother was more interested in getting sodomised, who was I to complain? Besides, it felt great, just to demolish this woman, make her my slut. Given the way her anchorage was steadily growing, I was certain she'd become my bitch in all sense of the term before the end of summer.
And then, the games would finally begin.
I looked down at my softening shaft, lying on my belly. I felt relieved of all the tension. Content in my actions. At peace for the moment. And then she began to stir. I was about to get back up and wear my jeans, when I felt her fingers curl around my shaft.
Seriously? What was wrong with this woman?
"Mmmmm, I hope you're not done." Narcissa purred, pointing my cock upward and kissing the tip, completely indifferent to where it was just some minutes before. She squeezed my dick firmly, trying to breathe life back into it. She brought her face close to it, and began to lick its length, while stroking my balls with two soft fingers. "This combination has shown me a lot of raw talent last time. I'd be very annoyed if it was just a fluke".
"Keep playing with it like that and you'll be filled with that raw talent very soon." I said with a chuckle.
"Mmmm, I can't wait." she said, kissing the tip of my hardening cock again. "I love being filled with raw, throbbing talent."
With that, she opened up her mouth and wrapped her lips around my thickening cock. I exhaled in pleasure as the tip hit the back of her throat, and let my head rest on the couch. Her hot, wet mouth smothered my cock with pleasure, causing it to harden in her mouth. The thought that mere minutes after this cock had been buried up her arse, she was now ravenously attacking it with her eager mouth. Showing no fear, no hesitation, like a true slut. Her hot mouth, her plump lips were doing a hell of a job at getting me back into action mode again. Her spit was quickly soaking my shaft, coating it and my sack, preparing it for more pleasure. She was incredible at blowjobs, able to wrap her lips around the root of my shaft, taking all of me into her slutty mouth. Finally, she pulled back, bands of drool connecting my now throbbing dick to her mouth.
She kneeled up straight and pulled her top the rest of the way off. She bent over and slipped her robe and her thong off, and that joined her bra on the floor. She pulled roughly at my jeans, pulling them off, leaving us both naked.
With an evil smile, she crawled over me. She planted her hands over my shoulders, balancing herself over me. As she settled in place, I reached up and cupped her huge breasts in my hands, squeezing them greedily with my big hands. She reached down and took my ready cock in her hand and pointed it upward. She poised her ready cunt against the tip of me and with no hesitation, began to push herself downward, forcing my cock inside of her tight cunt.
"Mmmmmm." I grunted out.
"You like that?" she asked with a wicked smile. "I've been watching you, Potter! That mudblood bint Granger, that halfblood at the store and then the Abbott daughter. You've been a busy little boy this summer. Tell me, did you fuck your secretary too? She's got all the makings of a screamer."
"That she has," I agreed, twisting her rubbery nipples as more and more of my cock was forced up her tight, clutching hole.
"Mmmmmmmmmmm." she purred, chewing on her lower lip, wiggling her butt to get more of my dick inside her. She opened her eyes as she did so, looking at me. "I love this cock, Potter! I love it! I was so annoyed when I heard my son got arrested! But then I heard you were involved and I knew this was it. You engineered it, didn't you?"
I smirked. "What are you talking about? I'm the quintessential goody-two-shoes."
I gave her butt another tight smack.
"Whatever you are, goody-two-shoes you are not," she smirked back, raising her head and grabbing my hands to maul her titties even more. "What's going on in that twisted head of yours, Potter? Why are you after my son?"
I closed my eyes and smiled. "Is this the point in the conversation where I reveal my plans to you?"
"What have you got to lose? You have him where you want him. And you have me taking your cock."
I sighed. "And now you expect me to reveal whatever vulnerabilities I have as well. I'm almost offended by the lack of professional respect that implies."
Narcissa grit her teeth. "There is no need to get Draco involved. If you wanted to have me, you got it. I'm here. There is no need to destroy his future for that."
I arched an eyebrow. Both of us were dancing very close to the truth. "That's a gross overstatement, Narcissa. I certainly didn't attack Draco. I didn't Imperius him, and I certainly didn't coax him to hit me with an unforgivable."
Narcissa narrowed her eyes. "Stop playing mind games, Potter…. Harry, what do you want? You know I'd do anything to keep my son out of prison. Let's stop this ridiculous dance and be frank with each other. What do you want?"
"What can you give me?" I shot back. "What is worth your son's future? Just the unforgivable alone is enough to send him packing to Azkaban. And even if I was amenable to your offer, there is Susan Bones to consider. Dropping the case will make her, and by extension, her aunt, go sniffing. You don't want that fox close to your henhouse."
"...No," she said after a moment. "I do not. But I have you to help me with that. For I know you will be amenable to my offer."
"Indeed?" I asked, raising a brow. "And why?"
"Because if you don't, then I'll inform Lucius that you are the Conditional Lord Black."
"..."
Notes:
If you want to support me, find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Chapter 38: Aggressive Negotiations Part 3
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 1 - OUTLANDER
I froze.
Okay, I wouldn't lie and claim that I saw that coming, but it was on the list of possibilities that I didn't want to turn out to be true. Narcissa had called me a Black the very first day we had met, and any pureblood worth his salt probably kept a record of claimants to the family fortune. For Narcissa, who regarded her Black heritage on a much higher pedestal than the Malfoy name, that held doubly true. Draco was supposed to become Lord Black in time, and I knew that Lucius had arranged things to ensure that it stayed that way. For all I knew, he was the one that seeded the idea of sending dementors after Sirius Black after he escaped Azkaban the previous year. With Black removed, there were no problems with Draco's ascension to the Black Lordship. I was a viable candidate, but on a pure heritage basis, Draco had a better claim than mine. Unless I could bring Sirius's last will and testament into the picture, but to do that, I needed to prove his innocence. Within a year.
No way Lucius Malfoy was going to let that happen.
The same Lucius Malfoy that had so far remained woefully ignorant of my ascension to Conditional Lordship. And probably would be, so far as I played Narcissa's game.
Damn it.
The real question was — how? How had she known?
In hindsight, brazenly showing off the Black ring to Nymphadora and the others was incredibly stupid and arrogant on my part. In my defense, I was playing the game, believing that my canon knowledge was absolute. As for Narcissa knowing it, someone had to have said something. Someone must have overheard something. I was reasonably sure that Tonks wasn't the betraying kind. Granted, that was based on my canon knowledge of Tonks, but this world had thrown enough curve balls to religiously stick to canon views. But her allegiance to the Order hinted along those lines, and it was possible she had told it to Dumbledore, and Dumbledore could have mentioned it to Snape. I wasn't sure where Snape's real allegiances lay, but Snape had a lot more leeway with throwing information around to assert his loyalty in the Dark Lord's camp. But this was only the start of the fourth year and Voldemort was still on the horizon. Unless…
Unless he wasn't? There was a Death Eater celebration during the World Cup. Surely, someone knew something about the Dark Lord's revival and return?
Damn it. Damn it. Damn it.
Me and my big mouth.
I schooled my expression, throwing in a little confusion, and tilted my head slightly to the left. "Lord Conditional of Black? What are you talking about?"
First rule of negotiation. Always deny. Let the other side reveal their cards first. Controlling information was key. And it was entirely possible that my fears were unfounded. Narcissa could have found it from Gringotts. Goblins were a greedy lot, after all.
"Come now," said Narcissa, amused at my ploy at disassembly. "Surely you have not forgotten the newest mantle you took at the start of this summer?Lord Conditional of House Black. Chosen Heir according to dear Sirius's will. New owner of the Black Townhouse. Ring any bells?"
She pushed herself further against my cock as she smirked at me. Damn this woman. Even when blackmailing me, she needed to be fucked by my cock. The more I interacted with her, the more I was thinking her actions were less because of sexual craving and more of an acute psychological dysfunction.
Well, crap. So much for that. But it wasn't for nothing. Tonks didn't know about Number 12. Hestia did, but her oaths secured it. That left the goblins. Greedy fuckers.
Still, best not to guess.
I feigned annoyance this time. "I think I fucked you a little too much, Narcissa." With my best condescending smile, I slapped her arse. "Sirius Black betrayed my parents to Voldemort. If you're deluded enough to believe that he made me his heir, maybe you're more addled than I thought."
Something terrifying flashed across her features before her expression returned to its usual charming state. "Delusion? Perhaps. But a most wonderful delusion it is, since my aunt Walburga clearly remembers spending significant time in your presence at the Townhouse. A most fascinating thing given she had departed over a decade ago, and has never met you, to my knowledge."
Shit. Goddamn it. Damn that bitch. I should have known. Given how Walburga would go on and on about sweet Narcissa, I should've known there was something afoot. She had seemed quite driven in her disdain for the Malfoys, but Narcissa had been the moon of her eyes. But Walburga couldn't leave the manor. That only meant —
"You have a portrait."
Narcissa looked at me, amused. "Imagine my surprise when my aunt talks about this half-blood wearing the Black Lord ring, without a single stitch of cloth on his body, threatening to destroy the Black manor using muggle means if she did not cater to his demands."
"Yeah," I grunted. "She took that really well."
"She did actually," Narcissa admitted. "To the best of my knowledge, only Sirius had ever blatantly defied her like that. Unfortunately, Sirius chose the easy way out. He left the family instead of forcing his opinion on her, as was his right as the Black heir. That another Black, of Grand-Aunt Dorea's lineage to openly defy her like that, despite being on a far weaker standpoint was… refreshing."
It was my turn to gawk at her.
"She claimed you had giant balls of brass," said Narcissa, "and given you were standing nude before her, I wasn't sure if she was being literal or just metaphorical. Naturally, I had to see it for myself."
I choked.
Her smile widened at my reaction, and she reached for my balls and began fondling them.
"Granted, I know better now. Not of brass, but remarkable in every way that matters."
… Damn this woman.
Still, this revelation was enlightening. She hadn't found out from the goblins, or from other sources. Not that it made the situation any less dangerous.
"I must applaud you, Harry Potter. Escaping to Gringotts, gaining the Black mantle and usurping control of the townhouse beneath my husband's nose. Conspiring to usurp my son's inheritance and spreading your reach through Diagon Alley, Knockturn Alley, and now to the other Houses, if Bones sitting out there is of any clue. All in less than two months, while bedding me without Lucius knowing any better. And now, you have my son all packed and ready to end up in Azkaban. I am mightily impressed."
Impressed she might be, but I felt like the biggest heel in the world.
"Not so impressive," I admitted. "You knew who I was right off the bat."
Her lips twisted further. "I called you a Black, Harry Potter. You should've known better than to expect Me to swallow your cum otherwise. Still, I never thought someone like you had so much potential as a lover, Potter. I do not know how you do it, but every single time, you've surpassed my expectations."
"Not this time, though," I hedged, my mind dissecting her words with frantic speed. "You saw it right through me."
She smiled. "That I did. A nasty trick you set up, all but guaranteeing Draco's removal without being obvious. Aunt Walburga had her doubts if you could pull off what she intended, but you — you are a sly one. You didn't just depend on her, but tried the legal route. And it would have succeeded to, if not for…"
She let that one drop.
I suppressed the urge to gnash my teeth. She was drawing it out on purpose. Enjoying it. She wanted to see how I'd react. I didn't have my wand, and she was a Charms Mistress, so taking her on a direct fight wasn't an option. Besides, both of us were in a compromising position, so a fight was something neither of us truly wanted. So no, she deliberately designed her words to draw out a rise out of me.
"What do you want?" I asked, at last.
"Oh, the direct approach," she said, frowning, like I had stepped on her favorite shoes. "Very well. You drop this case, and I keep your secret from Lucius. Sounds fair?"
I pulled myself out of her, or at least tried to. Narcissa grabbed me and pushed herself against me.
"Come now," she said. "We are lovers, you and I. Hate me all you like for doing this, but let's not mesh personal with professional. I'll be… most displeased, if that's the case."
I really didn't know what to think of that.
I considered her triumphant smile and considered everything. Narcissa wasn't interested in throwing me under the bus. Neither would she resort to crude measures like having me or my loved ones attacked. She wasn't a plain villain. She was… having fun. And this little game of dominance that she was playing with me was just one of several aspects of our twisted little relationship. She had no interest in getting me murdered or blackmailing me in public. No, she was too happy to outmaneuver me and then mock me over my limited thinking.
She was enjoying this far too much.
Carefully, I considered everything she had told me. The manner in which she had presented it, and the way she had gotten the information to hold me in the horns of a major dilemma. I thought back to Walburga's own views about Malfoys and tallied it with Narcissa's own reactions and comments. Then I thought back to her near-erratic behavior back at Twilfit and Tattings and spotted a major contradiction.
Something that could actually be my ace in the hole.
My game-changer.
"You're right," I said, grabbing her hips and pushing my cock deeper into her arse, paying attention to the soft moan leaving her throat. "You can always tell Lucius about it. But so what? Despite how you put it, I did not buy my way into the Lord Conditional status. Sirius's will got me that power. And poor Draco has cast an unforgivable on me, Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived. Lord of House Potter and Lord Conditional of House Black. Whatever way you slice it, he ends up in Azkaban. I doubt there's much that Lucius, or even Minister Fudge can do to keep Draco out without setting a dangerous precedent. And even if he does, do you think the Wizengamot will allow someone convicted for such serious crimes to become a Lord? Forget the Black lordship, Draco will be lucky if he can become Lord Malfoy without having to waste half his fortune bribing the entire Wizengamot."
"You underestimate Lucius's reach," Narcissa said stiffly.
"Perhaps, but I do not underestimate the power of setting precedents. If Draco, despite casting an unforgivable, can gain his Wizengamot seat and inheritance, it allows for other people of similar and lesser crimes to do the same. Like your cousin Sirius, for example. For all the infamy of being You-Know-Who's right-hand man gave him, all he did was betray someone and kill some muggles. Oh, and Pettigrew, who was a minor pureblood. The same Sirius Black that didn't even have a trial. How difficult do you think it'll be for a strong lawyer to get his name cleared?"
"Sirius Black is dead."
"He is," I smirked. "And as a free man, his last will and testament will be read, and recognize his position as the official Black heir. And do you know who he made his heir? Me."
I made it a point to push extra deep this time. "So go ahead, tell Lucius about it. See how that ends. We'll see who's laughing at the end."
I knew I was being overly antagonistic at this point. But Narcissa was a tigress. People like her respected power. Much like Walburga Black, she was more likely to react positively to a legitimate threat than a poor emotional reaction.
Narcissa smiled. "I will."
I arched a brow. "And pray tell, why do you think so?"
Her smile was just as sinister as it was triumphant. "Because for all your planning, you are ignoring something vital, Potter. The Wizengamot does not decide only on established conventions and precedents. It is made of factions and those factions vote on whatever fuels their agendas."
She pulled and pushed back into me.
"You're right. Neither Lucius nor I cannot stop Draco from being sent to Azkaban. But do you know what Lucius can do? He can file a litigation at the Wizengamot, over your claim over the Black Lordship. As Regent, it is within his power. And need I remind you, you have yet to take your seat. You have yet to officially establish any alliances. You have yet to reciprocate your formal oaths. House Potter does not even have an active proxy. For all your Lordships, you're a school-going brat. There is more than enough evidence to show that you arranged this confrontation, and it is child's play to prove it as an attempt to sideline my darling Draco from his rightful inheritance. Draco Malfoy from gaining his rightful inheritance. Just like your mudblood of a mother tried to grab a life of riches by hanging over James Potter's neck, you, a half-blood, are trying to sideline Draco Malfoy, pureblood for nine generations, from claiming his rightful place as the Lord Black. Think how the Wizengamot will perceive that. Boy-Who-Lived or not, you'll prove yourself no less than the mudblood whores you keep by your side."
I showed no facial reaction, letting her unload her venom. Bigoted or otherwise, she had a valid response.
"Mudblood or not, I did not coerce him to cast an unforgivable. That bit does not change."
She nodded, one opponent acknowledging another. "It doesn't. But there is always the Imperius defense. Just like you have evidence that my son cast the cruciatus upon you, it can easily be arranged that my son was under an Imperius to do the same."
"How?"
She threw her head back and laughed. It was cruel. "Do not be naïve, Potter. This is the Ministry, and Lucius Malfoy owns the Minister. How difficult is it to arrange matters?"
I clenched my hands. "You'd arrange for someone to cast a weak Imperius on him. Just enough to be detected. But it won't be — Oh, I see."
She smiled. "I do not need it cast by you, Potter. Every crime needs a motive. And your motives would already be established. Just like my son used the Goyle brat's wand to cast the curse, you could have arranged something similar. Seems almost… rudimentary compared to your other actions."
If she noted my complete inaction, she made no comment.
"Watch what else? Even if Albus Dumbledore comes to your rescue, the matter of Black Lordship can get tied up in court for years. Lucius will ensure that your reputation is dragged through the mud. He and his associates would target your friends. The Weasleys. The mudblood werewolf. Your friends. He will make your life hell. He will ensure that you will rue the day you even heard of the Black name for the first time, and I will help him."
Her fingers clenched around my balls. I didn't need to be a genius to see the meaning behind that gesture.
I swallowed.
Hestia was right. I was swimming with the sharks. I had gravely underestimated my opposition. Narcissa… She was something else. Maybe it would've been better if I had played the long game and slowly pushed her anchorage to a hundred percent. At least she'd have been more amenable to things, so long as I didn't take things too…
…Far.
I blinked.
Hang on a fucking moment! Narcissa knew of my status as Lord Conditional. But she had kept it a secret from Lucius. Maybe she had even covered tracks I hadn't thought of. Despite me attempting to steal her son's inheritance.
And she had sucked my cock.
Knelt before me.
She had taken my cock in her pussy.
And most importantly, her world anchors had steadily risen. Anyone else in Narcissa's position would treat me as a major threat and eliminate all chances of my success. Instead—
Instead, her world anchorage grew every single time we fucked.
It grew past the fiftieth mark. On the very first day.
And now, despite me landing her son in hot water, the anchorage was still increasing. My value in her eyes was skyrocketing.
I smiled. Maybe things weren't as bad as I thought they were.
"Did I say something funny, Potter?" she demanded.
"Oh? No. Not at all. Just waiting for your alternative proposal."
"..."
That made her pause.
"Your alternate proposal?" I repeated. "You know, the one you were planning to throw at me. You know, after you tore my plans apart and forced me down on my knees. The one you'd throw magnanimously at me in return for my eternal allegiance?"
A faint shadow of a smile formed on her lips. "You have an overactive imagination, Harry Potter."
I smirked. 'Perhaps. But that doesn't mean I am wrong. Was I?"
"...No. You are not."
"Then why don't we stop dancing around and you tell me what you really want?"
Her smile grew. "Tell me, Potter, are you truly prepared to do everything the ritual demands of you? Do you have it in your heart to commit the atrocities it would have you perform?"
I didn't bother with being surprised. Of course, she knew about the ritual and what it entailed.
"I am, yes."
"Knowing that it'd make you commit things that would place you in the deepest cells of Azkaban, if the Aurors came to know about it?"
That… I didn't know. Walburga had mentioned that it would be terrifying, but the end results would be worth it.
"Yes," I said, pushing every bit of courage into my voice. "I am."
"Knowing it would make an enemy of House Malfoy?"
"Yes."
A cruel smile formed on her lips. "Count me in."
Notes:
If you want to support me, find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Chapter 39: An Offer I Can't Refuse
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 1 - OUTLANDER
The day had begun so simply. My plans to sideline Draco by making him commit a crime had gone spectacularly with him casting an unforgivable in open public, with multiple witnesses. I had been called to the DMLE to provide testimony, and things were looking up and up for me. Then Narcissa Malfoy had curb stomped my confidence with a single blow, but I still had some cards in my hand to play against her. Even in an event where it came to a showdown between myself and the Malfoys, I had some preparations on my side.
Maybe I'd win. Maybe I wouldn't. But even if I lost horribly, I'd ensure that the Malfoys bled for it.
Instead, I had… this.
"I love watching you think," said Narcissa, her eyes sparkling. "I can almost see the poor hamster running on the wheel."
"You clubbed me in the head with your proposal," I retorted with a glare. "What do you expect?"
"Oh, this," she said with a grin. "You are always so sure of yourself, Harry Potter. It amuses me to see you off-balance. Besides, you asked for it. My own methods are far more subtle."
As if to make a point, she sunk my cock deep into her as slowly as she could, rolling her arse to make a pleasurable, sucking sensation.
I glowered at her. "You said you wanted in. Explain."
"It's exactly what you think it means," she said. "I want in. I want to see you rise to Lord Black and snatch it from my dearest husband."
"And your son," I pointed out.
She waved it off. "Semantics. Draco has never cared for his Black heritage. For him, it's just another vault of gold and relics, and an extra seat of power on the Wizengamot. I'm certain even if he becomes Lord Black, he'd always consider himself Lord Malfoy foremost. My husband ensured that."
Gulp.
The scary part was how carelessly she had said the entire thing. Narcissa had, just mere moments ago, shown exactly how terrifying she could be if I fucked with her son's future. And here she was, casually arranging matters to deny him the very thing I was trying to do. The only difference was that the former involved him going to Azkaban, and the latter…
Well, I was still not up to date with her plans. Yet.
"Do not trouble your head with it, Potter, lest you damage it," she said, with an idle shake of her hand, pulling herself away from me and sitting on her back, and hissed. "You fucked my arse quite hard. It stings to sit like this."
I wasn't sure whether to shrug at her rhetoric or apologise for her discomfort, so I did neither.
I'm a Black and my Black pride will not allow me to see it trampled underfoot while House Malfoy uses it as its cash-cow. No, Potter. I will not allow it." A hardness formed on her features. "Marrying Lucius was one of the greatest mistakes of my life, but I suppose I have my parents to blame for that. My father could never see beyond the gold. Short-sighted bastard that he was. But enough ranting! I'll help you gain the mantle of Lord Black."
"Help me?"
"Oh, right! You already have Aunt Walburga for that. Morgana's tits! Fine. I'll not obstruct that process and keep you out of Lucius's notice. In return, you'll make me Narcissa Black again. Simple as that."
"Not so much," I shot back. "What's nothing stopping you from… oh I don't know, horribly murdering me and taking the mantle for yourself?"
Narcissa looked like she had just tasted a bad egg. "I'm appalled that you think I am capable of such crudeness, Potter. My name is Narcissa Black. I will forge you into the most marvellous weapon with which I'll destroy my enemies. I'll make you secure my future. But fear not, Potter. I abhor bloodshed and love peace. I love talking, laughing, dancing, relaxing, and making love. If I have to kill you, I'll kill you with peace. I'll strangle you with it. And you'll thank me while I do that."
She said in a scary way — with no melodrama at all.
I believed her.
"Join me, Potter. I can take away all your troubles. Lucius ignored my skills and limited me to his trophy wife. But with you, I will be free. Free to exercise my mind, my spirit, free to indulge in the magics that I grew up learning about. I can teach you all that. Forget the plebeian things they teach at Hogwarts. I will help you navigate the waters of truly dark magic. I'm a Charms Mistress, Potter. With me by your side, there is nothing you cannot have. Power, territory, fortune, girls, wives, mothers — everything you desire, I'll help you get there."
Her voice grew more and more seductive every second. "I will take away the pains of your mind and body and your heart. Imagine, you and me, in the quiet darkness and my flesh against yours. I can give you that and so much more."
"And all I've got to do is free you from your marriage?"
"Make me Narcissa Black, yes."
I narrowed my eyes at the way she stressed on her choice of words over mine. What was I missing?
"How do I trust you?"
Narcissa sighed. "What will it take? An unbreakable vow? Will that suffice? Understand this, Potter. So long as you're willing to drop this case and let my son go free, I'll join you. I would have, either way, in time. But you forced my hand. Now, choose."
Damn. She had a great pitch.
Everyone selling something to a sucker does.
I rubbed my mouth slowly, mulling it over in my head. It was a simple bargain, as these things went. I had nothing to lose and everything to gain. Narcissa had offered me a great package, sweet and neat as a Halloween candy.
Which meant I'd be stupid to not check for razor blades and cyanide.
At the same time, she was on the level with her offer. I could feel that, sense it in a way so primal, so visceral, that there was no room for error. Her ever-increasing world anchorage towards me was prime evidence to that end. She would be a powerful ally if I agreed to her bargain. It was possible she had sinister motives that were beyond my knowledge at the moment. Motives that would pass through her unbreakable vow like water through tissue paper. There was also the chance that this was simply a ploy to get me completely under her control. With every single step, she'd get me deeper and deeper until I was her toy.
Like credit card companies. That's real evil for you.
I could feel her watching me like a hawk.
"Okay," I exhaled. "But there's something I need to know first."
"Sure."
"What about Vol — the Dark Lord?"
She narrowed her eyes. "Why is that a concern? I'm not a Death Eater, if that's what you're worried about." Her lips twisted into a teasing smirk. "I'd have thought that you'd have known that by now, given how familiar you've been with my body recently."
She grabbed my cock and began playing with it.
I rolled my eyes and did my best to ignore her ministrations. It was more difficult than you might think. But I had to focus. To know.
"There is a high chance that the Dark Lord will return."
Silence rang in the room for a long moment. Her hand stopped moving.
She met my eyes. "Are you certain?"
I nodded.
Her blue eyes remained on my face, unblinking. "How soon?"
"It should be… within a year. I'm uncertain of the details."
I based that, keeping the canon timeline in mind. But too many variables had changed. Too many deviations from JKR's canon. Hermione becoming a werewolf hybrid. Harry's death. My entrance and the addition of this Outlander system. Me rising as Lord Potter. Narcissa and now this — too much had changed to rely on the canon facts anymore. The only thing I could probably rely on was my knowledge of Voldemort's horcruxes and even that was showing signs of deviation, what with Kreacher's absence in Grimmauld Place.
Damn it.
"A year…" Narcissa mumbled thoughtfully. "And you're certain that he will be back?"
"Reasonably, yes."
I watched her carefully, observing her behaviour. The casual amusement in her face had faded, replaced by a wariness, her eyes shifting constantly. Whatever worried her, it was clear she was giving it a lot of thought.
"I suppose," she said at last, "it makes sense in hindsight. Lucius has been mostly away during the summer, and he isn't telling me where he is going. He has been seeing several of the old crowd recently. I had originally thought that he was…. Never mind, it doesn't matter."
She met my eyes. "I believe my husband is involved in the Dark Lord's revival."
I wanted to believe her. Canonically, Lucius did not know Voldemort's resurrection until the Third Task. That, or he had simply stayed out of the matter. But that was canon, and this was… this. I simply couldn't trust things to play out canonically. Not after all this.
"It is possible. Yes."
"Well…" she sighed, "that changes things. That changes things a lot."
A shiver ran down my spine. If Narcissa quit our new arrangement in favour of the Dark Lord, things could get really complicated for me. But when she spoke next, her words ended up surprising me entirely differently.
"We have to speed up our plans," she said.
Plans? What plans? I had no plan except to get Draco out and settle myself as the Lord Black. Did she really think that it'd be easy to just cancel her marriage with Lucius Malfoy with no hitches? Especially with the Dark Lord being so close to his resurrection?
"Look, Potter. I'll go on a limb and tell you I wouldn't think twice before spitting on mudbloods and blood traitors. I believe swine like them would end up making our world a copy of the muggle world if given the opportunity. But I'm not a homicidal maniac. The Dark Lord promised us a pureblood utopia, but ended up throwing us in the middle of a genocidal war. By Morgana, he ended half of the pure lines by his own hand. I remember how things were. I escaped being…." her lips curled in distaste, "being branded like cattle, but my sister Bellatrix wasn't so lucky. I remember bowing before that… thing, and serving him as my master. Heir of Slytherin or not, Narcissa Black bows to no one. Not even the Dark Lord."
"But you did."
Her nostrils flared. "I had to. Regulus was part of the Inner Circle. My husband, my elder sister, every single member of my family in London, save Sirius, had joined the Dark Lord's ranks. You do not know what it was like, Potter, and for Merlin's sake, I pray you don't. If that man returns to power, things will…"
She regarded me. "I imagine you have something, some ploy, to deal with this problem?"
"What makes you think that?"
"Do not insult my intelligence," she scoffed. "It is clear you have knowledge of the Dark Lord's movements. Either through first-hand or through Dumbledore. I have heard some rumours coming from Hogwarts. I imagine you are working with Albus Dumbledore behind the scenes, while pretending to be the goody two-shoes that everyone thinks you are."
I considered the logical string of assumptions she was making about me. Given the differences between what Harry Potter was in the past, and myself, it was only natural for her to think so. Even Hestia and Hermione had mentioned that they found it difficult to believe that he was himself and not some imposter under Polyjuice. My newfound powers, my growing affinities, my increasing arsenal and the effects of my growing perks could be seen as something I had developed through secret training over the years under private instruction.
It was a far more believable scenario than me being dropped in a fictional world and given a system that allowed me to fuck my way to godhood.
"Dumbledore has his plans. I have mine. Some of our plans mesh. Others… don't."
I didn't know if she took my response as a minor act of rebellion and meaningless defiance against Dumbledore, or something worth her attention. Either way, she did not comment.
"I told you, I have plans, and some of them need to be hastened. I can give you whatever vows you wish me to swear," said Narcissa, "so long as you agree to drop this case."
I pursed my lips.
"Of course. I'm not asking you to do this for free. After all, suddenly changing your mind over nothing concrete would attract all kinds of questions."
"What do you have in mind?" I asked.
Narcissa smiled. "Trust me. You will like it."
Notes:
I know I initially claimed that this story will span over 350 chapters, but now I think I underestimated it. By a Lot. Let's hope 500 chapters is a good bet.
If you want to support me, find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Chapter 40: Win Some, Lose Some
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 1 - OUTLANDER
Snyde was a vain woman, and hopeless at intimidating. You think that someone in her profession would be more self-aware, especially when both parties had already come to a settlement without her mediation. Despite that, she kept switching between glowering at me and giving me condescending smirks, as if she were keeping me intimidated while dictating the terms to poor little me.
Some people.
“You should understand this, Mr. Potter,” she said snidely, “that my client is being exceptionally generous with you. Why, if I had the freedom to deal with this like I wanted, I’d have made you pay hundreds of thousands of galleons and a year to serve the Malfoys. Trying to frame a respectable pureblood scion like Master Malfoy over something this petty, why the sheer—”
I yawned, cutting her from her tirade. “Good thing that you’re not in charge, then. I suppose I have to thank your client for her magnanimity for that.”
Narcissa rolled her eyes.
After Narcissa had taken the desired oaths, we had sat down and discussed what she wanted. By discussion, I mean she had sunk herself down on my cock, her pussy this time, with her straggling over me, her breasts rubbing against my chest. And I’ll admit, when Narcissa Malfoy gave her word, she meant it. Whatever she was offering was indeed a pleasant surprise.
Once we had gone through it all, she had cast wandless cleansing charms on both of us, followed by another set of glamour charms after we got dressed. Then she had walked out of the privacy ward and called in Snyde and Hestia for the formalities.
“Miss Snyde,” said Hestia, who had resigned herself to glowering back at the woman while sitting next to me, “why don’t we cut this ridiculousness and get to the settlement’s clauses?”
Snyde sneered at her. “Of course. I should’ve known you’d lack the stomach for it. As expected of a half—”
“Merula,” Narcissa snapped. “Do what I have asked you to do. Lord Potter and I are both Blacks, and we’ve come to an acceptable compromise over it. I’m glad he has been so forgiving of Draco despite his actions, and my offering is an act of gratitude in return. I’d ask you to not defile it with your useless commentary.”
That shut Snyde up.
The solicitor’s face flashed with an interesting spectrum of colours, before she exhaled loudly and focussed on the document before her. “According to this settlement offer, Lord Harry Potter will be paid a total amount of fifty-five thousand galleons, payable via cheque from the Malfoy vaults. He will also be given complete and unconditional ownership of a private property in Alfriston, East Sussex. A holiday cottage, given to Lady Malfoy as part of her dowry from the Black family. As per Gringotts’s valuation, the property has a sell value upwards of forty-seven thousand galleons. Lady Malfoy will also meet with Harry Potter at Gringotts on a mutually agreed upon date, and help him inspect and navigate the property.”
I nodded.
“Harry Potter will also receive a formal apology from Draco Malfoy, for his… unfortunate lack of self-control.”
“Just an apology?” Hestia demanded. “He cast an unforgivable—”
“And is paying a handsome amount in gold and property to soothe the pains,” said Snyde in a sickly sweet tone.
“Hestia…” I warned, and she wisely cut off.
“In return, Harry Potter will withdraw the case against Draco Malfoy and his friends Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle. He will admit to some… minor antagonization on his part and refuse to testify against Draco Malfoy should the matter move to Wizengamot.”
“You expect to just buy him off with your gold?” Hestia demanded.
“Yes,” I said. “And yes, I agree.”
“But—” Hestia exclaimed and met my eyes. I narrowed mine and nodded at her meaningfully. Obviously there was more happening than just what was officially on the document, but I couldn’t put my real dealings with Narcissa on paper, could I?
Please, I thought, let it be.
I don’t know if she could hear my thoughts, or if she had read my face well, but she agreed and sat down, exhaling.
“... Fine!”
“Good,” I said with a smile and turned towards Snyde. “I agree to the terms. I imagine you have the property deeds and the cheque ready?”
Snyde shook her head and spoke in a reasonable tone. “Both parties will sign this document, and hold on to a copy, while I will submit the original to Gringotts. You can expect the gold transfer by midnight, while the deed transfer will require further checking and other procedures. Usually, that takes three to four days.”
“Which means I’ll have no way to know for sure if the property is what you claim it is.” I said. Honestly, I didn’t give two shits about it, but I couldn’t just come across as completely lax, could I? That would be suspicious.
“That’s… not a problem, sir,” said Hestia. “In case there is an issue with the property, Gringotts will fine the Malfoys for financial fraud, and offer you an extra punitive relief. Even in the worst-case scenario, you’ll get a gold transfer of forty-seven thousand galleons.”
Mmm. Everything considered it was a win-win. I was getting a decent amount of gold added to my fortune, and by decent, I meant the equivalent of what a muggle born would end up making in multiple lifetimes of service. Then again, if compared to the vastness of the Potter fortune, and the additions I had made to it, it was practically pocket change.
Still, money was money. And I hadn’t gotten to where I had in my past life by squandering it away.
With this done, I had effectively gained a powerful ally on my side, who’d guarantee my ascension to Black Lordship. All that remained was withdrawing the case, which, in the scheme of things, was remarkably easy.
I glanced at Narcissa and then nodded. “Alright.”
“I don’t believe this!” growled Gawain Robards. “You’re choosing to withdraw this case? Mr. Potter, I should tell you that Draco Malfoy cast an unforgivable. You are the prime witness. If you do not testify, you’ll be letting a criminal walk free! You can’t tell me you’re okay with that!”
Okay, so maybe I was underestimating the difficulty.
“Auror Robards,” I tried, doing my best to ignore the stares I was getting from Tonks and Robards. Susan’s expression was flickering between acute disbelief and glowering at me. Whatever points I had won with her were dropping faster than rain. Penelope looked pasty pale, but I couldn’t care less about her. Hestia looked utterly content to play the role of the dutiful and submissive secretary, doing nothing to help me weather the aforementioned glares.
Narcissa looked at the proceedings with a frisky smile, utterly content to let me deal with the fallout.
Bitch.
“Mr. Potter,” said Robards, “I do not think you really understand what you’re doing. These are serious charges. Use of an unforgivable in public. Multiple counts of attempt to murder, and charges of open violence in public. Regardless of you walking away from your civic duty, Mr. Malfoy and his friends will be pushed to court. And trust me, we will call upon you as witness, under veritaserum if necessary. Plus, we have Miss Bones, Miss Abbott and Miss Clearwater as direct witnesses, as well as a list of twenty other people who can testify to it.”
I clenched my fists. “If you have that many people testifying, why do you need me?”
“Because you’re the victim,” said Robards. “I must ask you to reconsider it. Whatever settlement you have had with Mrs. Malfoy, is it really worth it?”
He deepened his voice slightly. “Mr. Potter, are you being… threatened? Because I can assure you, I will guarantee you Auror protection. You’re the Lord of a Noble and Ancient House and a celebrity. I can post permanent Auror security for you for as long as necessary. But do not do this.”
“Auror Robards,” said Snyde, “you’re pressuring Mr. Potter.”
“I’m bloody not,” snapped Robards, slapping his palm against the table.
“Actually, you are,” claimed Thicknesse. The guy had come back during our ongoing settlement. “Mr. Potter obviously has something to hide, which is why he’s insisting on denying testimony. I told you, Robards, I can spot a crime from miles away.”
“Thicknesse…” Robards growled. “Either shut up or get out.”
“The Minister—” Thicknesse began.
“I will deal with the Minister myself,” Robards said, “now, out.”
I heard Thicknesse snap and murmur obscenities under his breath as he walked out of the room, while Robards drank a glass of water from the table before taking his seat. “Mr. Potter. I will tell this again. If you do this, you are not helping anyone. I have enough evidence to drag this matter to court, and if you refuse testimony there, it will raise questions on your character. Do you really want that?”
I exhaled. This was going out of control. If I allowed him to continue his self-righteous prattle for one more second, it’d start sewing doubts in others.
He needed to shut up. Now.
“Auror Robards,” I said, keeping my voice level. “Do you have anything personal against the Malfoy family?”
The man blinked, taken by surprise at my sudden defence. Everything in his body language screamed yes, but when he opened his mouth, he said —
“No. I do not.”
“Do you not understand that Draco, apart from being juvenile, is also distantly related to me by blood? I am a Black, through my great-grandmother Dorea, and he is directly descended from my… cousin, Narcissa.”
Robards’s nostrils flared, but he stayed silent.
“I have had time to reconsider things. I’ll be candid. I played a role in the entire event. Draco and his friends behaved unacceptably with Miss Clearwater. I know I could have just stopped them directly, but doing so would’ve brought Miss Clearwater into this picture, and knowing the problems suffered by muggleborns, I didn’t want to throw undue attention on her.”
“You certainly don’t have any qualms doing so, now,” claimed Robards.
“She’s here, isn’t she?” I asked, gesturing at Penelope. “As Auror Cadet Tonks will remember, I did my best to keep her out of testifying. People like her don’t get enough employment opportunities, sometimes out of bigotry, and other times, because of their pride. Miss Clearwater obviously doesn’t conform to my beliefs.”
Penelope blanched and let out a soft whimper. Hannah grabbed her hand in support. Susan tucked her arms under her breasts and levelled a narrow-eyed glare in my direction. Narcissa casually sat on the chair, a pose of utter indifference, though it was clear she was paying undivided attention to my actions.
“But we’re digressing,” I said. “I admit I could’ve handled things better. I could have… not taunted Draco and his friends in the manner I did. Perhaps I got a bit… carried away. Maybe if I hadn’t, things wouldn’t have devolved to this.”
“And you’re suddenly overcome with sympathy from Draco Malfoy?” asked Robards, his tone lined with disbelief.
“Not sympathy. Understanding. He’s a juvenile, and if he’s sent to Azkaban, it’ll destroy his future. And I’ll know that it was because of my actions that we lost him to such a fate. Because of my… lack of self-control, I’d damage the reputation of a Noble family and… myself as well, should I have to testify in open trial. But then, that is what settlements are for, isn’t it?”
Robards fell silent.
“I’ve been the victim of something similar in the past, Auror Robards. Back when I was in my second year, a house-elf popped into my place and performed a hover charm, and they almost expelled me for doing so. So yes, I have some sympathy for Draco Malfoy, regardless of his actions.”
Robards stood up and sighed. “This is bloody bollocks! A complete waste of time!” He stared at me with an unreadable expression for a good minute. “Potter, either you’re being sincere, in which case,” he shook his head, baffled. “I do not understand you. At all. Your actions are not helping anyone and getting a criminal out of jail.”
I said nothing.
“Or,” said Robards, “you’re a person who is using this opportunity, and playing upon Draco Malfoy’s misfortune to secure something vital, or Lady Malfoy is holding something vital as ransom over your head. I don’t know what it is, but it is clear it is enough for you to do this.”
Technically, she had done both, but there was no need for me to admit that out loud.
“Do not mistake my words, Potter. You’re helping a criminal go free, but you’re doing it while simultaneously cladding yourself in such moral armour as to make yourself practically unassailable. In which case, I suppose… I admire your skill in arranging matters.”
He was calling me a politician. Which was… not very far off from the point.
Robards let out a soft snort. “You are free to go. But please keep this in mind. I will still push for a trial. I hope your moral armour saves your reputation for taking a hit.”
“If that happens, Auror Robards,” I said, with a soft smile, “I’ll deal with the fallout. And I’m hoping Miss Snyde will keep things from devolving to that level. It is her job.”
Something like grudging understanding tinged the woman’s gaze. Narcissa, on the other hand… was smiling.
And it was genuine.
And it scared the fuck out of me.
Yeah. This is what you get for scoring out of your league.
I gave a soft smile in Robards’s direction, before giving a slight nod towards Hestia, urging her to follow me out, and departed from the room.
It was over.
“POTTER!” came Susan’s angry voice. “Potter! Don’t you dare leave before facing me!”
In hindsight, I should’ve known better than to call it off so soon. Especially when there were a few unrequited parties at hand. Chief among them, being Susan Bones.
I sighed and urged Hestia to cast a privacy charm around us. It wouldn’t do to have our debacle seen in public. At least this wasn’t the Ministry Atrium, or else I’d have inquisitive heads buzzing around.
Thank God for small mercies.
I regarded the angry redhead with a resigned expression. Hannah — looking somewhat confused, and Penelope — still pale and shaking, stood behind her. Tonks, still in her Auror morph, just observed me quietly, while Susan threw me a glare, her hands on her hips, like a police officer staring down at a petty criminal.
My eyes went to her breasts, and I idly wondered how she could keep those massive titties from sagging. Magic was likely the culprit.
“My eyes are up here!”
“Yeah, I’ll be there in a minute,” I said.
“You won’t distract me this time, Potter,” she growled. ‘I want to know what the hell happened back there.”
Damn it. She saw through it, didn’t she? I looked up and opened my mouth to reply—
“And don’t think I believed one word of that bullshit you were pulling out of your arse. You don’t give a flying fuck about what happens to Malfoy. I saw it, Potter. It was there in your eyes. You wanted him to act the way he did, and you were bloody happy when he cast the unforgivable. And don’t give me any of that crap about you both being Blacks and all that nonsense.”
Crap. There went that option. She was an observant shrew, wasn’t she?
“If you already know it was crap, why are you here?”
“To know the truth. Why did you let him go free? You’re Lord Potter, and unless House Malfoy signed off half its fortune to you, I doubt you’d have cared. So what is it? What did Narcissa Malfoy tell you that got you to play ball?”
Even Hestia looked at me, interested. Tonks just… watched.
I met Susan’s eyes. “You’re right. On all counts. But tell me, do you honestly believe I’ll tell you what the settlement was about?”
When Susan didn’t say a word, I continued. “But this I will tell you, Miss Bones. You were right. I intended things to play out the way they did at the parlour. Miss Clearwater’s treatment at Crabbe’s hands was a convenient opportunity, and I have a rule against seeing others get mistreated. I saw a shot and took it.”
“Then why let him walk free?” asked Hannah.
I smiled. “There are two kinds of plots, Hannah. The first are those which must succeed, where you keep the core idea as simple as possible and take every precaution. The second, are plots you can afford to fail, and with those, you can indulge yourself; test the limits of your ability to handle complications.”
I turned to Hestia. “You were right. Narcissa Malfoy… she’s a shark alright.”
“This…” mumbled Susan. “This was the second kind, wasn’t it? You were experimenting while ensuring you’d….” she paused, midway, as it hit her. “Son of a… you were aiming for that settlement. Whatever it was. Wasn’t it?”
Her eyes drilled into mine.
I laughed. “Something like that.”
Susan scowled. “And you roped me into participating in this twisted game of yours. You knew I’d act how I did. You sly snake! Just how much did you plan ahead? And why pull Penelope into this mess?”
I arched an eyebrow. “I’ll accept all of your claims, Susan. But not that last one.” I turned towards Penelope, who looked down at the floor, her hands still shaking. “I remember telling you this several times that I don’t need your help. And I certainly didn’t need your testimony. It’d have changed nothing.”
“But — but I thought—” Penelope began.
“And who gave you permission to do that?” I glared at her. Penelope shrivelled under my gaze, which was funny given she was older and more qualified than I was. “Who told you that you can think what I was thinking? Stay in your bonnet, Clearwater!”
“Potter… Harry,” said Susan, her voice toned down. “I think you’re being incredibly unfair to her. She risked everything to support you in this trial.”
“Well, I didn’t ask her to do that, did I?” I glared at Susan, and she shut up. I laughed at Penelope, and it was cruel. “I love this twisted irony. You rejected my help because you wanted to keep your job out of your blasted pride. And now, you’ve lost that same job to help me with something I didn’t need in the first place. Hilarious, I tell you.”
Even Hestia had fallen silent. Tonks still kept on watching.
I exhaled, letting the anger dissipate from my mind. Truth be told, I wasn’t as angry as I’d have them believe, but it was necessary.
“Well?” I asked her. “What will you do now?”
“... take… job… if you…” she mumbled.
“LOUDER!”
Penelope flinched. As did Hannah.
“I said,” Penelope murmured, audible this time. “I was hoping you were still interested in giving me that job.”
“Oh. Now you want the job, do you?” I asked. “What happened to your pride? And look at me when I’m talking to you.”
Slowly, hesitatingly, Penelope met my eyes. She was shaking. “I—I—I just want to say that — ”
“That what? That you stammer? I can see your confidence booming!”
Hestia grabbed my arm and pressed it softly. The meaning was clear.
“I said I want to grab the opportunity. I don’t want to be — be a useless mudblood.”
I said nothing.
“I — I'll do whatever job you give me. Even if it isn’t what you were offering the last time. I — I'll work and prove my worth. You’ll not regret giving me this opportunity.”
I exhaled and turned to Hestia. “Arrange a meeting whenever it’s convenient. Check her credentials and see if she fits for… you know.”
Hestia nodded without a word.
I turned to Susan. “I’m… sorry I used you like that. If you’d like, I can make it up to you.”
Susan snorted. “If you think you can twist this into your benefit, Potter, you've got another thing coming.”
I laughed. “No. But I need a favour from you.”
“And you think I’ll grant you that? After all that, you pulled over me?”
“Yes.”
“How do I know you’ll end up using me again? How can I believe you?”
“Because you want to.”
Whatever she was expecting, my answer wasn’t it. Susan opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. She tried again, but to no avail.
“He’s got you good this time, Sue!” Hannah quipped, elbowing her.
“Shut up!” said Susan, flushing. “Fine! What do you want? And I swear if it’s something perverted, I’ll—”
I raised my hands in surrender. “Nothing like that. I just want a private audience with your aunt.”
“What?” Susan drawled. “You messed things up with me, so you’re trying on my aunt next? Fair warning, Potter. My aunt’s the DMLE Director. She wouldn’t even need a warrant to send you packing for Azkaban.”
I laughed. “Nothing so dastardly. I just want to talk about a couple of things. Give her some… information. Oh, and it has to be off the record.”
Susan narrowed her eyes. “What are you playing at, Potter?”
I smiled. “You’ll see. Can you arrange it?”
She shrugged. “I guess. I’ll talk to her. But she’ll obviously hear about your silly games, Potter. Whether she grants you the audience after that is up to her.”
“Fair enough.”
Notes:
If you want to support me, find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Chapter 41: Deja-Vu
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 1 - OUTLANDER
His secretary let her in.
A worried Penelope entered Harry Potter's office. The room was… like an office, she supposed. She was quaking too much out of tension to care for the finer details. She saw him sitting behind the desk, reading some files. He didn't even look up as he beckoned her to come forward with a finger.
Like she didn't even merit a word.
Harry Potter looked up, and there was something utterly mystifying about his intense, green eyes. Then his hand moved and lifted a folder that looked intensely familiar before he moved it in an arc and then threw it at her. The folder slapped her face and fell down.
Penelope couldn't even think about picking it up.
"Trash!" said Harry Potter, standing up. "Your credentials are trash. You're unqualified, and stupid and a mudblood. You're sloppy and you can't even handle a tray of drinks properly. What good are you, stupid mudblood?"
Penelope wanted to say that she wasn't here to be a waitress. But no word came out of her mouth.
"You're useless. Unqualified. Mediocre at best. Like a filthy mudblood, you've been clawing at things you don't deserve. Crabbe had the right idea. You deserve to be slapped around. Like a whore."
Penelope staggered.
"Tell me, mudblood, why should I hire you? Draco wants to throw you into his dungeons and use you as a cum-bucket. Crabbe wants to slap you around and Goyle thinks you're not worth his time. Maybe he'll piss on you if he feels like it. I'd know, They invited me to their party as a thank you gift."
"I— I—" she tried. "I can—"
"Do nothing," said Harry Potter, in a brutally disinterested tone. "My elf can get things done better than you, and it works for free. Fortescue won't take you, and Malfoy wants you for his dungeons."
Fear flooded inside her. "Please— please, please sir. Please just hire me."
"Hire you, you say?" asked Harry Potter. "Very well. Let's see. Walk up to me."
On wobbly legs, Penelope shuffled over to him, head bent low, unable to make eye contact.
"Now remove all your clothing, mudblood," he ordered. Penelope blushed, and before she could question herself why she was agreeing to it, she reached up, and with horribly shaking hands, began to undo the buttons of her blouse. When the last one was undone, she hesitated for a moment, but with a sigh of resignation, her shoulders slumping in defeat, she shrugged the blouse off to her shoulders, and let it fall to the floor. Her naked breasts, with nipples as hard as rock chips, stood prominently on display for her employer to see. There was this weird, twisted feeling in the pit of her stomach, which forced her to comply with her demands. Reaching behind her, she undid her skirt and then her panties, letting her shaved pussy come into view. Gravity did the rest, and the garments fell at her feet. Sensing Harry Potter's eyes on her, she could not bear to look up and meet them. She could only bite her lips and hover in that emotional space somewhere between excitement and humiliation, as she nervously awaited his next move.
She heard him leave his chair, and the twisted, burning feeling in her stomach went up. She saw him pull out a wooden paddle, and slither it up her waist all the way through her cleavage and neck, until it went off a trajectory, only to reverse and skid down her back, all the way until it slowed down to her arse.
"Now, Mudblood," said Harry Potter. "We'll see if you're worth anything. If you can follow my orders, you'll have the job of being my bitch. If not, I'll throw you to Malfoy and his ilk."
"...sir."
"LOUDER!"
Penelope almost pissed herself. "Ye—Yes! Sir!"
"Now cup your tits for me, Mudblood."
Reddening further, Penelope hesitated for a second, before reaching up and cupping her tits, lifting them up slightly. The feeling in her stomach was overpowering. Closing her eyes, she waited for what was about to happen.
SMACK!
The wooden paddle landed upon her right breast, and then upon her left, leaving bright red marks behind. Penelope screamed in pain as her breasts felt like they were on fire. She fought the urge to cover her breasts before Harry Potter smacked them again.
And again.
And again.
Tears streamed down her face. Penelope sobbed from the pain and the confusion. But no matter what, she did not leave. She could not leave. The twisted feeling in her stomach had reached a crescendo. It wanted the pain to continue. Pain was pleasure and pleasure lay in more pain.
SMACK!
SMACK!
SMACK!
"On your knees!" Harry Potter commanded. Like a rag doll, Penelope dropped on all fours. She felt Harry Potter stick two fingers in her pussy, which was gushing with her fluids. She— was she loving this? Did she crave this subjugation? Was she… his whore?
And then he pushed it into her.
Penelope could feel it, feel that cockhead against her slit. He reared his hip back and slammed forward. His first thrust smashed something very large and very thick into her. His width alone caused her to scream, stretching her to her widest. He continued to brutally jackhammer into her, forcing more of his spear into her insides. Penelope's eyes were bugging out of her head. He was splitting her. She was in agony. Tears welled from her eyes. If she hadn't been so well lubricated he would have ripped her vagina in two. Her reddened breasts bounced up and down with the force of his thrusts. He turned his abuse to them, squeezing, twisting, slapping and pulling. The pain was subsiding slowly. Each thrust brought more pleasure. He pulled at her nipples. She could feel something deep in her. He battered her cervix. Pleasure was mounting. Moans poured from her lips. She could feel her orgasm mounting. She raised her legs, trying to tighten for him. Pain returned, but he grunted. She was pleasing him. Her eyes rolled back. And then the little alarm clock beside her began to ring…
Wait. What?
…
…
Penelope opened her eyes, and found herself lying in her one room bed in Knockturn Alley, her mind still reeling from the dream. Harry Potter. She had dreamt of Harry Potter. Somehow, her mind had taken the rejections she had faced from Ministry bureaucrats, the constant reference to Draco Malfoy, the way Crabbe had assaulted her, and most importantly, her insecurities over finding a new job, with Harry Potter and his offer. Somehow, her mind had tied his dominance, his anger and his authority with her insecurities to create this monstrous persona that had her quaking in fear.
No, not fear.
And the reason for that correction was slightly below where her hands currently lay.
Arousal.
His dominance, his rage, his cruelty. It aroused her.
It was… it was so confusing. She knew Harry Potter was a good guy. For all his talk of taking advantage of Crabbe harassing her, he had been the one to actually do something about it. Whatever his intentions may have been, Penelope knew he was angry at how she had been treated. It was why he had instantly offered her a job.
A job she had been stupid enough to disregard to maintain her wounded sense of pride.
Penelope had been shaking when she had realised that Draco Malfoy wasn't going to prison, and that Harry Potter was speaking in his favour. She had no doubt that Malfoy would've instantly gotten her fired. He could've gotten her education loans called. He could've forbidden Diagon and Knockturn Alley businesses from hiring the silly, traitorous mudblood that needed to be taught her place. Pride was one thing, but the realisation that she was completely and thoroughly out of any job prospects was another. She had a single option.
Harry Potter.
She had only found out later that her panties had gotten wet just by being in his presence. When he spoke to her, the way he dominated her — it was arousing as much as it was terrifying. And that anger. That authority. Penelope had been conflicted between trying to speak up to him and feel ashamed of the orgasm she was suffering through.
Something — something was utterly wrong with her.
And now this dream— it was so chaotic. Her mind was in a mess, but her body was absolutely certain of what it wanted.
It wanted him.
It wanted him to dominate her.
It wanted him to make her his whore.
And that scared her.
Biting her lip, Penelope let her hand slowly run down her body. Heat poured off her excited core as she cupped it lightly. Even with her conflicted thoughts, she couldn't help but touch herself more firmly as she imagined the rest of her dream had the stupid alarm clock not broken it.
Lifting the oversized shirt she had worn before going off to sleep, Penelope slipped her hand into her drenched panties and traced her moist slit. A muffled whimper escaped her lips as a pleasurable tinge shot up her spine. Closing her eyes, she slowly inserted a single finger, trying to enact the dream, while her other hand moved up and slapped her excited nipples. Her teeth sank down her lips as she smacked her breasts with her right hand while pushing fingers— two at first, and then a third one, into her wetness, imagining Harry Potter doing the same to her. The rational part of her reminded her that she had a meeting with Harry Potter's secretary — that Jones woman, and that she needed to prepare herself. Another part of her whispered in sweet, dark overtones that maybe it'd be a good idea to be late. At least then she'd face another bout of his anger. Maybe, just maybe, he'd take it on her?
And she'd let him.
Her fingers pushed in and out through her dripping folds, as she whimpered again and again, whispering Harry's name in the dark corners of her mind. She had no idea what job he had in mind for her. Maybe she could tone down her performance, make mistakes? Maybe she could try being prideful in front of him, and then beg him for a second chance, even at the risk of being punished?
Her fingers pushed deeper.
No. Especially if she was getting punished.
By him.
Only by him.
Her thoughts went back to Susan and Hannah. They had thought they were being discreet, but Penelope had overheard Hannah talking about how rough Harry had been with her. How she had orgasmed like nothing she'd ever had. How he had made her a slut for his big cock.
Just what would Harry Potter do if Penelope offered herself to him? What if… what if she wanted to be demeaned by him? Put through a collar, like a bitch, and then be taken like one? What if he spat on her face? Maybe he'd fuck her pussy and her arse and then make her lick his cock clean? What if…. What if she wanted to be his mudblood whore?
Penelope clenched her teeth so hard that it hurt now. Eyes still closed, she pinched her nipple harder and imagined looking up to bright, green eyes. She could practically feel his weight on her body, and his breath on her neck.
She knew from Hannah that Hermione Granger, now a werewolf, was living with him. That Snyde woman had called his secretary a halfblood too. A secretively spiteful part of her complained at how a muggle born and halfblood were enjoying with Harry Potter while she was rotting in this one-bit shithole apartment. It was— it was so unfair.
Her body hunched in on itself, as her pleasure reached a crescendo, with his features covering her mind's eye.
"Harry!" she gasped in a desperate whimper.
Throwing her head back, she let out a scream, Her breath caught in her throat as she tumbled over the edge. Her juices squirted out of her, soaking her fingers and the bedsheet below. Writhing on her bed, Penelope desperately tried to control herself, her firm breasts bouncing wildly as she shook and buckled from the orgasm.
Maybe, just maybe, she should try to be a little late?
…
…
…
"God! I'm so late!" cried Penelope Clearwater, as she dashed across the streets of London. She had almost forgotten that she didn't know the part of London where he lived, so apparition wasn't an option. She was almost glad that she was a muggleborn — mudblood— with enough experience navigating through muggle London. She had called for the Knight Bus, and endured the excruciating journey, which left her looking like a natural disaster victim.
Thank God for combing and cleansing charms.
Yeah, even to this day, she ended up taking the word God over Merlin. So sue her.
Crossing the busy Tottenham Court Road, she entered the large complex where Harry Potter supposedly lived. It took a quick disillusionment charm to get past the guards. Penelope was sure that between her growing excitement and panic, she'd have only created a mess with muggle guards. No, disillusionment was far better. Quickly rushing past the outer gates, she slowed down until she reached the proper address.
Excelsior.
Penelope couldn't help but agree with the name. The building was three stories tall, and from the wards around the property, entirely magical. The lot it stood was meant for something a lot bigger. Instead, it had a well-manicured lawn and garden with a large private garage housing the limo she had seen parked outside the Leaky Cauldron some weeks ago. The building had a lot of stone and marble in its design, and seemed like a perfect blend of magical and muggle.
Taking a deep breath, she took a step through the wards, feeling the tingling sensation as the magics scanned and registered her. She had enough experience in warding to realise that the sensors were verifying her against several set parameters. No doubt there were quite a few nasty surprises in store for her in case the wards disagreed with anything. She wouldn't be surprised if there were several intent-based lethal wards thrown in the mix.
Penelope didn't panic. Panic got you killed. Instead she smoothly walked through the wards, and slipped into the small path that led to the outer door. As she reached for the doorbell, the doors opened and she found Miss Jones standing on the other side.
"You're late!" She said, looking cross with her.
"Sorry, I errr— just—"
"Enough with your excuses!" said Jones. "Come with me."
Silently, Penelope followed, taking careful note of the way magic was woven through the entire building. Whoever had designed this complex had a solid understanding of both muggle architecture as well as efficient ward design. She had no doubt that this mansion had all the features one would find in a wizarding manor, plus the benefits of living in a five-star muggle hotel. It reflected the nature of the person that lived and worked there — the son of a muggleborn and yet, a wizarding celebrity in his own right. Best of both worlds.
Excelsior indeed.
"I've gone through your credentials," said Hestia, as they walked through an enclosed corridor. "Outstanding in six subjects, with extra credit in enchanting and runecraft. You have submitted several papers on enchanting in your seventh year."
She nodded. There was a time when Penelope was very proud of her distinctions. It felt like a lifetime ago, even though it had been just two months.
"Also… I think I saw an Outstanding NEWT in Divination? You are a Seer?"
Penelope shrugged uneasily. "Professor Trelawney thinks I have the Eye. It's limited, but I can do cartomancy with significant accuracy. Is that… important?"
Miss Jones was engrossed in thought. Maybe she thought Seers to be frauds? Penelope couldn't blame her. Anyone that met Trelawney was likely to think of the same.
"Mr. Potter is in his office. I have forwarded him a copy of your academic records," said Miss Jones after a minute, keeping her tone professional. "I suggest you take this opportunity to secure a proper job as befits someone.. of your calibre."
With that, she knocked on the door twice, and heard a muffled 'Come in." Hestia gave her a nod, turned and walked away, leaving Penelope alone.
Swallowing, she opened the door, and took a step in. The room was… well, sophisticated, but she was too busy trying not to panic to pay any attention to it. She saw him sitting behind the desk, reading some files.
A feeling of intense deja-vu gripped her.
Harry Potter didn't even look up as he beckoned her to come forward with a finger.
Like she didn't even merit a word.
Harry Potter looked up, and there was something utterly mystifying about his intense, green eyes. Then his hand moved and lifted a folder….
Penelope swallowed.
Notes:
If you want to support me, find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Chapter 42: Welcome to My Parlor
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 1 - OUTLANDER
She saw him sitting behind the desk, reading some files.
A feeling of intense deja-vu gripped her.
Harry Potter didn't even look up as he beckoned her to come forward with a finger.
Like she didn't even merit a word.
Harry Potter looked up, and there was something utterly mystifying about his intense, green eyes. Then his hand moved and lifted a folder….
Penelope swallowed.
…
…
Fear could literally feel like ice water. A cold feeling that you swallowed, that rolled down your throat and spread into your chest. It stole your breath and made your heart labour when it shouldn't, before expanding into the belly and the hips, leaving quivers behind. Then it headed down to the thighs, and the knees, stealing the strength from your muscles that you could use to run away.
Penelope swallowed a mouthful of that fear, her eyes on the folder in Harry Potter's hand. She didn't want to think of how similar it was to her dream, and certainly not about what followed after he raised that folder.
She definitely didn't want to look down at her already drenched panties.
"This is your file, right?" asked Harry Potter.
"... yes," she mumbled.
"I couldn't hear you."
"Ye—yes, sir!"
"LOUDER!"
Penelope flinched, and nearly orgasmed at his tone. "So—sorry, sir! I— I said, yes. That's my file, yes."
"Good. Come closer."
"Ye—yes," Penelope croaked. Every single second was reminding her of her dream. How was this happening? But she didn't want to displease him any further so she quickly crossed the distance between them and stood at the edge of the table. Her nipples were already stiff, and her eyes scanned the table for the wooden paddle. A part of her kept warning her to leave and escape before things got out of hand. The rest of her just focussed on how her pussy clenched at the idea.
"Take a seat."
Penelope let out a small sigh of elation, while also fighting the burst of disappointment rising out of her. The constant dichotomy she was suffering was becoming excruciating. At this point, she just wanted one of them to happen, even if it was a re-enactment of her dream.
Harry Potter softly pushed the file across the table towards her. Did that mean he wasn't going to throw it at her? Why?
"Outstandings in six NEWTs. Exceeds Expectations in the rest. Multiple papers in publication. I'm a layman in the subject, and I think that your theory on structural lattices and their relationship with the stability of enchantments is phenomenal. If what you suggest is true, then the entire field of enchanting would see a major breakthrough."
'Rubbish! You think this classifies as work? I've better things to do than throw gold on your day-dream. Anne! Who allowed this mud—muggleborn to see me?'
Penelope kept quiet. She had heard the same response over and over. Ministry offices, private research organisations, individual sponsors— she had tried everything. By the time she had finished her NEWTs, her list of rejections had already crossed a score. Compared to that, what Harry Potter was saying was—
"It's tr— just a th—theory," she said. It took everything in her to say theory instead of trash.
"Well yes," said Harry Potter. Why wasn't he getting angry yet? Why wasn't he slapping her? Why wasn't he calling her a mudblood? Why? Why? Why?
"Someone of your calibre should be working in the highest echelons of the government. Hestia tells me that the Department of Mysteries should've snatched you right off the bat."
Penelope clenched her fists. She had indeed gotten a letter from the Department of Mysteries. But every Unspeakable intern had to pass through a formal check through the Litigation & Survey office, a minor department within the DMLE, that carried out a quick check about the person's records, possible criminal history, past recommendations, rejections and (much to her disbelief) what major pureblood families thought of them. Depending on all of them, the office gave a Yay or Nay sign.
Was this Harry Potter's way of taunting her? Every single word that came out of her lips sent her down memory lane, reminding her how she had been treated by the magical world. Was that what he was trying to show her? How helpless, how stupid, how pathetic she was? Was he indirectly stressing on how she had no other options than to do whatever he wanted?
If it was, why was he playing with her? It would be better if they just got on with it.
Her fingers began to undo her skirt, and she nearly stood up, ready to push it down to the floor.
"I mean, I can obviously understand you weren't hired," said Harry Potter, "which only speaks of how much the system is corrupted. I know I said I had a job for you, but that was before I knew of your credentials—"
The skirt was almost undone now.
" —I guess, the real question is, are you willing to work as a researcher for me?"
Penelope paused.
"..."
It took a few seconds for her brain to reboot, and a couple more to realise what he had said.
"I mean, you can always work as an enchanter, but I'd rather have you in a research position," finished Harry Potter kindly.
"You— you want to give— you want to give me—"
"Hire you as a researcher, yes," said Harry Potter. 'My new company, Moonforge Inc. deals in enchanting products. We take muggle technologies, and then enchant them for use for magicals. The major issues of course lie in the enchantment fading with time, and compatibility issues that muggle structures have with magic. I am hoping that if we can test your theory on this, and if it's a success, then we can change the enchanting industry for good." He paused, and cupped his chin. "Granted, I don't have any other workers at the moment, so it's mostly goblins doing the lion's share of the work. But I can get Hestia to throw in an employment offer in the paper. You'll have to help her screen for the right participants though, since neither I nor Hestia are experts on this subject."
Penelope opened her mouth. Then closed it. Then she opened it again.
She did the same thing over and over.
"Uh, do you want some water?" asked Harry Potter. "You look… uncomfortable."
"You— you're really giving me this job? No tricks?"
"Well, if you're interested, then yes. I understand if you have qualms over me using your theories and research for my company's exclusive profits, but I'm willing to pay you a good salary for it. Say, two hundred galleons per month, with accommodation and travel costs. You can live here, if you want, unless you disagree, which is perfectly fine."
Penelope decided that she must be dreaming. Harry Potter was inviting her to stay in this house- this mansion, over her shithole of an apartment? And two hundred galleons? Per month? Even if she worked overtime at the parlour, the highest she could imagine making wouldn't cross fifteen.
And that was without considering the other perks.
"Wha— what do I have to do to join?" She asked. Curse her! She needed to stop stammering.
"Well…" said Harry Potter, "I suppose you'll do better asking Hestia about that. She kind of runs the entire thing. I'm already in the process of acquiring a large building to use as my factory premises. Kind of like this house, only dedicated to the company. If you're onboard, then I can ask Hestia to hasten her search, and then we can progress from then on. For now, I can send you the existing research and product descriptions we have got. Once you're done, I'll get you in touch with the Gringotts representative. That is, of course, if you're on board."
"I am," said Penelope, inwardly glad at not having stammered this time.
Harry Potter looked surprised. "Oh… I suppose, awesome then. Do you prefer beer or firewhiskey? I think I have some muggle champagne if that's your type, what with being muggleborn and everything."
He pushed out of his chair and walked past the table and pressed against the wall on the right. A transparent section expanded out of the wall, revealing a tiny bar within it. She watched as he poured expensive firewhiskey in one glass, gave her a look, and then poured into another.
Then he held one out for her.
Penelope couldn't help herself. She stood up. Her mind was in a trance, stuck between trying to believe her good fortune, and not disappointing him. Whatever tiny functional part of her mind that was left kept pointing out that she was forgetting something important.
Something very important.
Penelope pushed the chair back, and walked up to him.
She took the glass gingerly and took a sip.
And then her skirt promptly fell off.
"..."
…
…
Harry Potter had not thrown her out. Harry Potter had offered her a job. Harry Potter would pay her two hundred galleons a month. Harry Potter had invited her to drink with him. Harry Potter was staring at her dripping panties.
Harry Potter had not thrown her out. Harry Potter had offered her a job. Harry Potter would pay her two hundred galleons a month. Harry Potter had invited her to drink with him. Harry Potter was staring at her dripping panties.
Harry Potter had not thrown her out….
Penelope just stood there, her mind stuck in a loop, her body frozen as she watched the kindly expression on Harry Potter's face change to surprise and then to amusement, before a gleam flashed in his eyes.
Her pussy clenched.
Slowly, he put his glass of firewhiskey down on the counter, before crouching down, his cool green gaze staring at her, his cruel mouth twisted into a smirk.
Her pussy clenched tighter. Penelope felt like she'd die out of shame.
And yet, she made no move to pick her skirt up.
Harry Potter reached down and grabbed her skirt, and with an exaggerated slowness, pulled it up. His hand came into contact with the dripping juices crawling down her left thigh, and a jolt of electricity ran up her spine. He finally pulled the skirt up to waist level, and stood close, very close to her, holding the skirt together.
Her mouth went dry like the Sahara. Something about the way he looked at her sent shivers down her spine, like he was sizing her up. Like she was a deer, and he was a lion, looking for his next meal.
"You must be careful, Miss Clearwater," he said, "People might get wrong signals."
She swallowed.
He came closer, closer, until he was able to reach her back. Just a slight more, and her breasts would be touching his chest. Penelope felt his thin, calloused, Quidditch-playing hands on the small of her back, as pulled the skirt up from all sides, and pushed her shirt back in, touching her arsecheeks in the process.
And she still did nothing.
"I mean, you do not wish for people to think you're a bad girl, are you?"
His low voice made her heart skip a beat. She stood there, like a mannequin, as he tied the skirt back together before taking a step back, like a sculptor evaluating his handiwork. Penelope was sure his gaze went down to that lone trickling droplet of her pussy juice that was hovering at her knee.
She bit her lip, uncertain. She felt like she was being tested, or maybe she was in the wrong place altogether.
"Look at me!"
Her pussy clenched at his firm tone. His piercing eyes were hard to look up to, and she feared he'd look into her soul and find her unworthy.
"You're my employee from now on. Mine. You must be cool, confident and collected, not a timid little mouse."
Her mouth dropped open. A mouse? He didn't even know her! She raised her chin defiantly, straightening up to his full height. She wasn't sure where the courage was coming from.
It couldn't have been because he said she was his belonging. Could it?
"Yes, sir!"
His lips twitched into a half-smile. "Very good."
Penelope nodded and started to walk towards the door. After that embarrassing moment, she wanted to hide in a dark corner. Disillusioned, under privacy wards. Maybe let the earth swallow her?
But Harry Potter had different ideas. He grabbed her wrist, making her gasp. He drew her close until they were almost nose to nose.
"Remember that you represent me now. Clean yourself up before you meet Hestia and start working. And Miss Clearwater?"
"Y-yes?"
"Don't let me down."
Penelope tried hard not to tremble, even though he had pulled her so close. He smelled clean like rainwater, but his hot breath on her face made her avert his eyes. Was this how he always acted? This demanding and confrontational? She had always seen him from afar, and he had always appeared like an introvert, happy to be within the confines of his two friends. She had always seen him as a boy.
This? This was a man.
A dangerous, domineering man.
A predator.
She gulped. "I will, sir."
He let her wrist go, and she moved quickly across the room towards the door, feeling his gaze on her back until the door closed behind her. When it clicked shut, she leaned back against it, and let out a deep breath.
Draco Malfoy was a dog. Hunting among packs.
Harry Potter was a tiger. Lone. Deadly, and absolutely terrifying.
Penelope knew she had gotten a massive opportunity. To become something she could be proud of. Why, oh why then, did she feel that she was an unsuspecting little fly that had crawled into a spider's web?
Notes:
If you want to support me, find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Chapter 43: Mystery
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 1 - OUTLANDER
I woke up in an unfamiliar bed. I was in bed alone, naked, with a single satin sheet covering my privates. A quick Scourgify set me straight, as memories of the last night came into focus. The room looked less like a bedroom and more like someone's private gallery. Portraits hung on the wall, several of which I recognized were muggle. I recognized a Van Gogh and a Salvador Dali among them, my gaze shifting to the bookshelves that boasted of a rather pristine and aristocratic collection, bound in thick, leather-bound volumes. The room boasted of a light aquiline colour scheme, perfectly blending with the sunlight filtering through the window.
I was in Alfriston, in East Sussex. In Narcissa's private holiday cottage, which now belonged to me. We had met in Gringotts before evening, and portkeyed to this place. She had gotten me into the house, showed me around. A Gringotts representative — a goblin called Axleblade had accompanied us, and I had formally declared that I found the property abiding the contract, after which Narcissa had taken me to the wardstone, and conducted the formalities. It was a good thing that I had experienced doing the same with my building, since it kept me from appearing like an ignorant fool. With everything settled, we had freed the goblin of his services. Narcissa had made a show of apparating away before I did, for appearance's sake, if nothing else. Or maybe she was just that paranoid about things. It made me wonder about the relationship she shared with Lucius.
With the cottage all to ourselves and the wards under my control, she had gotten all over me, her lips approaching mine. We had fallen into the bed in each other's arms, hungry for each other. I cannot really put it into words, but it felt like we were forging a connection that was absent in the mindless, physical fucking that we had had before. We got naked, and for once, there were no words. No comments on how much she enjoyed getting fucked by my stick. No comments on how exhilarating and divine her body felt like to me. It wasn't about rough sex either, no egotistical needs, or seeking solely pleasure.
Last night, I made love to Narcissa Malfoy.
It was gentle and loving. Her coos of pleasure in my ears felt better than any sexual moans she had made before. I was on top, and that was how it stayed. One position, a slow and steady pace. It was like nothing we had shared before.
Naturally, the information fluttering before my eyes didn't come as a surprise at all.
Narcissa Malfoy — 82% World Anchorage
Current World Anchor Analysis
World Anchor — 391
Required World Anchor — 15
Meta-Luck — 51.4
Gained Affinities from World Anchor — Narcissa Malfoy
Charms +9%
Spatial Magic +5%
Dark Arts +11%
Oh yes. My world had just gotten a tad more exciting. Especially now that I had seen literal proof of the power that World Anchorage held over others.
"Oh, you're awake!" said Narcissa as she sauntered into the room, clad in a satin robe which only accentuated her sexy figure. I met her eyes and found her smiling at me, glancing at my ruffled hair and chest.
"Morning. Is that for me?" I asked, pointing at the mug of hot cocoa she was holding in one hand.
"You wish!" She smirked and brought the mug to her lips, and took a tiny sip.
"Last night was great," I said, tapping the bed, gesturing to her to come sit beside me. Narcissa smiled and followed suit.
"You know, I think I gave you the wrong idea last night."
I arched an eyebrow.
"I mean, it was nice. Really… really nice. But maybe you've got a wrong impression of me."
"That deep down, you wish to be taken like a delicate, virginal angel?" I asked, and she laughed. "Don't worry, I know you too well for that. But a little delicate lovemaking from time to time spices things up, doesn't it?"
"Spice indeed," she agreed, taking another sip. "I mean, last night was fantastic. Incredible. I had never been with a guy who treated me like that. But… I don't expect us to do that every time. Maybe once every week when things are different, or once every two weeks. Any more is just a waste of your body and your talents."
"Just mine?"
She gave me a haughty look. "I have a divine body, sculpted to make sex look like art. You should thank your lucky stars you can perform adequately enough to pleasure me."
"Oh?" I asked, posing on my side, my lower half now visible. "Well, as they say, practice makes perfect."
"That it does," said Narcissa, eyeing my body hungrily. She eyed my firm chest before her gaze fell down to my throbbing cock. "If nothing else, I chose wisely."
With a flick of her hand, she vanished the mug and pushed me down upon the bed, crawled over me and stuck her tongue into my mouth. I felt the taste of fresh, warm cocoa on her lips and rolled over the bed, making it furiously, our bodies pressed against each other. Finally, I ended up being on her, pulling her legs apart and shoving my cock into her folds, pushing her upwards as she let out a long, stirring moan.
"What kind of guy are you, Potter?" she asked, rolling me over until she was on top. She grabbed me by my shoulders and met my eyes. "Are you in with me for the long haul? Willing to live a life of power, politics and debauchery? Are you going to leave a hill of corpses in your wake, while ending every night taking this hot pussy with your bare cock? Are you going to take this world by storm, and take what you want? Or are you going to settle with a pretty girl and fall into mediocrity? What are you?"
I kissed her lips. "Are we seriously having this conversation right now?"
She kissed me back. "Half the time we'll be spending with each other will be like this. If we cannot hold a conversation mid-coitus, we might as well not talk at all."
I laughed. She grabbed my cock and pushed herself down on it. I exhaled, now balls deep in Narcissa Malfoy.
"What do you think?"
She shook her head. "That won't work on me. I already have my opinion about you. I want to know what you think of yourself."
Translation — diplomacy wouldn't work. She'd make me speak what I thought and then judge me for it.
I knew that even this conversation was, like everything else, carefully planned. Narcissa Malfoy didn't do things by halves. But I had performed well in the past. It had only raised her estimation of my talents and my significance. Whether it was my prowess in bed, or my sneaky tactics about the Black lordship or my twisting Draco's situation while coming out smelling like roses, my value in her mind had steadily risen.
The world anchorage values were proof of that.
And now she needed to know more. She was on my side, that was for certain. But she wasn't mine. She hadn't devoted herself to me like Hermione had. But unlike Hermione, I wouldn't get Narcissa through emotion. No, I needed to show her exactly what I could do to get what I wanted.
Show her what kind of monster lurked behind my face, and see if it was compatible with the monster beneath hers.
I wonder what it said about me that knowing exactly how dangerous and lethal Narcissa was, I couldn't help but be attracted to her more than anyone else. Hermione had a hundred percent anchorage, and would probably even commit suicide if I asked her to. I did not know what I had done to deserve that kind of allegiance, but having it had… made it boring.
Now I wanted to hunt.
I wanted a fight.
I wanted to subdue my prey.
Like Narcissa. Hestia. Susan.
I wondered. Would I lose interest in them after I had conquered them, too?
"I… I wish to become God."
Narcissa went still. Whatever she had expected me to say, this was definitely not it. She pulled herself to a side, resting on one elbow, while still having my cock digging into her, and looked down at my face, studying my expressions with undivided attention.
"A God?"
"There is only power and those too weak to see it," I murmured. "Voldemort told me that, when we met for the first time, back in my first year. Of course, he was possessing Quirrel, and was nothing more than a wraith. Both of us stood there, both of us weak. I was a kid, with barely any knowledge of magic. He was less than the meanest shade. But even then, as he spoke to me, I knew things would be different in time. He would come back, stronger and more terrifying than ever. And if I had to match him, I too had to grow in power. He had his followers. I needed mine. He had support, fortune, and power. I needed those, too. He became the greatest Dark Lord in history. To meet him as equals, I needed to become something similar."
I paused. "A God. Light or Dark, it doesn't matter. I knew, even then, that it would be neither easy nor quick. I needed an alternative."
"And what is your alternative?" she asked.
"Battles are fought on multiple fronts. As I am now, Sans, another miracle, I cannot survive Lord Voldemort. But I don't need to. I have money, and with that, I can hire wands. Mercenaries. I have Albus Dumbledore, someone that matches him in power and knowledge. If I cannot win in magical power and skill, I will defeat him with a different weapon."
"Economics." she said.
I smiled. She was quick.
"That explains your movements. Taking the Potter lordship. Playing the Black fortune. Twisting the hearts of the fairer sex into following you." She laughed. "Wizarding Britain has always imagined the Boy-Who-Lived in myriad avatars. Successor of the Light, Merlin Reincarnated, a parallel Dark Lord — but an incubus? That is most surprising."
I froze, and her smile widened. The wily woman had caught on.
"Yes," she went on. "I know. You should remember, Potter. I exercise a minor Veela allure myself. It took me a while, but the answer was always there before my eyes. Harry Potter, a fledgling incubus. Taking over the hearts of the fairer sex through seduction and manipulation."
She grabbed my cock and clenched it slowly, and smiled.
"Correction. Once a fledgling incubus." But your powers have grown drastically. Your aura now is so very different from the one I bedded at Twilfit. It's darker, more mysterious and just… so much more."
Aura? What was that?
"But that isn't all there is, is it?" she asked. "I've spent years researching incubi and succubi-spawn. My research took me to the veela covens of rural France. I've experimented with restricted amounts of veela blood. Potent enough to grant me the power of allure, but limited enough to remain voluntary. I, not it, remain in control. A state of transformation that is closest to being veela without developing their inhuman traits."
I listened.
"But," she said, her eyes hawk-like, "your transformation isn't an induced one. It's natural. And yet, you're rational, functional. You show signs, but you're definitely a wizard. And yet, you are an Incubus. A perfect blend that is greater than the sum of its parts. An anomaly."
Her finger crawled over my chest.
"Honestly, Potter, even if you did not go for the Black Lordship, I'd still consider you an adequate subject to pass a decade observing. And observe I did, and what I have seen, I cannot explain."
"And you expect me to just tell you my secrets?"
She smiled. "Not at all. In fact, I'd rather you do not. It is much more fun finding things out by myself. Your power, it's growing. Faster than a wizard your age has any right to be. Your aura is darkening, but also becoming more. You see such changes across years, among masters of their craft, as they choose a new topic to devote their attention to. But you — your aura is changing by the week. It's too fast. Too significant. Too outstanding. And that is not all. I've paid attention to your business moves, Potter. You know what you are doing. And yet, you do not have any relatives. Your behaviour has changed dramatically since the onset of summer."
Her finger rested on my lips. "Just what happened to you, Harry Potter?"
Her lips twisted into a smile. "I will find out. And I will have so much fun finding out. Tell me Potter, no, Harry, tell me, do you truly mean it?"
I arched an eyebrow.
"You wish to become a God. That means walking a path few have thought of, much less travelled. Trample others as you walk ahead. The Dark Lord killed and left a hill of corpses in his wake. You are an incubus. Will you play with the hearts of men and women alike, willingly destroy their relationships, if it serves your ends? Will you become the monster that twists the emotions of his lovers and his enemies alike until the entire world is your toy? Friend against friend, mother against son, father against daughter, will you let the world burn if it means you can sit and warm your hands over it?"
Her voice was seductive, more so than ever. Her words resonated with my primal instincts. Instincts arising out of the memories of a man that had lived a different life. A man that had done exactly what she was describing. A man that had left a legacy of bloodshed so terrifying that people spoke my name in hushed tones. My name was—
"..."
I drew a blank.
How — how was this possible?
My name is—
This — this didn't make any sense at all. My name! How could I have forgotten my name? Granted, it was years since anyone had ever asked me my name. Most of the time, people knew who I was in sight, and any introductions I made were redundant.
But—
How is this possible? I know how I operated my business. I know how I was killed. I know how they killed me and who they were—
Another pause.
Their names. What were their names? I knew it. I knew it. My name, my mother's name, my father — nasty son of a bitch that he was—
But why couldn't I fucking remember?
I felt my breath cease as darkness spread across my vision. Blackness trailed from the corners like inky tentacles, and coiled around me, as if drawing me into myself, away from the reality outside. The world outside my eyes had gained a crimson sheen, and I froze in horror as something approached me from all sides. Something that looked like long, thin, skeletal arms wrapped in a dry, monochromatic grey sheet coming at me, the fingers crawling all over my face and pulling me deeper and deeper and deeper—
"Potter!"
I opened my eyes, my whole body shaking in mind-numbing terror, as I took in Narcissa's features. The woman quickly moved up, and held me tight, her aquiline eyes peering into mine with a mix of curiosity and concern.
"What's wrong? Tell me! Speak!"
"No — nothing!" I stammered. Damn it. Why was it so hard to be in control?
"It's definitely something!" she snapped. "You just froze one moment and opened your mouth like you were screaming from the inside, but no words came out. Your body went as cold as ice. It was like you were dead. And then the next moment, you shut your eyes and started shaking like—"
"It's nothing!" I said and pushed myself up. Damn it. Now she'd be even more curious. With a frightening amount of effort, I pushed away the turmoil bubbling within me, and focussed on changing the topic.
"Potter!" Narcissa retorted, no longer patient and loving. "We are in this together. I gave you my oaths. If there is something you're suffering from, I need to know."
I closed my eyes, taking deep breaths. I had to stop thinking. Stop thinking about why I couldn't remember my memories. I had all my business acumen, and I definitely knew a lot of things. For fuck's sake, I had even recognized Van Gogh and Salvador Dali.
Wait. How did I know what they were? How did I even know anything about those painters enough to recognize them by a single glance? My business certainly had nothing to do with that lot.
Or did it?
I did not know.
I did not fucking know.
Was this because of this stupid reincarnation thing? Had I fucked shit up somehow? Maybe I was being affected because I had changed the course of fate too much? Something was happening to me, and something was causing it. But what? How? Why?
"Potter!"
I did not respond. Instead, my eyes stayed shut, and I kept taking breaths.
Inhale. Exhale.
Inhale. Exhale.
Inhale—
Okay. This was better. Much better.
I opened my eyes and looked at Narcissa. She wasn't the kind I could shut up with a command, and knowing her, she'd get even more inquisitive. On the negative side, she could see this as me keeping secrets. I had to give her something.
For now.
"There was… an incident, just before the school term ended. Sirius Black was captured by the dementors and kissed."
Narcissa nodded.
"I… I was there when that happened. The dementors attacked while I was with Sirius. I tried to save him with my patronus. But I failed. There were a hundred dementors hovering around us."
"A hundred?"
"Looked like that. I didn't count. It was… blurry. And for a second , I was dead."
"...dead?"
I nodded. "Dead. The next thing I know, I'm waking up at the Hospital Wing."
"Maybe you just fell unconscious? Draco told me how Severus saved you."
Severus. I took careful note of that. Maybe there was more to their relationship than Death-Eater camaraderie? Was that why she approached him for the Unbreakable Vow in sixth-year canon?
It bore thinking about.
"Yes. But I was dead. Trust me, I know I was. And after I woke up, I had… changed. I had these impulses within me. Demanding me to act upon it. The impulses are mostly gone now, but sometimes it's difficult. I'm still trying to figure out what happened that night, but these incubus powers manifested in me right then. I think."
Narcissa narrowed her eyes. "That's… that's hippogriff dung! Dementors are the last creatures on this earth that have anything to do with Incubi. Just being in one's presence dulls one's ability to feel. Incubi are all about feeling and making others feel."
"Well, I'm not an expert, am I now?" I retorted, pushing a bit of my anger and my unease into my voice. "I'm hanging by the seat, testing it out. I'm not saying the dementor made me an incubus. It might have been something in my blood. Something in my parent's family tree. Maybe my mother had something similar for all I know. Whatever the dementor did to me, it just unleashed it."
Narcissa frowned. I could see her eyes moving quickly, considering my reasons and probably tallying it with her own knowledge and experience. Finally, she let out a refined snort. "It is possible, I suppose. After all, James Potter was enthralled with Lily Evans as a child. And Sirius always claimed that Lily Evans never gave him the time of day. Perhaps… perhaps she had enthralled him subconsciously, and did not know it? It would certainly explain why a pureblood would marry a mudblood, even at the risk of being cast out of his family."
I shrugged. Narcissa was watching me. If she expected me to display any reaction to the word mudblood, she was probably disappointed.
"Interesting," she went on. "You are a melting point of mysteries, Harry Potter. But we have digressed. Tell me, are you willing to commit those deeds to reach this godhood you aspire for?"
It was a simple question. At least, it seemed like it.
"Yes."
"Interesting," said Narcissa, her lips twisting into something cruel. "Then this is what we need to do, my love. We need to kill my husband, and we need to do that before the summer ends."
"Wait what?"
Notes:
If you want to support me, find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Chapter 44: Resolve
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 1 - OUTLANDER
The bathroom floor was swept in red.
The pain was mostly gone. Just a few weeks ago, those cilice teeth had been weeping in agony. Now it was just silence, listening to the sound of my breath, feeling the darkness seep into me as the relic gorged upon my blood and magic. Few weeks ago, I fell unconscious right after casting the healing spell. Now? I stood there, my hands against the wall. My legs weren't even shaking, the dark energy communing with the power of Natural Demon perk.
I waited until every single trace of blood had left my body. I had sealed off the sink, letting the bloodied water stagnate upon the floor. Switching off the shower, I grabbed my wand and charmed the waste water into a magically enlarged bucket. Once done, I vanished the contents entirely, leaving not a single bit of residue behind.
No. Not paranoid. I was using the bathroom inside Grimmauld Place, the ancestral home of the Blacks. A House infamous for its curses and black magic. There was no saying what one could do with discarded bits of my body.
Or blood. Especially blood.
The scars upon my chest were already fading, though the colour was still a mix of dark purple and angry pink. Another day, this would have been something to worry about. Today, I barely noticed it.
My mind was too busy rocking in turbulence to do anything else. Thinking about my past. Thinking about how I couldn't remember any names, including my own.
I had a brother, even though his name escaped me, the details of his life did not. Born first, he had the advantage of gaining world experience and the responsibility of expanding the family fortune. I remember watching from the shadows, as he quarrelled with my father — a man I could not remember, much less name— defending me, as my father spoke of my criminal behaviour. I remember him promising that everything would be okay, as I got sent to boarding school. The things I learnt there — languages, economics, business, philosophy, physics, chemistry, law. A world of rules. Of punishment. Of strength.
My father wanted to drown me in studies. Maybe he thought I'd crack. Maybe he thought I'd commit suicide. Maybe he thought he could remake me into something new.
I smiled at the thought.
It was almost a decade before I met my elder brother again. My bastard of a father had died of an ulcer. Nasty thing, I tell you. My mother, the whore, had left with a younger guy.
The family fortune rested on his hands now.
And Mine.
I remember how he smiled and hugged me. And it was genuine. Every. Little. Bit.
It was just how he was. He'd give me everything. Everything I wanted. All I had to do was ask him for it.
I hated every second of it. Every time I had to ask, it made me feel… less. Every time he fulfilled my requests, my anger grew just a tad more. Every time he smiled at me, I felt like I owed him.
But I got my vengeance. The last time I asked something of him, he didn't smile. How could he? You couldn't smile and say 'I forgive you' after I had slit your throat. Could you?
....
I know what you're thinking. Is this guy crazy? Trust me, I'm not crazy. You're crazy for thinking I'd be anything like Harry Potter. You're crazy for painting me with some anti-hero stereotype. If you only knew the things I had done, the things I had left behind in my wake, you'd have prayed to those merciless gods for ending my story right where it began.
But yes, I suppose I am a bit crazy. How else would I have acted the way I did?
The anger I felt at Tracey's helplessness.
The disdain on my face for Pureblood bigotry.
The desire in my heart to correct the wrongs of this world.
That was not me. So… why? Why did I — why was I acting like that? This world was fictional, but very real at the same time. Somewhere along the line, I had accepted this world as real, and with the rising anchorage, entrenching myself to this new reality. Could it be that in doing so, I was intrinsically rejecting my past life? Rejecting my 'history'? Was that what was causing this retrograde amnesia?
And if so, just how much would I lose? How long before I forgot myself completely to become Harry Potter?
The thought was not pleasant. This… this was wrong. This wasn't me. If only I could find a way to get my memories back. Get all of it back.
Do you wish to use Meta-Luck?
Tempting. Meta-Luck was sitting at a comfortable 51.4. Just ten points had been enough to twist my life from rotting at the Dursleys to owning an apartment and reasonable freedom from Albus Dumbledore. Just what could over five times that value do for me?
Tempting. Very tempting.
But no. The last time I had used it, I had gotten stuck with a permanent negative dragging my World Anchorage down. But that was because I didn't have any world anchors to rely on.
Mmm. Maybe I'll try them later.
I checked my stats.
AFFINITY
Transfiguration — 42%
Charms — 66%
Martial Magic — 59%
Dark Arts — 71%
Psychomancy — 15%
Alchemy — 21%
Spatial Magic — 36%
Magical Analytics — 23%
Magical Sensing - 14%
PERKS
Child of Prophecy, Outlander, Defiant, Horcrux, Librarian of Knowledge, Curse Born, Natural Demon, Devil's Charm.
Everything looked good. My affinity for the Dark Arts and Charms had skyrocketed, with Martial Magic running a close third. Now that I had Narcissa on my side, I could use her expertise to elevate my own skills in those subjects. Spatial magic was still a work in progress, but psychomancy was my greatest weakness right now. If not for Defiant perk saving my arse, every motherfucker with two-bit legilimency could make me their bitch.
But nothing gave a clue to solving my amnesia.
I checked the other perks.
PERK — OUTLANDER
Ability to see the Rules that govern this world on your Screen. You lucky dog! Everyone else is playing Trial and Error!
EFFECTS
Gain affinities from others by increasing World Anchors
World Anchors… That was the source of this giant mess. I checked deeper.
WORLD ANCHOR
A number representing how strongly you are tethered to reality.
"And what—" I stopped myself, realising where I was. For all I knew, Walburga was eavesdropping on me.
What does that mean?
You are an Outlander. An alien to this Reality. World Anchors are bonds you share with existences that are part of this reality.
I already knew that.
What happens to my past reality as my world anchors grow?
Increasing anchorage to current reality disintegrates ties to another.
A shiver ran down my spine.
When does it disintegrate completely?
Insufficient Data
I narrowed my eyes. This was the first time the Screen had shown something like this. But maybe, maybe I could tackle it differently?
Is there… Is there an optimal anchorage value?
This time the results were more defined.
1000
A thousand. Well, I wasn't sure if the number held any special significance or was simply part of game mechanics. Either way, it made things easier to calculate.
Show me my current anchorage.
Displaying Current World Anchorage
Romilda Vane — 17% — Boosting required within 4 days
Ginny Weasley — 53%
Hermione Granger — 100%
Dobby — 43%
Hestia Jones — 42%
Tracey Davis — 9% — Boosting required within 6 days
Narcissa Malfoy — 82%
Hannah Abbott — 14%
Cynthia Abbott — 31%
Current Anchorage (Total) : 391
Boosting? What the hell was that?
Adding World Anchorage to existing parties through tantric sex rituals.
World Anchors less than 50% require boosting at periodic intervals or else they begin to disintegrate at 1/day.
This just kept on giving. But still, four days? six? You'd think a system as complex as this would have some kind of reminder alarm system within it.
Alarm Option Available.
Cost — 2 Meta-Luck
Enable?
I rolled my eyes. No such thing as free lunch, after all.
"Not now. Maybe Later."
I looked back at my list. Tracey I could manage, but Romilda? Chances of me getting to her within the next four days were not zero, but the sheer effort wouldn't be worth it. I didn't even like Romilda. She was hot, and a good lay, and absolutely helped me out of my first tight spot in this world, but that's about it. It's a cruel reality, but sometimes, we simply don't like people. Not because they're evil or boring, but in much the same way some people don't like chocolate, or why others prefer bourbon over scotch. It's simply a matter of taste. I could easily replace her with someone new, or maybe raise Hannah or Tracey's anchorage to counter Romilda's. Even if I missed Tracey, I could always restart the process for her. The anchorage wouldn't cancel our ongoing deal. With the Child of Prophecy perk active, my chances of meeting new people were always high.
I ran my fingers through my scalp. What a strange dichotomy I had found myself in. If I raised my world anchorage to a thousand, I'd probably forget more than just names from my past life. This world— this fictional world, would become my reality. On the other hand, if I didn't, then I'd not become powerful enough to face the problem awaiting me at the end of summer.
I was conspiring with Narcissa to kill her husband. I was fucking Hestia, trying to turn her into my spy against Albus Dumbledore, all the while using her skills and my fortune to stir Broderick Greengrass's nest. And in the middle of this was my plan to manipulate Amelia Bones in the very near future.
All of which, in one way or another, aimed to solve the problem awaiting at the end.
Lord Voldemort.
I also couldn't trust my knowledge of canon. My past life's memory was fading. And I couldn't trust whatever this Screen system wanted from me.
If you were me, would you bet on me?
No, right? I don't blame you. Unfortunately, you don't know me. Don't know who I was.
And neither did this world.
But soon. Very soon, it would find out.
"You're progressing nicely," said Walburga Black in appraisal. "The cilice is ready for the ritual. The power and blood requirements have been met. That you are standing here is proof in itself."
I arched an eyebrow. Regardless of our arrangement, I had not invited Narcissa to Grimmauld Place. Narcissa had been too proud to ask that of me, and I was simply too paranoid to invite her in. Besides, Walburga would've told her everything either way.
"I don't understand. I've done what I've done the last time, and every time before that."
Walburga threw her head back and cackled. "You think it was the same? That cilice guzzles away your blood and magic, and unleashes its curses into your bloodstream. With every single session, the curses in your blood accumulate, and the cilice drinks deeper and poisons your soul, drawing far, far more than your blood and magic."
I stared at her, speechless.
"Despite that, you have persevered through it, and have grown stronger and stronger, when you should've been growing weaker and weaker. I hid your progress from you, trying to test your limits, and you didn't disappoint me."
I knew what she was talking about. The World Anchors. With the gradual rise in anchorage, my affinity for different aspects of magic had continued to grow. I did not know if it also impacted my magical capacity — assuming there was such a thing, but it was the only explanation that made any sense. That meant that if I could gain some more anchorage before the summer ended, it'd play wonderfully in my favour.
Especially if I wanted to kill Lucius Malfoy. And finish the ritual. Which would also hasten the anchorage growth.
Motherfucker. I was damned both ways, wasn't I?
But that was fine. If I had to throw away my memories, if I had to reject my past life to become Harry Potter, then Harry Potter I'd be. The Harry Potter that wizarding Britain, nay, the Wizarding World, would come to fear. I was given these powers for a reason, so if I don't make a change, then who will? No, I'm the only person who can do it.
And I will.
With Meta-Luck, I will change the world, change History itself. And only then, will this world start moving in the right direction, filled with people whom I've judged worthy to live in it. Voldemort might have been the most dangerous Dark Lord in recent history, but I….
I'll become the God of this new world.
"What do you need me to do?"
Walburga looked at me with appreciation. "Ideally, I'd prefer one more session before we progress to the ritual, but it is time we move into the second aspect of the preparation."
"Which is?"
"The ritual with the cilice will grant you the great and terrible power of the yenaldooshi. It is time you began learning the curses you can use as one."
"You mean—"
Walburga's ethereal eyes glinted with morbid satisfaction. "It is time you began learning the Black Family Magic."
Notes:
If you want to support me, find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Chapter 45: Curiosity Killed The Cat
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 1- OUTLANDER
Penelope knew she was smarter than most.
Academically, that is. One of the 'freaks' out there that somehow turned out to be an excellent runesmith and arithmancer, in addition to being a fair hand at Charms. It allowed her to not just fine tune her charmswork, but also alter the spells to suit her purposes, thanks to her unique magical disposition. In a fair world, she'd probably have been a spellcrafter working for the Department of Mysteries. She had often daydreamed of working with abstruse magic, and dare she hoped, proprietary Family Magic stored in the grimoires of those Ancient and Noble Houses. Compared to that, working for Harry Potter was far more mundane, the applications grounded in reality than in the esoteric.
Still, where it lacked the mystery, it more than made up with its need for flexibility, especially because it was allowing her to experiment her own theory she had submitted in hopes for an Enchanting Mastery. Just like Harry Potter (Sir) had said, her research could revolutionize the enchanting industry by decades.
With her skills, she could progress at almost superhuman speeds, her ability to tweak spell lattices allowing her to do whatever needed to be done ten times quicker than normal. It did not however, mean that she got paid ten times as much. Basic market economics said that if her employer wished for her to work that hard, he should have paid her that much. Ideally, she should've just finished her work within the first four hours of the day, and then returned to her room to lounge around in the extremely comfy bed, or maybe peruse through Witch Weekly or get some window-shopping done.
Instead she was on her desk, despite it being late into the evening.
Why? The answer was simple.
Two. Hundred. Galleons. Per month. Plus accommodation and other expenses.
She knew that a DOM job would've paid her along similar lines — maybe a bit more after finishing her apprenticeship, but hey, it wasn't like she was getting the apprenticeship anytime soon. Instead she had Harry Potter enter her life like God's gift to unfortunate mudbloods and offer her something beyond all expectations. And so she worked to surpass all expectations. Just so that he'd look at her and smile—
Maul her arse —
—and say that she made him proud.
Penelope blinked. She had not just thought that. Despite her growing infatuation with her employer, and the increasingly erotic nature of her dreams, Harry Potter had maintained a professional distance between them. Hell, even when she had stood before him in drenched panties, he had pulled her skirt and tied it back up—
— While touching her juices crawling down her leg.
Penelope flushed, and resisted the urge to bang her head on her table. How was she supposed to ever look at him with a straight face again?
She glanced at the clock to her right.
"Bugger! It's already eight?"
She was supposed to submit a new proposal first thing the next morning. If he approved of it, then she'd be authorized to draw the necessary gold out of Gringotts and use it for the development process. However before that could be done, she needed to run the proposal by Miss Jones first. Yes, it was Miss Jones and not Hestia, because only people that she worked for, or her colleagues got to call her that. Penelope wanted to mention that Hermione Granger fell in neither category but she knew better than to mention that.
It was Miss Jones's job to cut expenses as much as possible out of the proposals submitted to Harry's desk, because in her own words, Harry would waste away his fortune in a week otherwise. Penelope had no reason to poke into Miss Jones's business and wisely stayed silent.
But where could she find her? Penelope was still somewhat of a stranger in this mansion. In her defense, it was larger and more circuitous from the inside than the outside — an exemplary application of spatial charms. She had limited herself to her room (which looked less like a bedroom and more like a waste paper basket) and Jones's office, except that first visit to Harry Potter's office.
And now she'd be there tomorrow as well.
Maybe this time, he'll spank me?
She held her head in dismay. What the hell was wrong with her? It wasn't like she hadn't had a crush before. Yes, she was inexperienced, not for a lack of interest on her part, but because Percy Weasley was just that much of a prude. For someone whose track record was seven seconds and done, he was an overly snobbish bastard.
Pushing herself off her chair, Penelope straightened her dress, grabbed the folder, and walked out of her room.
The mansion was a far cry from the traditional pureblood manor. There were no portraits, paintings, or tasteful carpets decorating the walls and floors. No suits of armor on the hallways, or expensive rugs and sculptures decorating the hallways. Instead the house boasted a minimalist design, bringing out the spaciousness of the edifice, the brightly coloured walls offering a stark contrast to the dark shades on the floor and the furniture, adding to the aesthetic feel. Adding in spatial charms, the house felt at least ten times larger on the inside than the outside.
It wasn't traditional and wasn't muggle. It was… futuristic. A single look at the building design was enough to prove that Harry Potter was a visionary.
She stepped out of the corridor leading to her room and descended down the stairs to the ground floor. She had seen Miss Jones sit and chat with Hermione Granger here in the living room after dinner. Between Miss Jones and Granger, Penelope had the feeling that she had stepped into overly-claimed territory. Plus, she was almost certain that Granger did not like her very much.
But she didn't mind. The feeling was mutual. Here she was, working her arse off from morning to evening to earn her keep, and that was after she had been through hell and back. Granger? She was the lucky bitch that happened to be friends with Harry Potter.
Penelope had heard rumors about how Granger was opening her legs for Harry Potter, but she was less inclined to believe them. And even if she did, so what? Muggleborns had a hard life as it was, but a muggleborn werewolf? Had she been anyone else, Hermione Granger would have to whore herself in Knockturn Alley to make ends meet.
Instead she was living here, in this heavenly mansion, thanks to Harry's magnanimity. The least she could do was open her legs to prove to be a decent fuck.
Penelope scowled. It was just so unfair.
She crossed the guestrooms, and found Miss Jones walking downstairs. Penelope extended her hand to call her out, but right then, Harry Potter stepped into her field of vision from a different corridor and snaked his arm around Miss Jones's waist. Her words dying in her throat, Penelope stared, her eyes glued at him as his hands reached all the way to the woman's neck, and pulled her close and kissed her, while his other hand snaked down to her waist, beneath her skirt, and massaged her arse.
Penelope shivered. Her core was already so wet, so ready that she felt juices drip down her panties.
Then Harry Potter grabbed Miss Jones by her hair, and pulled her back, the woman hissing in pain and pleasure, as he attacked her neck, sucking it and moving downwards. Without any preamble, he pushed her against the wall behind her, and attacked her like a ravenous animal, his hand digging into her skirt and cupping her sex. Given the way the woman was moaning and kept pushing herself upward, he was fingering deep and hard into her folds.
It took everything for Penelope not to orgasm right then and there. Just what was it that Harry Potter did to her? Her own attraction notwithstanding, she was orgasming just from seeing him finger another. What would it be like when he did the same to her? Would she even survive?
In one swift motion, Harry Potter slipped Miss Jones's skirt down, and the woman allowed him, stepping out of it. The shirt shared its fate, leaving the woman in her bra and panties. Penelope scowled at her round arse, which was definitely better than hers, but she liked to think she had her beat in the breast category.
"Be a good girl. Hold still," he said, and pulled out something from his pocket, something that looked like black leather and attached to chains. And then he reached up and secured it around her neck. A collar!
She didn't protest.
Then he grabbed her wrists, and cuffed them, and bound her hands to the hook in front of the collar. Hestia Jones just stood in front of him, completely unmoving, allowing him to do as he wished. And then, as if he had not destroyed Penelope's notions of submission, he attached a leash to it.
"Come, Hestia."
It was a command, like how you'd call a dog.
Hestia didn't defy him. He yanked the chain and they started walking. Downstairs. Penelope knew where that led to — the dungeons. She was barred from going there. Hestia had told her right off the bat the first day. She was to do her job, and keep to her room, and should Harry Potter insist, join them for meals. Given that he mostly stayed out, chances of that happening had been zero so far.
Okay. That's it. Walk away. You're not supposed to enter the dungeons. Whatever Harry Potter and Jones get on to in their own time is private. Just turn around and walk away and everything would be fine. Turn around, return to your room and forget about this. That's exactly what you should do right now.
The folder slowly slid down her hand, slipping over her dress and softly hit the floor.
"Obscurata!" She murmured, casting the disillusionment charm with her wand, and silenced her feet. And then she walked down the dark, winding staircase with sconces on the wall that led to the dungeons. If Penelope had been excited before, the sexual undercurrent was shocking her now like electricity. She had come down expecting something like the Hogwarts dungeons— dark and dreary with winding, serpentine tunnels. Instead she found herself in an open, spacious foyer down the stairs, with a humongous candle-lit chandelier hanging above, and large, arched doorways with oak-doors marking the periphery of the circular hall.
She followed as Harry Potter dragged Hestia Jones past one door, into a long hallway. It was dimmer than the rest of the house with a dark, purple carpet, making her wonder exactly how large Excelsior was on the inside. The corridor was mysterious with a sense of dark seductiveness. One of the doors was unlocked, and Penelope, unable to help herself, sneaked a peek inside.
She instantly wished she hadn't.
Hermione Granger, chained with her hands above her head, being — Penelope wasn't sure what was the right word to use — ravished, assaulted, violated by Ginny Weasley of all people, who was currently sitting on her knees, her tongue digging into the girl's wet folds. The maniacal expression on Granger's face as Weasley dug deeper and deeper with her tongue looked less pleased and more hungry. The animalistic kind, with her eyes glowing silver of all things, and her body arched backwards in pleasure.
Her insides spun.
What— what is this place?
A daunting dread began to fill inside her, chilling her bones. Her pussy clenched. Mind-bending terror or mind-melting desire. What was she feeling?
Only one way to find out.
They were standing in front of a swing suspended from the ceiling by heavy duty metal hooks. Penelope watched as Harry Potter undid the chain that tied both of Hestia's hands together, and lifted her like she barely weighed more than a child, and raised her arms upwards, the leathery cuffs attaching to the metal hooks like a jack fitting into a socket — sticking enchantments at play. Once her hands were secured, he spread her legs wide and strapped them with the hooks below. Hestia Jones hung there, opened up before him, nothing hidden from his view. Penelope expected to see shock, horror, fear, or at the very least, anxiety in her eyes. Instead her face was flushed, and drunk with pleasure and a carnal hunger, welcoming everything he was doing to her.
Penelope watched as Harry unbuttoned his shirt with a surgical precision and dropped it on the floor. She couldn't help but lick her lips at his chiseled chest, and hungrily waited for him to undo his belt and his pants. Instead, he reached for Hestia's bra and, summoning a pair of scissors of all things, began cutting it, the shiny, cold metal furrowing through her cleavage. The way Hestia shivered, those blades were colder than ice. The bra, now in two pieces, slid off her breasts, as Harry Potter leaned over and rolled each nipple between his fingers, pinching them hard as Hestia gasped.
"Do you like that, my slave?" he asked.
"Yes," Penelope exhaled hard at his words, her pussy heating below. Her own nipples were erect and ready for his attention. "Yes. Yes, sir."
Hestia just groaned.
"Good girl," he said, and lifted his hand off her nipples, and — Penelope couldn't believe her eyes— wandlessly summoned a crop and lashed it against the nipple.
Penelope audibly winced, but it was lost in Hestia's scream. Harry Potter grabbed Hestia by the throat, suffocating her, and then brought the crop to the other nipple.
"This is what you get by being with me, Hestia," he said. "I will use you as I please, I give you pain when it pleases me, and pleasure only when I think you deserve it. Do you think you deserve it now, slave?"
His wrist flicked again, bringing the crop to the first nipple. Hestia whimpered, tears burning her eyes.
"I— I don't know Har—"
"SIR!"
Down came another lash.
"Ssss— SIR!" Hestia yelped, pulling against the cuffs, writhing and unable to help herself. Penelope was conflicted between doing something, keeping herself quiet and suppressing the urge to finger herself, all the while waiting for the next blow to all, wondering what it would feel like, and fearing it all the same.
"Your days working for the Order are over!" He said. "From now on, you only work for me."
The crop whipped down, this time upon the insides of her left thigh. Hestia threw her head back and screamed, spit and drool all over her mouth and face.
"Do you understand?"
"Yes— yes, sir!"
Tears were trailing down her eyes, but in Penelope's eyes, Hestia Jones never looked more alive. Her body was on fire from the sheer eroticism of the moment. She couldn't wait until she was there in Jones' place, her body heating more and more from just imagining what else Harry Potter could do to her.
"You have failed me, Hestia. And you know how."
Down came the crop. Right thigh this time.
Hestia yelped in affirmation.
"And despite knowing it, you've done nothing to change it."
Again. This time on her right breast. Just beneath the nipple. His hands moved down and he pushed three fingers inside her folds, digging it all the way. Penelope watched, wide-eyed as he brought his fingers out, rich and drenched with Hestia's cum, and then dragged it all the way upwards, through her cleavage, all the way into her mouth. As Hestia locked her lips around his fingers, sucking her own juices, he brought the crop right above her pussy.
Hestia yelled, spasming, throwing her hands and legs out, the pain jolting through her.
Penelope bit her lip, barely managing to stay quiet. She wasn't sure if the silencing charm was still holding, and she wasn't skilled enough to cast it non-verbally. Seeing Hestia like that sent jolts of awareness through her, fear and desire indistinguishable. All she felt was the intensity, and her body reacted.
Harry Potter grabbed Hestia by her neck, and lifted her head, looking into her orbs. "Do what I've asked of you, Hestia, or you will be punished. Do you know how?"
Jones looked at the crop with fear in her eyes.
Harry Potter smiled. And it was a dark thing.
"No Hestia. Not the crop. If you fail, then I won't touch you. Ever."
Hestia whimpered.
"Is that clear?"
Hestia exhaled. "Yes, sir."
Penelope didn't wait any longer. She was seconds away from orgasming, and she needed to get away. There was no saying what would happen if she lost control there. She had to leave. She had to leave. With one lasting glance at Hestia's form, Penelope turned around and slipped away.
An hour later, Penelope Clearwater lay in her bed, her sheets drenched with her juices, with two fingers of her left hand digging into her folds, as she closed her eyes and pretended it belonged to a certain green-eyed employer of hers. Her right hand was already moist with her juices, and mauling her breasts, rubbing her own cum all over her chest.
The doorbell rang.
Penelope jumped up with a yelp, wondering who it was that had come to her room this late. Quickly casting a Scourgify, she summoned a robe and wore it over her, and approached the door to open it.
Hermione Granger stood on the other side. Wearing sleepwear. Holding a folder in her hand.
Penelope opened her mouth, and then closed it. She tried again, but to the same result.
"I found it on the floor in the living room downstairs," said Hermione Granger. Penelope tried hard not to remember the previous sight, how she had found Granger, and with whom. Thanks to magic, there was no way to say if she had bathed, had changed and dried her hair.
She looked at the folder in her hand.
Granger thrust it at her.
Penelope grabbed it. "Erm, thanks."
"Don't mention it," said Granger. "I should tell you that Harry doesn't appreciate sloppiness. How you became a head girl with that attitude, I'll never understand."
That rankled. Who did this girl think she was?
"You'll understand," she replied, if a bit stiffly, "you haven't even passed your OWLs after all. You've got a long way to go."
Granger's lips twisted slightly. Penelope told herself that being scathing to her employer's best friend wouldn't score her any points. It didn't make her feel any better but it got her anger under control. She had borne the scathing remarks from Malfoy and his ilk, but she had never reacted. She had suffered through numerous rejections and had still not reacted. Just what was it about Hermione Granger that got under her skin so much?
She didn't know, and she didn't want to know.
"Thank you," she said, with a practiced smile that she used back when she was waitressing. "And it was clumsy of me. I'll try to be better next time."
A strange gleam flashed in Granger's eyes, reminding her of the silver she had seen before. Granger had always been a high-strung snobbish little know-it-all, but now, there was a certain ferality in her. The werewolf curse perhaps?
"If that is all?" She asked. When Granger just shook her head, Penelope grabbed the door to close it, when the werewolf held the door open with a palm.
"A word to the wise, Clearwater," said Granger.
"...Yes?"
"Next time you decide to peek into a room that isn't your own, you'd better be prepared to take part in whatever is happening inside."
Penelope froze, her face turning an intense shade of red.
Granger let the door close, her eyes glowing silver at the last moment. "Good night."
Notes:
If you want to support me, find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Chapter 46: Sloppiness
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 1 - OUTLANDER
Penelope fidgeted impatiently and checked the time again. After the episode last night, she had been unable to find Hestia — Miss Jones, she reminded herself. It was difficult to return the secretary to the pedestal she had put her earlier, especially after all that she had witnessed the previous night. No, she was Hestia. Hestia the slut; Hestia the whore, Hestia the collared bitch that Harry Potter commanded like a dog. No, not a dog. Bitch.
Collared bitch.
After the episode in the dungeons, and the shock that Granger had given her, Penelope had lost the ability to think. She had blankly returned to her bed, and fingered herself to sleep. If she was previously infatuated with Harry Potter, she didn't know what to think of him now. All those dreams— all those erotic dreams of him mauling her breasts, treating her like she was less than human, punishing her and fucking her— they were all true. They could be true. Harry Potter collared his women and treated them like bitches. Maybe that was what her dreams were telling her? That this was going to be her fate unless she left this den of debauchery into the safety of her old world? But could she? Would she?
The salary, the freedom, the living accommodations— it was beyond anything she had ever expected. And if she were honest with herself, she wasn't afraid of what Harry Potter would do to her. No, she was afraid of what she'd do if he had his way with her.
She glanced at the clock.
Just as ordered, she had submitted her proposal to his desk the first thing in the morning. All that remained was for him to summon her and tell her what he thought of it. If he approved, she could move ahead with the research and purchase everything as briefed in the proposal. If not… well, she'd have to see.
Unfortunately, she hadn't gotten Hestia to go through it. She hoped the bitch wouldn't make things worse for her.
It was 8:30 in the morning, and Harry Potter entered his office exactly at 8:15. He was oddly punctual that way. Fifteen minutes had passed, and she knew hers would be the first on the to-do list for the day. Anxious, she waited nervously.
She was unsure why she was nervous. Penelope was generally a confident woman. Sure, her confidence had suffered a constant barrage of blows over the last few months, but that was just the bigoted purebloods fucking with her life. Her skills were still top-notch, or the Department of Mysteries wouldn't have sent her the apprenticeship letter. Harry Potter had hired her on spot after seeing her resume, and she doubted she had over bloated the proposal with needless costs.
Still… this was Harry Potter and—
—This is what you get by being with me… I will use you as I please, I give you pain when it pleases me, and pleasure only when I think you deserve it. Do you think you deserve it now, slave? —
Penelope crossed her legs unconsciously.
She decided to pour a glass of firewhiskey. It wasn't a very expensive one, but one of the better ones. Penelope wasn't a drinker but she'd be damned if she didn't help herself to some liquid courage right now. Literally. Her hands shook slightly as she held the glass and—
"Penelope! Get in here, now!"
—her hand slipped, spilling the firewhiskey upon her office clothes. The sound had come out of the Speaker system placed in her room — a muggle sound appliance made magical through skillful use of eavesdropping and switching spells. She hadn't known that it was connected to her room.
Then she noticed the state of her clothes. The firewhiskey had fallen all over her blouse, wetting and staining the entire thing. She cast a vanishing charm, but the damage was already done. The firewhiskey had stained the fabric and nothing short of perfectly cast Untransfiguration could remove it.
Shit! Shit! If there was one thing Harry Potter hated, it was sloppiness, as Granger had put it. In Harry Potter's words, she represented him, so anything that was subpar in her performance reflected badly on him. Unfortunately, not even a finely cast Reparo would be able to undo this. Maybe a muggle washing machine could, but unfortunately, this house didn't have one.
Just her luck.
"Which part of Get in here, now, wasn't clear?"
Penelope yelped again, and stood up, grasping her wand, and dashed out of her room, little waves of anxiety rippling through her. Part of her wondered if he'd be unhappy with her appearance, and if that'd get her in that room, hanging down those metal hooks and leather straps, naked before a scantily clad Harry Potter, crop in hand.
Shut up, me!
She poked her head through the doorway she had passed before, and to her horror, it led to another hallway, further into the depths of the house. She looked around at the different doors, searching for the right way to go. Seven years at Hogwarts with the moving staircases, and these corridors were getting the better of her? How? Why?
He knows I don't know his floor plan. He knows I've only been here once before. He'd understand that I got lost.
…Right?
Part of her wondered if he was doing this on purpose, just to get her to make a mistake and land up in one of those rooms. Harry Potter was exactly the sort of bastard to engage in twisted games like that. She had seen him do something similar with Malfoy and Susan Bones.
After traversing through roughly sixteen rooms, she managed to reach the corridor in the front-facing part of the home. She stood at the entrance to the foyer, and gave a little jump of joy at finally spotting something familiar, and turned right into the corridor that Hes— Miss Jones— had taken her through the first time she had come to meet Harry Potter. She reached to rap her knuckles against the door—
"Come in."
Who does he think he is? Albus freaking Dumbledore?
The door opened and she stepped in.
Harry Potter was not alone.
No, there were two girls with him — Hermione Granger and a chestnut-haired girl that looked similar in age. Penelope hadn't seen her sitting at the Gryffindor table before, and certainly not in Harry's group. Maybe someone from a different House? Definitely not any of the Ravenclaws or she'd have noticed, so perhaps from the other Houses? The girl sat on one of the chairs, next to Hermione Granger, who had turned to give Penelope a condescending leer. Seriously, what was wrong with this girl? The more Penelope met her, the more she was convinced that she was insecure about being the most brainy girl in the room.
With due reason, she thought spitefully.
She crossed the distance between the door and his table quickly, and stood to one side of the table, awaiting further instruction. Harry Potter looked at her, before his eyes narrowed at her chest. Before she could say something, he met her eyes.
"I read your proposal."
Penelope found herself staring a little. After last night, his broad shoulders felt more prominent, as did his chest. The white shirt he was wearing fitted him to a tee, and she could see the muscles bulging through the rolled-up sleeves. She wasn't sure if she had noticed it before, but his eyes were piercing green, like the shade of the killing curse and his—
"—ss Clearwater?"
His words shook her out, and Penelope realized she was staring a little. Quickly recovering, she apologized to his chest, unable to meet his eyes.
He gestured towards the chestnut-haired girl. "Meet Tracey Davis. She's in my year at Hogwarts, and will be employed at Moonforge for the considerable future."
The girl in question smiled hesitantly, at which Granger softly pressed her shoulder, offering support.
The bitch.
"Unfortunately, Miss Davis does not have her OWLs, and neither do I, nor my friend Hermione. However, Miss Davis here is a genius at Transfiguration, and Hermione is very skilled at both Transfiguration and Charms work. It is my desire to have both of them working with you in your new experimental enchantments. If the results are a success, then both of them will be able to use their skill for extra credit in their OWLs, but this enchanting technology will remain proprietary to Moonforge. But we've already discussed that bit, haven't we?"
Penelope nodded.
"Miss Davis and Hermione will begin working with you immediately. I've gone through your proposal, and have written the cheque. Hermione and Miss Davis will accompany you to Gringotts tomorrow to get the necessary gold, and then you three can acquire all the necessary ingredients you need for the experiments."
Penelope exhaled. So far so good. But he had sounded annoyed before. What was that about?
"About that proposal, there are certain issues we need to discuss." He turned to Granger. "Hermione, Tracey, if you would…?"
Both girls stood up from their chairs. Hermione crossed the table from the other side and whispered something in his ear, while Davis just looked slightly uncomfortable. Granger then turned towards Penelope, gave her a knowing look and left the room with Davis in tow. Penelope heard the door after them but focussed on Harry Potter instead.
"What took you so long?" he asked, his expression instantly shifting from professional to almost annoyed.
"I— I got lost."
Damn it. Why did she stammer in front of him like that? Penelope felt her heart rate quicken and twirled her hair nervously.
"Stop that," he barked, and she stilled, one hand still in her hair. At his glare, her hand dropped from the hair and remained steady on the table. He had not stopped staring at her and she was starting to sweat. She felt unnerved and objectified, but a small portion of her felt glad if that was truly the case.
Her folds clenched.
Harry Potter stood up, and walked across the table until he stood in front of her. Despite being younger than her, he was taller than her. Taller with broad shoulders and well-defined muscles and sharp green eyes that were staring down at her cleavage—
Wait. At her cleavage?
"Tell me, Miss Clearwater. What did I tell you on your first day here?"
Oh bugger. "That— that I represented you?"
His lips twisted. She wasn't sure if that was a good thing.
"And?"
"And…. And… And you asked me to be confident and—"
"And?"
Not be a timid mouse. "Not— Not be a mouse."
"A timid mouse," he corrected. "And because you represent me, anything that looks bad on you, reflects badly on me."
"...Sor—"
She couldn't even finish her words, and Harry Potter was all over her blouse, undoing her buttons with extreme precision. Penelope opened her mouth to speak against the unprofessionalism on his part, and complain on how forward he was being, but the shock kept her silent. Before she knew it, he had ripped the last button off and tore the blouse off, revealing her bra, which he then yanked down, tearing it off, and throwing it down upon the floor.
"SIR!" She yelled.
"I thought I told you this before," he said, his voice dripping with menace. "I. Do not tolerate. Sloppiness."
He grabbed her by the neck, and spun her around, trapping her between himself and the table. "I told you, Penelope Clearwater, you represent me. And you dare present yourself like that before others? I gave you a job of your choice, and yet, you submit a proposal that wastes at least six hundred galleons. You were supposed to get the proposal cleared by Hestia. I do not see her signature anywhere here."
"Sor—"
He grasped her skirt and tore it off.
"My skirt—" Penelope protested, but he paid her no mind. His hands groped her breasts, squeezing them violently. Fear coursed through her, and at the same time, her heart raced, her sex heating like anything.
Penelope wanted him.
The more forceful and dangerous he was, the more she was drawn to him. A moth dancing to his flame.
Was this really happening? She felt his hands on her nipples and let out a loud moan, subconsciously reaching up for his neck to pull his lips to hers. Instead he slapped them away, and whirled her around, so that her back now faced him.
"You need to be punished."
Penelope gasped, wondering if he was going to tear her panties away, and fuck her right there, bent over the table. And if he did, would she let him? Would she stay bent over while Harry Potter demonstrated his anger on her?
Her pussy clenched at the thought. It was just too much to handle. Her breaths got heavier and her head felt light all at the same time. She braced herself against the table, trying to put her mind anywhere but there. His hand came down hard on her arse, making her yell in surprise. Penelope winced, her eyes watering from the impact. She wanted to look back at him, but could only manage to keep her hands on the table.
"Understand this, Penelope," he growled. "I—"
Smack!
"Don't—"
Smack!
"Like—"
Smack!
"Sloppiness!"
He smacked her arse continuously, until she was mewling in pain, as the stinging washed over her. Despite it, her panties were wet, her pussy ready for him. She had never felt this helpless before, and neither had she felt this sensual and wild. She felt the bruises forming, and bit her lip, trying to not to scream as his hand came down again and again mercilessly upon her tender flesh, and her panting grew as she stood there and took every blow, legs shaking and pussy clenching with need for this man.
Finally he took a step back, as if to observe his handiwork, observing her backside like a painter looking at his art.
Penelope burned with pleasure and shame. She winced as his calloused fingers reached her arsecheeks, his touch spidery light this time around. She could feel her juices slowly seeping through her panties, dripping down upon her inner thigh and crawling downward. She knew he could see them.
"What is this?" He asked, "You are… aroused?"
And then without preamble, his fingers forced their way past the thin cotton mesh of her underwear and dipped roughly into her wetness. She squirmed at his touch, and then his other hand came down upon her arse again.
"You little slut. You're loving this, aren't you?"
Smack!
Smack!
Smack!
Her pussy clenched harder against his fingers. Her body tightened and ached, and Penelope fought with everything she had not to come. She wouldn't— she wouldn't give this man her pleasure. He dug his fingers faster, insistent. Penelope clenched her fists, trying to fight the sensations and the orgasm that his fingers demanded of her. The constant smacks on her arse had already shifted from pain to pleasure category, and she began to moan uncontrollably.
No! No! No!
Yes! Yes! Yes!
She was just about to cum—
Harry Potter pulled his fingers away.
"NO!" Penelope screamed, trying to trap his fingers within her pussy, but he was faster. He grabbed her left arm, and swung her around, and slapped her face with his cum-covered fingers.
"OUT!" He said. "GET OUT!"
The rage in his voice should've frozen her in bone-chilling terror. Was she going to lose her job? Was he going to throw her out? She should've been horrified and tried to apologize. Instead right then, her pussy clenched and convulsed, as waves of pleasure hit her in concurrent waves, her climax shredding her to pieces. She twisted her legs together, and grabbed the chair for support, as the quake slowly dissipated, leaving several rivulets of her juices crawling all the way down her legs.
Harry Potter waved his hand, and her wand came flying at her. Penelope fumbled before catching it, and hurried out.
What the hell had just happened?
Notes:
If you want to support me, find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Chapter 47: Destiny
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 1 - OUTLANDER
I beat the crap out of the punching bag.
Smack!
Smack!
Smack!
My frustrations were rising beyond control. Even the sensations of pain swimming through my veins felt foreign, as if I wasn't even part of the body. There was no euphoric high, only debilitating lows as I grunted and threw the next punch.
And the worst part? I wasn't even sure what was happening to me, or what seemed to be causing it. Ever since that day with Narcissa, ever since I had begun thinking of my past life, my clarity had become murkier. Plans and ideas that were simpler and well-thought out now looked faulty, and I found myself verifying them over and over again. My mind was in constant turmoil, stuck between the Me that existed in this body ever since I found myself waking up as Harry Potter, and the Me that existed in my previous life. The more I reflected on it, the worse it became. The actions I had taken during my time here, those felt like the handiwork of someone who thought was me, but wasn't me. If that made sense! The more I thought about my past life, I began to act like I used to be — cruel, dark and dominating. The ability to use magic— something that had made me feel invigorated, now felt like a cheat.
Something that made the world lesser just by being in it.
Smack!
I jabbed the bag with my left then uppercut with my right.
It didn't help.
Back in my old life, I had gained power the hard way. The exact details were murky, but the memories were still there, like seeing through a stained window in winter. The ability to fuck my way to godhood had felt like such a hax ability, and maybe it should, but thinking about it, and seeing it in action were two different things. Hestia Jones was a member of the Order of the Phoenix, someone that wouldn't betray Dumbledore even in the pain of death. And yet my Devil's Charm perk had turned her from that into a willing submissive, ready to betray her organisation for me. Hermione Granger, Ginny Weasley, Tracey Davis — all of them had fallen prey to my powers. Hannah Abbott, a girl who had never exchanged two words with me, had been too eager to invite me to her bedroom and spread her legs. Her mother had changed from the proud restaurant owner to an eager submissive, ready to do anything I fancy. But it was actually Penelope Clearwater that broke the camel's back. Penelope, whose stubbornness had brought her to a world of trouble, and she had survived through it all, had crumbled before my Devils' Charm. She had turned into a nymphomaniac that got off on punishment.
I had thought that Magic would make my life so much better. Instead it made it less.
Made it… fake.
I know. You'd say I'm looking a gift horse in the mouth. Maybe I am. But no one ever says the other part of the story. The part that doesn't allow good to exist without condition. The people around me lived and breathed and had their own lives. They were absolutely real in every way that mattered. And yet, magic, or rather, my magic, my Devil's Charm, turned them into something else.
Motherfucker! I was a walking, breathing Imperius Curse.
Smack!
Smack!
Smack!
I hit the bag in succession until my biceps hurt. Anyone else in my position would've probably thrown spells around, but believe me, the last thing I wanted was to bleed my frustration with magic. No, I needed some good, hard, mundane labour, and punching this bag wasn't up to it. I needed to—
"Never thought you to be the punching type," I heard Hestia's voice behind me. "Feeling more aggressive, are we?"
"Yes, you can say that. "I clenched my fist and smashed the bag. The enchantments on the fabric kept it from straining and tearing, but the hook gave away. The bag tore off the metal hook and fell upon the floor with a loud thud.
I exhaled, and turned around, and found Hestia eyeing my sweaty body with hungry eyes. You'd think she'd be in her bed, sore from last night's activities. Instead she was up and ready and practically glowing in her professional attire. Not gonna lie, I almost missed the person that had all but trounced me back at the Leaky Cauldron. The charming, bubbly girl that could bag an Oscar for a double Imposter role. The kind of woman who'd work as my secretary, let me fuck her at whim, all the while serving as my protective guard and also, keep an eye on me for Dumbledore. Now she was a triple Imposter, one who'd do all of that, except that she'd be feeding information to the Order after running them through me first. My spy in Dumbledore's roost.
Not because I had purchased her. Not because I had something on her. And certainly not because I had convinced her to join me.
No, it had been a side-effect of the Devil's Charm. How could I not think that this world was fake, that all this was just… a game?
"You know you can talk to me right? About whatever's troubling you?"
I scowled. Hestia was fishing. I hate it when she does that. I wished that she'd just let me punch my emotions and be done with it. But no, Hestia believes in Dumbledorian philosophy, believes in talking. Getting your feelings out of your chest and all that kumbaya crap. She thinks that she's my personal fucking shrink and has been analysing me since the day we met.
"Can a guy not just enjoy some physical exercise?"
"A wizard? No. You? Maybe, but this is odd, even for you."
I glared at her. She casually crossed her arms and looked at me like I was full of shit. Maybe I was.
"Something on your mind?" She asked.
"Too many to count, unfortunately," I muttered, and walked up to the fallen bag, and placed it in its container. If she noticed how I had avoided using my wand and done it the muggle way, she didn't comment on it.
She took my moment of reprieve to strike.
"Talk to me." The calculating motherfucking skank tried again.
Just last night, she was screaming her lungs out as I tortured and dominated her, and now she was back in her protective guard mode. Honestly, the mental switching this woman operated from was a far greater mystery than the Fidelius Charm.
"Tell me, Hestia, did you know me, you know, before we met?"
Hestia cocked her head, as if trying to judge if I was being silly or plain whimsical. I wasn't. Or maybe I was? It was difficult to tell these days.
"Not particularly."
I looked up at her in dry amusement. "The Order sent an operative to handle me, without giving any information on me?"
"It wasn't like that," she corrected me. "You're the Boy-Who-Lived. Everyone's interested in you. So was I. But after I was to be made your handler, I made a cursory study of your past years at Hogwarts. That's all. Why do you ask?"
"And what do you think of that cursory study? Do I fit your details?"
Hestia snorted. "Fat lot of good that did. You've got as many similarities as a thestral has with a hippogriff."
The irony of her words did not escape me.
"The Harry Potter in those files is a study of contradictions. Desirous of accomplishment, but happy to remain unseen in the shadows. Humble, yet proud. Brave, loyal and yet sneaky and vengeful. Someone that can do anything for his friends, including risking his own life, not because of his ego but because he believes he has to be the one to do it. A textbook definition of an unsung hero."
"And me?"
"You?" Hestia said. "You too are a study of contradictions. You're independent, fiercely so, but an absolute control freak. Ambitious, but only if it serves a greater purpose. Ruthless and ark and extremely pragmatic, but somehow, just somehow, you manage to do a little good in the process. You're not some future Leader of the Light, like Albus Dumbledore would have us believe. Neither are you the hero that the files and the last few years paint you to be. You're a schemer, a manipulator and a fighter. One that chooses his battles and only fights when his victory is guaranteed. But…"
I arched an eyebrow. "But?"
Hestia looked conflicted.
"You can say it. I wouldn't have asked you if I wanted to hear lies."
"It's just… I've watched you over the past two months, and sometimes… sometimes you've got this unsettling far off look in your eyes when you think no one's watching. It's something no sane person would have, or should have, for that matter. I've seen you execute your plans, and I've seen a cruel, psychotic mind at work. Even when you do good, it serves your greater purpose. The Harry Potter in the files was a hero, but you, you are more akin to a…"
"Villain?"
Hestia shook her head. "Not a villain. A Monster. The Dark Lord would destroy our world using its own bigotry as his weapon, but you… you'd turn it into your toy."
That brought a smile to my face. The first real one in days. "And you don't have a problem with that?"
Hestia clenched her fists. "I know I should. But I don't. I think our world has stagnated for too long. The Dark Lord? He's just the matchstick, ready to set our world on fire, fueled by its own vices. Professor Dumbledore is his diametrical opposite, but even he doesn't do anything to change the world."
"And becoming a toy is a better option?"
A small smile formed on Hestia's lips. "Well, I'm optimistic that we'll convince you to become… less dark, since it's clear you're no Light Child. Me, Hermione, and every other girl that you bring into your web. Maybe I'm being hopelessly optimistic; maybe I'm just tired of the world and want things to change, no matter what turn that change might take."
"Or maybe you think I'm the Beast of Villeneuve and you're my Belle."
Hestia giggled. "I was always fond of that novel. But yes, maybe I am. Or maybe I'm just too drunk, too deep into your web. Does it matter?"
I shook my head.
"Can I ask you something for a change?" she asked.
I nodded.
"Why are we having this conversation? You know I won't betray you. I'm reasonably certain I physically can't. I don't know what it is you've done to me. And honestly, I don't care. I'll get Tonks ensnared into this, and we'll be together with you, as you take this world by storm. I know you will."
"You do?" I arched an eyebrow. "Is that why you keep interrupting me in front of others?"
Hestia flushed. "I'm supposed to be your protector. I— I can't help myself. But if you feel badly about it, maybe.." she inched closer. "Maybe you can take me somewhere secluded and show me exactly how annoyed you are with me again?"
I couldn't help myself. I laughed. Loudly. "You're enjoying your punishment a bit too much, Hestia. I'll try harder next time."
"You didn't answer," she said. "Why are we having this conversation?"
"Because this is your last chance. You're right. I'm no saviour. I will change this world and rebuild it in my image. It will take time, and I have numerous obstacles before me, but that is exactly what I'll do. The things I'll do are ghastly; my actions will bring an endless number of crimes and ransack this world. If there is a part of you that still believes in the old Harry Potter then…"
I threw her my wand. She caught it.
"Kill me right now."
I stretched my arms wide. "Kill me, before it's too late. Even if I survive, which is highly unlikely, I'll give up on my plans."
Her hands trembled.
"But if you don't, then I'll become the nightmare that Wizarding Britain has never imagined. I'll raid and destroy Azkaban. I'll destroy the Wizengamot, take the bigotry festering deep within its heart and rip it out, even if I have to destroy Wizarding society in the process."
"Every Noble?"
"Every Noble," I said. "When I'm done, there won't be any conservative, moderate or extremist factions left. Just magic and those that can wield it."
"But… but what about those that are fighting against the Dark Lord?"
"Those same people are the reason the world does not change. You'd have thought that after Voldemort's defeat in '81, things would be different. But they aren't. The same people are in charge. The same system, the same bigotry, the same… everything. So long as there are those that remember how things were, they will be those that are unable to accept what can be."
Hestia stayed silent.
"And then from the ashes, I will build a new world. One that knows not what it's lost but only what it's been given." I met her eyes. "A grateful world."
"You'd throw this world into another war…" Hestia mumbled, her hands shaking.
"I will."
I stared at her, amused. I knew that power wise, I was nothing compared to the juggernauts that were Albus Dumbledore and Lord Voldemort. But that's where people got it wrong. No one wizard, no matter how powerful, could outperform the strength of many. Quality has its uses, but in terms of raw power, quantity always wins.
Voldemort, Master of the Dark Arts, had the Dark. Dumbledore, Transfiguration Expert, had the world as his weapon. Me? I'd have the people.
My weapons.
My toys.
It was the only choice that both sides of me agreed upon. If my power was what turned my life fake, then I'd take this power and make the entire world fake.
And then I'd rule over it. As its God.
Hestia took a step and raised her hand. For a moment, I idly wondered if she was actually going to try to kill me. I know I was being utterly brazen, but even I knew I wouldn't just die. The Horcrux perk would grant me immunity and push my Dark Arts affinity to a hundred. But was that only against the killing curse, or did that cover for all spells?
Like, would my head reattach if she just severed it in one blow?
Maybe I had been a little hasty about it all.
She took another step, and stood right in front of me. With my improved sensory reception, I could see the way her body was practically thrumming. Her breath had gone up, but I could sense no hostility from her. She held up her arm until it was on eye-level.
"I told you before," said Hestia. "I'd keep your secrets. I do not plan to change that now. You had my secretarial oath keeping me in check before this. Now? Now, I am willing to swear an unbreakable vow."
My wand lit up as she channelled magic through it. "I, Hestia Jones, swear to serve Harry Potter with everything I've got, and be on his side, no matter what form it takes."
And right then, the Screen popped in. And I knew what it was going to be about.
World Anchor — Hestia Jones has gone up to 100%
World Anchor Sealed!
+10 Meta-Luck Points Added as Bonus!
Current World Anchor Analysis
World Anchor — 449
Required World Anchor — 15
Meta-Luck — 57.2
Gained Affinities from World Anchor — Hestia Jones
Spatial Magic +17%
Charms +13%
Martial Magic +11%
At 100% Anchorage, you have gained a Perk!
The old me would have been overjoyed at this development. I just… twitched. In annoyance.
PERK — SUBVERSIVE ACTIVIST
Materialization of Hestia's skill as a scout and spy. Perceiving a slight opening and placing oneself in an attacker's blindspot, the user can reduce the chances of the enemy getting the better of him.
EFFECTS
Ability to see through conversation patterns and hypothesise precise results out of them.
Heightened affinity for Illusion-based charms.
If I had any doubts about her crossing over, the possibility of that had fallen down to zero. I had seen the kind of changes the 100% anchorage brought in Hermione. With this development, I knew, more than ever, that I had successfully infiltrated the Order of the fucking Phoenix.
"Why?" Hestia asked.
"Why?" I cocked my head.
"Why?" She repeated, as if that alone was enough context. "What made you become like this?"
Huh. Oh well.
I smiled. "Before this summer began, I asked Professor Dumbledore a question."
Hestia raised her eyebrows.
"Imagine you wake up one morning, and find yourself transported into your favourite story. Say, as your favourite character. Say there is absolutely no way you can return to your original life. So tell me, Hestia Jones. What do you do? You know the story inside out, and you know how things end. Do you use that knowledge to make the best out of it, knowing very well what follows in the endgame? Or do you laugh at the stupidity of it all, and just do whatever the hell you want?"
"That's… an oddly specific question."
I snorted. She had no idea. "I ask that because that's what my life is about, Hestia Jones. Back before I had that encounter with the dementors, Professor Trelawney made another prophecy, about how the Dark Lord would return again."
"The Dark Lord—" Hestia began, panic setting into her tone.
"Will return again, more powerful than ever, and soon. Very soon," I said hauntingly, "And I let Peter Pettigrew, his servant, run free. I should have killed him, but instead, I wanted him captured. Do the right thing. And you know what's the worst part? I cannot even blame me, because Trelawney had prophesied that, hours ago, that the Dark Lord's servant would join him and bring his return."
I looked at her. "There is no such thing as free will. My successes and failures exist because someone up there, God, Magic, Merlin whatever— deemed it to be so, and nothing I say or do will change that."
The last time I had spoken these words, I had been filled with bitter amusement. This time, it was magnified.
"So tell me, knowing that, can you blame me? Or Pettigrew? Voldemort? If all our actions are pre-ordained in some book of destiny or some such shit, we are just puppets. Should you not hate Fate for making Lucius Malfoy get you fired? Must I not hate it for becoming an orphan on that Halloween night?"
Hestia said nothing.
"I do not wish to stay a puppet. Whatever this destiny, this higher force is, I want to know who or what's behind it. I do not know what made me an incubus, or how it allows me to do… whatever I do, but Destiny wanted it, then I want to see what else it's got. I want to sink into the most abstruse lore of magic, find this puppeteer and pull it out of the shadows. Only then, will I have accomplished something."
Hestia gaped. "You'd— you'd uproot Destiny itself?"
I smiled. "I have already begun."
END OF BOOK -1
Notes:
If you want to support me, find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Chapter 48: Meeting Gideon
Notes:
We ended Book 1 - Outlander the previous chapter. Thanks to everyone that has been a part of this journey, whether it be through your subscriptions and support, or through views, kudos and comments. I am glad you're liking this story. Without further delay, let's jump to Book 2 of Seducing Destiny - HOUSE OF BONES
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 2 - HOUSE OF BONES
The dark silver tux lay on the bed, rejected. As did the formal pants. Instead I stood there, gawking at the mirror, as Hestia and Hermione suited me up in a thick ensemble of black silk, with a notched collar and a cut-away front of the coat, a white shirt with gold filigree, a long wizard hat, and long black trousers ending in equally boring shoes. And then she put a cloak over my shoulders, leaving me a pimp-cane short of a complete Lucius Malfoyesque experience.
"This is ridiculous!" I growled, "I'm not going for a business meet wearing this rag."
"Harry," said Hestia, "this is for a reason, you know. That robe's crafted out of the finest acromantula silk gold can buy."
I knew that. I paid for it. Thank you very much.
"I want that tux, dammit!" I clarified.
Hestia and Hermione blinked at me, then at each other.
"That thing?" Hestia demanded, "for this meeting? No way."
"You've an image to maintain," Hermione offered.
"And I'm gonna maintain it with my tux." I said stubbornly.
"No you won't," Hestia snapped. Sometimes I wonder who's paying whom. "You aren't going out to charm some woman's panties away. Gideon Abbott is an old school traditionalist. For people like him, first impressions matter. You need to blend in with the right appearances, before you can mindfuck him into whatever crazy idea's cooking in that head of yours."
"I already told you my idea."
"And I still think it's crazy."
"I'd say otherwise," said Hermione, "if someone had bothered to tell me in the first place."
She glared at Hestia, and then both girls glared at me.
What good were World-Anchors when this is all the authority I get? My only solace was that Penelope was out with Tracey, visiting muggle properties with a Gringotts agent for my new factory premises. My badass and mysterious billionaire image would never recover otherwise.
Long story short. It was finally time for me to progress with my summer plans. You know the ones that involved getting a bit stabby with Narcissa's hubby and fucking things up for Broderick Greengrass. Turns out that my casual interest in Hannah Abbott and her mum had unveiled an opportunity that had not been available before. In fact, my chances of achieving my goals through this were higher than most.
Hence, this.
"Tell me again why you're not coming with me?"
Hestia sighed. "Because Gideon is a bigot who looks down at muggleborns and halfbloods like trash. You take me with you, and he'll place you right where he believes you are — A pro-muggleborn supporter."
"Isn't that what he is?" Hermione wondered.
"Not for this plan, he isn't." Hestia snapped. "Your political character can change according to the whims of your agendas. It's got nothing to do with his own feelings."
"Politics is so confusing," said Hermione.
"Sweet summer child…" Hestia murmured.
"Hestia… how are things progressing on the basilisk parts auction?" I asked, primarily to distract Hermione from the ongoing conversation. Despite her sharpness, Hermione lacked the kind of moral flexibility required to traverse the treacherous waters of pureblood politics.
"Basilisk?" Hermione perked up, turning to me. "Harry, what are you up to?"
Hestia came to the rescue. "He showed me the memory of his fight with the basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets. I'm no expert, but that thing is worth millions of galleons. Like, five to ten million."
Hermione choked. "Five to ten million galleons?"
Hestia arched an eyebrow. I wondered if this was a regular thing or Hermione was just having a bad day.
"You realise the Potter fortune alone holds eighteen million galleons as liquid assets, right?"
Judging from Hermione's face, she didn't. Weird. I had thought she'd have noticed it when I had shown her my Gringotts statements. I didn't want to do it, but it felt like what Harry Potter would have done in my place.
"Well, it is. Harry decided to get it harvested by professionals and then auction the harvest in small amounts to avoid saturating the market."
Hermione blinked. "Why'd that matter?"
Hestia sighed. "Basilisk parts are rare. Its hide is as strong as dragon hide, its blood and poison are powerful and expensive potion ingredients. Its bones would serve as wardstones and ritual components. It's eyes—"
"Eh, I think she got the point," I interjected.
Hestia frowned at me. "Point is, it's expensive because it's so rare. A thousand-year-old basilisk's fresh carcass? That's super rare. Salazar Slytherin's legendary basilisk? It's a relic." She turned to me. "I've sent private mails to celebrated potion masters and magical museums, and I've already got over two dozen bids."
Hermione gawked at her. "How do you know all this? Do they have classes on this stuff post Hogwarts?"
Hestia threw her head back and laughed. "It wasn't my idea, dummy. It was all his."
Hermione looked at me, perplexed. "How do you know all that?"
"My uncle worked as an Executive?" I said with a half-shrug.
"Lamest excuse ever," Hestia muttered under her breath.
"Truth is often stranger than fiction," I said sagely, and adjusted my coat. "Any interesting bidders?"
"Many. Aristedes Trismegistus, Heinrich Agrippa, Solomon Rothschild, Nicholas Flamel…" She trailed off.
"Nicholas Flamel," I muttered, unable to contain the smile on my face. I had Hestia target a very specific audience on the continent, drawing the attention from the Death-Eater circles. I had no doubt that people like Lucius Malfoy and Eustace Selwyn would try obstructing this deal. In reality, the only fish I was targeting was sitting in France. This private auction bid was simply an elaborate charade.
One that Flamel would no doubt recognize. But petty games like this were exactly how business was done.
"How much did he bid?"
Hestia grinned like a cherub. "Absolutely nothing. All he did was ask if the entire carcass was up for sale."
I grinned. That sounded like the actions of a man that held unlimited wealth in his hands. Or something equally valuable. "Tell him yes."
Hestia grinned. "Wonderful."
"Harry," Hermione fretted. "Do you think that's really fair? His Philosopher's stone got destroyed back in our first year when you faced You-Know-Who."
"His Stone got destroyed because he was stupid enough to entrust it to Dumbledore, Hermione. And honestly, how do you even know that it was the original stone in the first place?"
"Harry, don't be crazy. Dumbledore—"
"Said so, yes. And Dumbledore was also the guy that sat around and did nothing while Sirius suffered in Azkaban. That man had no business bringing the Stone to a school full of children in the first place, just to set a trap for a Dark Lord's wraith. He could have set the trap in Hogsmeade or his own fucking house, for all I care. Instead he endangered me, you and every single person. It's so stupidly appalling it isn't even funny. And honestly, I doubt Flamel even gave it to Dumbledore in the first place. If he's got two brain cells to rub together, and I know he does, then he'd just lock it away somewhere, put the location on Fidelius, and tell everyone that he had given it to Dumbledore and set a trap."
It was no different from what James and Lily Potter did with Sirius Black back in 1981. Sirius was a Hit-wizard and terrifying with a wand. He'd serve as a perfect distraction while the secret remained with Pettigrew.
"But the basilisk— it belongs to Hogwarts, doesn't it?" Hermione tried. "You taking it out like that and selling it away—"
But I wasn't listening. Not anymore.
"The same Hogwarts that's one step away from throwing you out because you got slashed by a werewolf?" I hissed. "You know, the school that McGonagall promised your parents, was the safest place in the world for her only daughter? The place you've been attacked by a troll, petrified, harassed over, insulted, first over your blood and now over your—"
"Harry, that's enough!" said Hestia.
Hermione had gone pasty pale, her eyes glistening. She looked like I had just slapped her. At the same time, there was something else in her eyes, something that looked very much like joy…
"...sorry," I mumbled. "I just… feel very strongly about those things. That's all."
"Hermione," said Hestia. "The basilisk attacked Harry and he killed it. According to the Ministry of Magic's dictum on Magical Creature Slaying, the carcass belongs to Harry. That Harry had to face an XXXXX beast within Hogwarts Sanctuary is a mark against Hogwarts, and technically, he's well within his right to demand restitution from it. That said, Harry acknowledges that the Sorting Hat and Dumbledore's phoenix aided him in the fight, so he's going to give away five hundred thousand galleons to Hogwarts as its due share, and a brand new enchanted perch for the phoenix. He sent an official letter to Professor Dumbledore and the man acknowledged it."
Hermione looked at me. I shrugged.
"And no," continued Hestia. "It's not for the Board of Governors. Harry had me draft a policy stating that one thousand galleons be offered to every single person petrified by the basilisk, and another one thousand galleons be offered for a curse-breaker expedition to Hogwarts to locate the origin of the Curse on the Defense position, so that it can keep a decent professor for long."
"I wouldn't have had to go to the Chamber if Lockhart wasn't a fraud," I clarified.
A broad grin spread over Hermione's face as she rushed to me and kissed me, tongue and all. After almost a minute of passionate making out, she stepped back.
"Eh, not that I'm complaining, but what's that for?" I asked.
Hermione beamed. "For showing me that the old Harry isn't lost. I know you're this ruthless and pragmatic for reasons, but it's nice to know that you're still you."
Not really, I wanted to say. The sad truth was, I couldn't just do away with the basilisk carcass without having to give away a significant share. Offering ahead with those pro-muggleborn clauses attached allowed me to enjoy the benefits of reciprocation. You know, how you have a higher chance of getting things done by offering five dollars for free rather than fifty dollars in return for a small favour?
Plus, it fit right in with the magnanimity and goody Gryffindor Golden Boy image that canon Harry had. Before the fortune of House Potter and House Black, what was a couple hundred thousand galleons? Especially with what I could potentially receive in exchange.
But Hermione didn't need to know that.
"Still Me likes wearing a tux better." I tried.
"No!" Both girls deadpanned.
The house seemed like a collection of various pieces added over time. The stone tower standing at least five levels above the ground caught my eye in particular. The battlements atop it had a worn but well-kept look about them. Closer to the ground and towards the left was a slightly aged, modest, two-storey addition composed of stone and timber. While the tower looked way older, the new addition couldn't be more than two centuries old. On the right, there was another new addition, no older than twenty years, but it matched the other pieces very well while giving the entire structure an overall updated look.
This was the Abbott mansion. Or what remained of it. The place had served as a garrison for the resistance units, with Lord Charles Abbott serving as DMLE Director before he was killed by Bellatrix Lestrange after which Crouch assumed position at the Ministry. His son Iacomus had been an Auror but he too had perished from a lethal curse during a clash with Augustus Rookwood. And now, his muggleborn wife had been thrown out of the same mansion, and his daughter was the fucktoy of his own brother — a Death Eater sympathiser to the core.
The ironies of life and society.
"Welcome, Lord Potter," Gideon Abbott curtseyed, "to the home of the Abbotts."
Gideon was not a particularly intimidating man. He was short, his grey hair carefully maintained, and his head neatly trimmed into a goatee. He had a little belly coming out, though his robes hid it well.
As discussed, I had sent a formal letter through Hedwig, requesting a meeting about a potential business avenue involving House Potter and House Abbott, while putting in a word about my association with his ward Hannah. Politically, House Abbott was part of the 'respectable pureblood' category that had yet to shift into the 'Ancient' tag, an objective that Gideon Abbott wanted to achieve above all others.
An objective that would get him to play ball with me.
"My ward and niece Hannah has spoken a lot about you. I did not realise you two were well-acquainted."
I smiled. And it didn't even hurt. "She's a friend."
"Please," he gestured. "Come with me."
He led me through the entrance hall of the manor. It had the usual — portraits, paintings, carpets whose style and quality were dubious at best, some less than tasteful decorations, a suit of armour here and there along the hallway. A tad generic perhaps, but I wasn't being too judgmental. Eventually we reached a relatively small room, kind of the size of my kitchen, with a few couches, a single bookshelf and a fireplace with timbers within a smouldering flame.
As an elf served us refreshments, Gideon got down to the point, sitting on the couch opposite mine.
"I must confess, Lord Potter," said the man. "Your taking up the mantle of the Potter Lord and taking such keen interest in the family business was unexpected. News of your interests coming from Hogwarts paint a different picture."
"Oh?" I smiled. "And what does that make me out to be?"
"A student. Youngest seeker of the century yes, but a student nonetheless. I have heard rumours of your exploits, but academically…"
"I thought people appreciate the finer arts of subtlety and deception," I replied, the smile never once leaving my face.
"I do," said the man. "But in my defence, you're a Gryffindor."
And you're a Hufflepuff. But that didn't stop you from betraying your own brother's ideals.
I didn't say that. Instead I laughed. Just enough to demonstrate mirth, but not enough for embarrassment.
"Pardon me," I said, "but where is Hannah?"
That caught the man by surprise. "Hannah?"
"Why of course!" I went on, "I scheduled this meeting with you purely based on my association with Hannah. Surely as Heiress, she's required to attend meetings between House Abbott and Ancient Houses. I mean, surely you've taught her that. Regent Abbott?"
The man bristled.
"Now now," I continued, as if oblivious to his changing expressions. "Please do not be embarrassed on my account. I know Hannah can be a little… uninspired towards these things. But I thought that as Regent, you'd have been forced a little… discipline onto her. She's, after all, approaching marriageable age."
Gideon blinked, and grabbed at the opportunity to save face. "Of course! Of course! My apologies! It's hard for me to think of her as my baby niece. Getting her to sit on business meetings just does not come naturally to me, yet. She's after all, only sixteen."
A baby niece you fuck around.
The glass of elven wine magically refilled as I took another sip.
"If you don't mind asking, Lord Potter—"
"Harry, please."
"Harry, then please call me Gideon."
"Naturally."
"Well, I believe I finally know what it's like talking to Harry Potter. I mean, it's great, but if I might be so blunt, just what is this meeting about?"
I watched as Gideon's brow creased. I had already sown the seeds of discomfort and curiosity. Now all I needed was to water them and watch them grow into fear and greed.
"Gideon, I've recently taken over my family finances and businesses, like Sleekeazy, where I own a controlling share. I wish to increase my bandwidth in the potions market, and for that, I need access to certain magically rich environments."
I slid a file over the tea table to him.
"Phyllida Greenhouses," Gideon murmured.
"My people tell me its soil conditions are perfect. I ran a cursory check and it turns out it's one of the underperforming assets in Greengrass Exports."
"And Hannah told you I'm Broderick Greengrass's friend."
"Please," I waved his concerns off. "My people are more than capable of finding what's important for me. I'd like you to broker a deal between House Potter and House Greengrass, and see if a sale is possible. If not, we'd at least like to rent its services for at least a month and see if it truly matches our research results."
"I'm glad that you have such confidence in your men," Gideon smiled politely, and it was a practised fake thing that would fool nobody with experience in politics. "But I must disappoint you. Phyllida is very dear to Lord Greengrass. Low-performing asset or otherwise, Broderick will not sell it."
Because it's his real cash cow. And indirectly yours.
"I'm open to rental agreements. He can own it, so long as I can use it to my benefit."
Gideon shook his head. "As much as I want to help you, I can't. Broderick is my friend and I cannot broker a deal that will make him unhappy. That isn't how I do business."
I almost scowled at how predictably obvious he was being. A smarter man would have either come up with something else, or give me false hope and string me along as long as possible. Maybe even squirrel away galleons in the name of arranging parties to impress Broderick Greengrass.
"What you want," I pressed, "is a way to make Augusta Longbottom amenable to Neville marrying your niece."
Surprise flitted across the man's face before he let out a small chuckle. "You've done your homework."
I smiled politely but said nothing. Let the fool come to his own conclusions. "You're banking a lot on this marriage. If Hannah becomes Lady Longbottom, then your business can expand all across the south. Are you telling me that all that growth isn't incentive enough to try convincing your friend to help out a strapping young lad in business?"
This time he snorted. "Strapping young lad you might be, but your business acumen doesn't match an amateur."
I smiled. When asking for help, it is always better to appeal to their self-interest, never to their gratitude. It always works.
"Then do we have a deal? I help you out with Augusta Longbottom, and you get me a deal with Greengrass."
Gideon smoked his pipe. "It's a thought. You talk to her, and then we'll talk."
"That's not so reassuring."
He shrugged. "You came to me. I didn't come to you." He began to stand up. "I guess I'll see you sometime next week then."
"No," I said, never looking away from his gaze. "You won't."
He paused for a moment, before letting an uneasy laugh. "Is that how this is? You gave me the carrot and now I get the stick?"
"That's not how I operate," I told him. "You help me with Greengrass, and House Potter will support your nomination to Ancient status."
Gideon blinked.
Then blinked again.
"The question isn't if I can get Augusta to give you an offer, it's how good of an offer can you get me from Greengrass." I said as I stood up and buttoned my coat. "And for the record, that's how I do business."
Notes:
If you want to support me, find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Chapter 49: Bones Manor
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 2 - HOUSE OF BONES
There's something to be said about the kind of day you're having when you bargain with a conniving businessman with a Death-Eater sympathising background, only to pop away and appear before the outer gates of the greatest military authority in the nation. Each of them deserved their own preparation, and if I had an option, I'd have put them on separate days. But when the Director of the DMLE gives you a private appointment, you don't miss it. Especially when the duration of said meeting is ten minutes.
Nope. Not joking there. I had gotten a letter from Susan, inviting me to the Bones Manor, citing that I'd get ten minutes off the record with the DMLE Director.
Hence, this.
The portkey dropped me in front of a pair of giant gates on a winding road, with thick oak forests on both sides. It's the kind of place where the nearest neighbour is too far away to hear your scream. As soon as I appeared, half a dozen hit-wizards in full tactical gear and dragonhide armour accosted me, their wands pointed at vital points of my body, while one of them approached me, spine rigid, shoulders squared, and manners relaxed with the lean athleticism of youth and weather-beaten edges of experience.
"Can I help you, sir?"
He didn't even bother with a friendly smile or the kowtowing reserved for noblemen.
Impressive.
"Oak wands," I commented, observing the wands pointed at me. "English oak demands partners of strength, courage and fidelity. All strong points for a Hit-wizard in charge of protection. Guarding a house surrounded by oak forests. Someone sure loves the symmetry."
The man shrugged. "Can I help you?"
Sigh. "I'm here to visit the DMLE Director."
"Do you have an appointment?"
I handed over the letter. The man took it, and passed it into what looked like a letterbox, before the letter came out on the other side with a nice 'Ding!'. Confirmed, he gave me a nod.
But the wands did not move away.
Instead the man pulled out a small vial from the pocket and uncorked it.
"Your name?"
"Harry James Potter."
"Your palm, please."
"Why?"
"This is the Thief's Downfall, sir. We need to confirm you are you, and not some imposter under polyjuice. Security protocols I'm afraid."
Shrugging, I extended my hand. The guard poured a single drop on my palm, and nothing happened. Then he took out another vial and a remembrall of all things and handed me the latter.
"Elixir 7," he clarified. "I'm going to ask you to ingest one drop sir while holding the remembrall. We need to test if you are under any form of compulsion or memory-alterations."
I blinked. "And you do this with every guest?"
"Standard protocol, sir," said the man. "Madam Bones entertains very few guests. You can deny taking this, but then we'd have to deny you entrance. Alternatively, you can set up an appointment directly at DMLE offices."
What a load of crap. If I resisted, it'd automatically raise red flags and they'd be all over me before I could say unfair. Amelia Bones, it seemed, was a paranoid bitch. But just because you were paranoid didn't mean there wasn't a wand in the shadows pointing at your face. The DMLE Director might answer to the Minister of Magic, but unlike the latter, hers was a position obtained by sheer diligence, skill and past actions. Meeting her was probably like meeting the Army-General and President's Military Advisor merged in one.
"Alright," I said. "I consent."
The guard poured a single drop of the elixir, and I felt it burn my tongue for like two seconds and then gone.
The remembrall showed no changes.
That's lucky.
"SAFE!" The guard stated, and the wands went down. The gates opened and —-
The fuck?
All this time, I was standing on a winding road surrounded by forests with nothing but a pair of giant gates before me. Now? I had Susan Bones standing in front of him, in a tight fit black dress and high heels, standing on the same winding road, surrounded by orchards leading to one of the oldest and grandest manors in England.
"Warwick Castle?" I murmured. "The Bones live in Warwick Castle?"
Susan smirked. "Someone knows their national history."
I blinked, zooming her out and focussing on the castle before me. An Anglo-Saxon fortification, this place was built by William the Conqueror back in the eleventh century, though back then it was the original wooden motte-and-bailey kind. But then the Beaumont family rebuilt it in stone a century later, sturdy enough to survive the Hundred-Years-War that followed.
The kind of trivia you can recall if you have Eidetic Memory.
"I thought this place was, you know, under muggle supervision."
Susan looked at me like I had grown a second head.
"What?"
"Potter, this castle has been ours since the twelfth century. Why would the muggles have it?"
I blinked again. I was doing that a lot. "Wait. What?"
Susan cocked her head. "Yes. One of our ancestors, William Neville Bones, forced the widow of the First Earl of Warwick into surrendering control of the castle, added wards and made it unplottable. Muggles know it was destroyed during the invasion of King Henry IX and we've allowed that discrepancy to remain that way."
"...Oh."
Guess not everything was the same here as my old world. But if that's the case, I wondered what else was different.
"Come on, in. You don't want to be late."
I followed Susan down the winding road, feeling a subtle pressure all around me, allowing us to cross the entire distance faster than was normally possible. I didn't need to be a magical sensor to feel the sheer number of wards and traps sprawled around this entire territory.
"Guess the Bones like being prepared for an attack. The sheer amount of wards around this place rivals Hogwarts."
Susan gave a small snort. "One can only have as much preparation as they have foresight. We're an Ancient and Noble family you know, known for producing many premier wardmasters over the centuries. It's in our blood."
"I see."
"How's Penelope doing?"
I shrugged. "I put her in a research position with good pay and accommodation. So far, I haven't heard any negatives."
"How much are you paying her?" She asked, but there was a strange affliction in her voice that I couldn't place.
"Two hundred."
"Sickles?"
"Galleons."
She came to a sudden stop, and whirled around, meeting my eyes. "You're paying her, a muggleborn, two hundred galleons?"
I shrugged again. "She's a researcher, and her credentials are worth it. If I had to hire a pureblood, I'd imagine they'd accept nothing less."
Susan narrowed her eyes slightly, as if judging me. After two anxious seconds, she relaxed. "You're right. In a fair world, she'd be working as a spellcrafter or something. Aunt Amelia was so annoyed when she turned down her offer. We could really use someone of her talents."
"Yeah I know, Boneyard Warding."
She arched an eyebrow. "Stalking much?"
"You noticed that just now?"
Susan rolled her eyes and led me past the gun towers and the iron gates, with the raised gardens and bulwarks. I wondered if I was missing out on something by choosing to live in a magically enhanced apartment instead of something like this.
"Two people in just this? How do you manage?"
Susan chortled. "We used to be a lot more. We had like… eighteen members before the first war. And that's not counting the staff. Our entire family was assassinated in a prolonged attack by the Dark Lord himself. I only got lucky because an elf saved me and hid me in a secret chamber under the earth. Since then it's only been me and my aunt."
I tsked. "Sorry to hear that."
"It's okay," she said with a quick nod. "Just reminding you that you're not the only orphan whose family was decimated by the war."
She didn't need to. I had had Dobby purchase me books detailing the statistics of the previous war. It wouldn't be wrong to say that Voldemort and his Death Eaters more than halved the population within a decade. The cold statistic was enough to remind me just how powerful my opposition was.
"It's unfair," I said. "But the only thing fairly granted to everyone is an unfair reality. You got your Aunt and a fucking big castle to live on. I became the Boy-Who-Lived and settled for living with magic-hating relatives."
That made Susan blink. "Your relatives—"
"Hate magic. Well, hated. Past. I don't live with them now. Got an apartment and everything this summer."
"Yes," she said, with an inscrutable expression. "I remember."
"Though, I wonder what Potter Manor was like," I said wistfully.
"It was just like ours," said Susan without missing a step, "well, a little compact. Your ancestors didn't believe in open spaces very much. There were, like, eleven towers surrounding the main castle, all of them used as working and living units for the staff."
"Staff?"
"I thought you had caught up to your family history," said Susan, arching a brow. "The Potters were craftsmen, potioneers, enchanters. You had the entire manufacturing setup within the castle wards."
"You sound like you've been there."
"Yes."
She gave me an eerie smile and then turned around. "This way." We passed through a granite-tiled foyer with a massive chandelier hanging above, passed through the tall double doors, a staircase to the right that ascended to the next level opening into an ornate hallway that disappeared from view as I followed her into a deep room with a few couches and a massive fireplace that would be at home in Hogwarts.
"Come, sit. Aunt Amelia will be here shortly. Can I get you anything?"
"Something to drink?"
Susan tossed her hair over one shoulder and sniffed. "What's your pleasure? Aunt Amelia is very strict about the drinking age, so I can offer you some firewhiskey but it's mostly water. Optionally, you could drink some water. And if none of that suits you, I think there's some water."
"I'll have the water."
Susan smirked.
Five minutes later, Amelia Bones entered the hall. She was tall, with gorgeous, red hair that fell to her waist in a shining curtain, timelessly lovely features and dark eyes smouldering with quiet calculation as she stalked towards me. She could've fit right in the role of Amazon Queen, given her straight shoulders and quiet charisma. From the books, I had imagined her to be an old woman, no different from McGonagall. Instead I found someone in her mid-thirties, and in her physical prime thanks to the slower ageing of witches and wizards. She had risen to the top through sheer competence, but looking slightly older probably had its benefits. As I got a closer look, she reminded me of Narcissa in many ways, and her exact opposite in others. While Narcissa could be compared to the fae, poisonously lovely and supernaturally alluring, Amelia Bones was akin to an ageless valkyrie, strong, swift and tough with a kind of steady, inevitable confidence that said that walls would be well advised to stay out of their way.
"Lord Potter," she said quietly. I'd need a high-speed camera to take in the details of her smile, but at least it was there. She nodded to me as I rose to meet her, then at Susan before taking a seat on the couch next to her.
I waited in the pregnant silence, and then she said. "Were you aware, Mr. Potter, that I was among the listed guardians supposed to take you in, after your parents' demise in 1981?"
Barely controlling my surprise from that bit of news, I met her eyes. I could understand the canon events, since JKR had never discussed anything about Harry's parentage or possible wills to be executed after their demise, not that it kept fanfiction writers away from that bit. But in this world where everything was far more competent, controlled and by far, dangerous, I couldn't see how Albus Dumbledore could have just ignored a will and landed me at the Dursleys in a fruit basket with a letter.
"I…"
"I was," she confirmed before I could even finish structuring my thoughts. "Granted, Sirius Black held first priority." I watched as her lips twisted in venom at the mention of that name, like it was the vilest curse she could imagine, "however, disaster had struck my family around two months prior to that, and I was reduced to a single woman taking care of my niece and managing duty as an Auror on the battlefield. It was a full-time job, and I didn't feel confident to add more duties to my shoulders. Plus, you were the Boy-Who-Lived, and a high-profile candidate. My house had already been infiltrated once, and… I couldn't find it within myself to risk your life."
My throat constricted. "I… I see. I didn't know that. Did you know my parents well?"
Her left eye glistened. "I did."
And that was that.
Susan's familiarity with my family home, and that odd expression she wore when talking about them now made a lot of sense in retrospect. In a different life, Harry Potter would have grown up with Susan Bones. Instead, he had been a stranger to her during the last three years at Hogwarts.
I wondered if that was part of the reason behind her caustic reaction to me.
I turned towards Susan, who quickly avoided my gaze.
Weird.
"I'm not certain how much worse that would've turned out, Madam Bones," I admitted pensively. "As I was just telling Susan earlier, I ended up living with my magic-hating relatives. I might not have been hunted by dark wizards, but it wasn't a bed of roses either. Before Hagrid came along with my Hogwarts letter, I knew my parents were drunkards that died in a car accident, and my name was Freak."
"...what?"
Neither her voice nor expression betrayed the torrent of rage that I saw beneath those eyes. I could see a raging fire within those orbs, held back by her ironclad will.
"It's past. I came into my family fortune this summer and took charge of things. I admit I haven't been very thorough with my own history, but it's an ongoing study."
"I've heard," her lips curled. "News of your… enterprises have reached my ears."
That, in my humble opinion, could mean all kinds of bad. "Investigating me, have we?"
Amelia smiled. Sweetness and bitterness in one. "Standard protocol. Regardless of your ancestry, you're a bit of an unknown to me. Too much close association with Albus Dumbledore, a man famous for playing his cards too close to his chest. Too many strange rumours coming out of Hogwarts, burning a Professor, obliviating another and of course, the recent debacle with the dementors."
"I told them I don't do autographs, but they wouldn't listen. One of them even came up to kiss me. Talk about lack of restraint."
She let out a quiet little murmur of sound that was too relaxed to be a chuckle. "There is also your engaging summer. Taking up your family mantle, entering business, appointing a rather sharp person as your personal secretary and making waves. Add in the interest in Susan and from what I've heard, a more than platonic familiarity with her friend Hannah…"
I cleared my throat."Right. Profile complete. Gotcha. Did you find anything troubling?"
"If I did, I wouldn't have welcomed you here. On the other hand, if there was nothing interesting, I wouldn't either."
"Striking the right balance," I said, clapping my hands. "That's me."
Susan rolled her eyes.
"My niece tells me that you wanted to meet me in professional capacity, yet maintain things off the record. I admit the dichotomy of your request is… confusing and interesting at the same time."
"It'll make sense as soon as we get to it."
"So long as you do it in ten minutes," she murmured.
I cocked my head. "No Madam Bones. Ten minutes for me to say my piece. For you, it might take several hours to process the ramifications. Days even."
She arched her brow and stood up. "In that case, please follow me to my office. Tempus Fugit, as they say."
So saying she turned around and left towards the right. I glanced at Susan and stood up.
"Tempus Fugit."
And followed suit.
Notes:
If you want to support me, find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Chapter 50: Quid Pro Quo
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 2 - HOUSE OF BONES
"We do not need to go through any preamble," Amelia Bones declared, cutting my words short. "You've requested an audience with the DMLE Director, so I'd ask you to get to the point and not waste my time. I'm a busy woman."
I simply smiled, letting her sharpness wash over me. Any other person in my shoes would've probably panicked and launched into an uncontrolled explanation just to avoid her displeasure, revealing far more than I had planned. Amelia was intentionally positioning herself as an authority — which was admittedly true as she was one of the strongest political entities in the field, and using that as bait. It was simple and clever, but ultimately useless and ineffective against me. I had more than enough surprises to destroy her balance.
"I wish to talk about a grave miscarriage of justice. Do you have a pensive?"
She curled an eyebrow.
I sighed. "Sirius Black is innocent. He was my godfather, yes, but he wasn't my parent's secret keeper. It was Peter Pettigrew who had been, until last summer, hiding with the Weasleys as Scabbers, their family pet rat. Oh, and Sirius Black never got a trial."
I expected sudden outrage, maybe, or a biting remark, or at least an exclamation. Amelia didn't do any of that. She just returned my stare, calm and poised and lovely as you please, one arm folded across her breasts on the table, while the other idly twirling the wand beneath the glass desk.
She fixed me with a quiet, weary gaze. "I'm hoping you realise what an outrageous statement you're making, Mr. Potter."
"I couldn't have ignored it if I tried."
"I'm not going to ask you if you're sure, or if your memories will stand a verification from the Department of Mysteries," she said in her quiet, steady voice. "I'll just inform you that should I find you've wasted my and the Department's time, it will count as a strong red mark against your character and enough to keep you out of the Wizengamot chambers until you've passed your NEWTs with a three-year clean chit from the DMLE."
"Naturally."
"Wonderful!" She gave me a brief, bitter smile. "I was hoping you'd deny. This… complicates things."
"Truth is often stranger than fiction," I replied, shrugging.
She gave me a glower, which was probably the most emotional reaction I had seen from her, minus that half a second of her eye glistening at the mention of my parents. In return, I gave her a smile that was part challenge and part apology, and relaxed into my seat.
"I've got the memories ready in vials," I said, and produced a small vial-case from my pocket. Locked in place inside it were a collection of fourteen memories, all of them from the last three years. Turns out having Eidetic Memory also impacted the quality of my pensive memories, and instead of looking through a blurry, glassy window, it was like watching it happen with crystal clarity.
"That's a lot of memories."
"I didn't think you'd be willing to view them over tea every other day."
"And those contain?"
"The truths behind the rumours you've heard about me over the past three years. My meeting with Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew at Hogwarts and everything that followed until those unruly dementor problems began. The memories get a bit shaky after that, you know, what with the kiss and all."
Amelia gave me a look of very gentle reproof. "I'll view them at leisure. But assuming what you say is true, what do you wish for me to do? Sirius Black is dead. Getting him proved innocent will not bring the dead back to living. As for Pettigrew, he has been a dead man in the eyes of the Ministry since 1981. Even discounting the inability for Pensive memories to be accounted for as evidence in Wizengamot trials, I simply do not find any way how I might gather enough quorum to debate over Sirius Black's innocence. At this point it's just an open and shut case."
"It isn't," I claimed, channelling a little anger. "Dead or not, Sirius Black was my godfather, and I do not wish to see him remembered as a traitor when the real betrayer is out and plotting against me."
"Sentimental tripe," she said with a sniff. "If you care that much, publish an eulogy for your dead godfather in the Daily Prophet, claiming the truth behind your godfather's demise. If enough people read it and talk about it, maybe Minister Fudge will do something about it. As for Pettigrew, you told him he's stayed as the Weasley's pet rat for over sixteen years, and you've shared dorm rooms with the Weasleys for the past three years. If Pettigrew intended to harm you, he had enough time and opportunity to do so."
She pushed the file back at me. "Open and shut case. Now, is there anything else I can help you with?"
I narrowed my eyes on her. Amelia Bones was going to be a tough nut to crack, it seemed. I could always use Rank and demand her to take action but not only would it be a half-hearted attempt at best, it would destroy any and all chance of building any repo with her.
Need before Ego, as they said.
"You're right," I said, choosing my words carefully. "Sirius's exoneration wouldn't bring him back. And Pettigrew's got enough chances to kill me in the past if he really wanted to. However, one of the memories I've submitted there contains the newest prophecy by Sybill Trelawney, mentioning how the Dark Lord's servant would be free, and return to his Master, and cause him to return, more powerful than ever. You cannot tell me that's not concerning."
Amelia stared at me for several seconds. Finally, she let out what felt like an extremely refined snort from her nose. "I can see your angle, but again, it won't work. Prophecies are woolly things and subject to interpretation. Unless this Prophecy actively mentions Pettigrew as the Dark Lord's servant, and the Dark Lord actively refers to Lord Voldemort, there is nothing to tie the two of them together. And even if, by some stroke of luck, it does say so, then Sybill Trelawney is a known charlatan, as professed by generations of students that take her classes. Again, no case."
"So you're going to do nothing?" I asked, incensed.
She narrowed her eyes and looked a little less relaxed. "I never said I would do nothing, Mr. Potter. Pensive memories are not allowed as court evidence, but I can use it to target my people to look into the matter. Maybe put a group of hit-wizards on Pettigrew's trail, but behind the scenes. If they find anything substantial, I can ask you to come file a case against Peter Pettigrew and then send Aurors to find more tangible evidence. However, that's a long process and might take months and years, since we have no idea where the man might be at this moment."
"The forests of Albania," I said.
"And you know this, how?"
I shrugged. "Doesn't matter. My sources will not count as tangible evidence. Feel free to ignore them if you wish."
The ends of her lips twisted. "Why don't you tell me what you're really after, Mr. Potter? If all you wanted was to supply me those memories, you could've done that without arranging this meeting. I happen to know that your secretary is on a first-name-basis with one of my Auror personnel."
She was referring to Tonks.
I smiled. "The hard ones for the hard ones. You looked into me, I looked into you."
She gave me an almost imperceptible nod.
"Good. This makes it easier."
"And why's that?"
"Because you know how far I'm going to go to get what I want. So here's the truth. Sirius Black made me his heir. As of right now, I'm using that position to stay as Lord Conditional of House Black." As proof, I subtly willed the Black ring into existence. "The goblins say that if I can prove his innocence within the next ten months, I should be able to ascend to Lord Black legally. Else, it will come down to a contest between myself and Draco Malfoy, and with Lucius sitting as Regent, I don't feel my chances are that high."
Amelia cocked her head, her eyes glinting. "So this is a matter of personal interest. Fortune. Not the miscarriage of justice you were preaching earlier."
"Why can't it be both?"
"Do not play games with me, Mr. Potter," she scoffed. "And if you were really that worried about losing it to Draco Malfoy, perhaps you shouldn't have been that hasty to bail him out earlier. Your… little game involving the unforgivable was very crudely implemented, but it had teeth. Gawain Robards could have made a case out of it."
"It wouldn't have helped."
"And you think this will?" She challenged, "if anything, this makes you look worse. You think Lucius Malfoy will not run a check on you the moment this case hits the Wizengamot? That man has been using the Black Regency to exert significant control on the Wizengamot for years. You already have a history of framing charges on Draco Malfoy and then squirrelling out at the end, choosing to settle instead. It won't take a seasoned solicitor ten minutes to turn the case from a miscarriage of justice to an attempt of Line Theft, and drop you in the accused's chair for trying to steal Draco Malfoy's inheritance."
Her eyes went distant for a moment, and a frown line marred the perfection of her brow. "If that is all, Mr. Potter, this meeting is over."
"Not quite, Madam Bones," I stressed. "But you're right. A direct assault makes me look like a bad guy. But you must understand that I have a ton of information, both on the Dark Lord and his Inner Circle. I don't see why a little sitdown like this can't be profitable for the both of us."
Her eyes narrowed again and she took a slow, deep breath. "What do you mean?"
Aha. That firm cold tone. My words had touched a nerve. Nothing in canon ever said anything about Madam Bones's flexibility as a politician. Being on the Light side didn't mean you had to be a stick in the mud goody-two-shoes. But it also didn't mean you had to be a greedy bastard. There were infinite shades of grey in the middle and the trick was to find where she fell in that spectrum.
"I know that Lucius Malfoy is responsible for the budget cuts you face every year. I also know that the Department of International Trade Regulations, while part of your DMLE, eats away a major share of your budget with nonsense expenses. I also know that the number of Aurors and Hit-wizards on your payroll is far greater than you can afford with the existing budget, or the last six years."
Her eyes grew into flints. "Are you suggesting that I'm embezzling funds to pay my people?"
I relaxed into my seat. "No, Madam Bones. I'm saying that you're paying them from House Bones's annual profits. You're literally the DMLE's back-bone."
Of all the things I had told her, this had shocked her the most.
"Granted, there are people that have helped you. House Macmillian, House Fawley, House Longbottom and Crouch, but they've limited themselves to resisting the budget cuts at the Wizengamot and barely substantial donations to the Department in exchange for a lower tax bracket. I know how you and your folk do business — from behind proxies and cat-paws. You can't possibly expect me to believe that you're running the DMLE legally under Fudge's administration."
Something flickered in her eyes, changing from the deep brown to a far, paler, metallic shade and she rose to her feet. "I do not care what you believe, Mr. Potter. I have no reason to justify my actions, nor prove myself against whatever evidence you might think you've discovered."
"True, but at the same time, you're the only one pillar that's holding the bridge from falling amidst Fudge's collection of deluded fools whose self-righteous prattle has always taken second place to its hypocritical practice. How long do you think that pillar will remain? I have it on good authority that Voldemort will return in a year's time. How long before they target you? How long before the Ministry collapses under its own obsolescent weight?"
Amelia leaned the heels of her hands on the desk and faced me, her words clipped and precise. "You make grand, sweeping statements, Mr. Potter, but unless you've got anything tangible to contribute, I suggest you drop this topic. Your ten minutes are over, and the most you can hope from this is me not putting a red mark against your name for speaking against the Ministry."
Good. She was reacting. That was progress.
"If you work with me, I can make your problems disappear."
Her eyes narrowed dangerously. "Mr. Potter—"
"Before the month is over."
Whatever she had expected me to say, this wasn't it. Instead, she went very still, opening her mouth, as if to retort, only to decide otherwise at the last moment. When she finally spoke, her voice was very cold and very precise. "How can you… be so sure of that?"
And just like that, I realised, I had got her. I suppressed the urge to fold my arms, because that would send negative signals to her. Pragmatic she may be, but I was a sixteen-year-old and she was a DMLE Director with a bruised ego. Seeing me act victorious was only going to twist the knife deeper.
"I have information on Lucius Malfoy's activities, about his partners-in-crime. Some of that has been legally obtained through channels, others not so much. I can tell you that Lucius Malfoy has no knowledge about my status as Lord Conditional, and I'm reasonably certain that he wouldn't find it before it's too late. If you target your people on my directions—"
"If you expect me to be your attack dog, Potter, you've got another thing coming."
"Forgive me, Amelia, but I'm helping you get rid of Lucius Malfoy forever, as well as getting you an annual draft of fifty thousand galleons to the DMLE budget from the Black Vaults. The same Vaults that have been used to funnel gold into Fudge's election fund. And if you want that, then yes, for the remainder of this month, I need the DMLE to be my attack dog."
I snapped out that one in a tone of pure authority, one I used when dealing with my kind of people back in my world. Amelia froze and arched an eyebrow at me, but only for a split second. After a long, anxious second, I pulled out a stack of papers from my robe and dropped it on the desk.
"A detailed study on House Black's investments. Malfoy's sly enough to keep the illegal schemes away from his financial statements, and dump them all in House Black's, under the cover of angel investments to other companies. Gallo-loans, Mystical Meanderies, Lomfay Enterprises — it's just one thing after another."
Amelia pulled the files and perused through them, her hawk-like eyes carefully noting the places I had even marked and made commentary on in the files. "This is… incredibly detailed. It's even caught the discrepancies between listed assets and potential assets."
"Yep. Millions, right?"
Amelia nodded absently. "Whoever has done it, definitely knows their job."
I didn't tell her that it was me who did it. There was simply no need to attract more attention.
She lifted one of the files and held it. "Greengrass Exports. That's who you need attacked, right?"
"Just enough to keep him on his feet for the remainder of the month. Broderick Greengrass already has too many fingers into this mess to bother with keeping Phyllida afloat. And Phyllida is our ticket to destroying them outright."
"You realise this will look bad on you? If news of these businesses comes afloat, House Black might suffer a lot of financial damage."
I grinned at her. Shark-like. "Come on, Madam Bones. If this comes out, the Wizengamot will be tearing itself in half. There will be blood in the water, yes, but it won't be just House Black's. And from a political standpoint, the others are far more tastier."
Amelia sighed and collapsed into her chair. "Tell me, Mr. Potter, how would you like to spend the rest of your weekend here at Bones Manor? Maybe we could use this time to get acquainted like we should have?"
I smiled. "Only if you call me Harry."
Notes:
If you want to support me, find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Chapter 51: Quafflebash
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 2 - HOUSE OF BONES
"I doubt things will work the way you expect, Harry," Amelia said as we walked through the hallways, discussing my strategy. "Even if I can corner Malfoy with this, Greengrass isn't one to take things lying down."
After our little meeting, Amelia had summoned Susan to her office and given her the memo. Susan's expression had been absolutely beautiful to watch when her aunt told her I'd be spending the next three days at Bones's Manor. Amelia wasn't a big believer of sharing details, so she simply told her that his request would require multiple days of detailed study and discussion. Plus, as a family friend, this could open a new chapter in the relationship of House Potter and House Bones. I wasn't sure, but given how Susan had a flushed look on her face, there was a way more subtext than either of them were willing to share with me.
And no, there were no betrothal contracts. Trust me, I checked. I'm gonna blame fanfiction for putting that idea in my head.
Not that this world didn't have betrothals. Draco-poo, for one, was betrothed to Astoria Greengrass, likely because their fathers were business partners. Astoria was a year younger to Daphne, and both of them were sorted to Slytherin House. Tracey had been a hearth of knowledge about the Greengrass sisters.
"You're right," I told Amelia. "He's the kind of person who, when asked to bend a knee, would throw a Hail Mary."
"A what marry?"
I caught that little slip. "Hail Mary. It's uh, a term in this muggle game called soccer."
"You mean... football?"
"... football. It's when you throw a very long pass in desperation, even though there's little time for a successful completion."
"Interesting. Do you play?"
Yes. In my previous life. I didn't say.
"Not as much as I'd like. My cousin Dudley and his friends played it. They wouldn't take the freak to play with them, so I just watched. My uncle was a fan of the sport so he watched it on the telly."
I loved how her face gained a tic every time I casually threw in one symptom of child abuse after another. I didn't know if it was Occlumency or she just had a good poker face, but I was determined to crack it.
"And you watched it with him?"
"Well, peer through the cupboard door more like, but essentially, yeah."
Another tic. Slow and steady was the name of the game. Slow and steady.
"I know Greengrass responds to pushing by pushing back. So I'll just trap him from all sides and then offer him a way out."
"This isn't how diplomacy is done,"
"My idea of diplomacy is showing up with a gu — wand in one hand, and a sandwich in another, and asking which you'd prefer."
Amelia's mouth curved up at one corner. "Sandwich, not a gold pouch?"
"Who do I look like, Malfoy?"
Her eyebrows rose. "Honestly, I find myself confused. If I didn't know better, I'd have said I was conversing with a seasoned businessman, not a fledgling student entering his fourth year."
"I've always been an overachiever."
"In these things, perhaps. Your academic performance leaves much to be desired."
This time I arched an eyebrow.
"I might not have taken you in, but that does not mean I have not kept an eye on you, Harry. Besides, you're a celebrity and the Boy-Who-Lived. There's hardly a pureblood house out there that doesn't have an active dossier in your name."
"As if I didn't have enough paranoia to go by," I murmured. Amelia let out a wicked little laugh at that.
"Seriously," I groaned, running my fingers through my hair. "It's like I'm surrounded by Gryffindors everywhere. My uncle never liked it when I scored more than my cousin and he always made his displeasure known. It didn't take me long to realise I didn't have to score good marks to be a good student."
Another tic. Keep them coming. Oh yeah.
"And you continued that at Hogwarts? Why?"
I gave her a half-shrug. "How would I know that Uncle Vernon wouldn't see the marksheet? And by the time I understood, a year had gone by, and I was friends with Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger and had already been targeted by a possessed professor and Malfoy junior's bruised ego. That and seeing Hermione Granger suffer the taunts for answering every question. Learn from other's mistakes and all that."
"And, just how advanced is this student actually?"
"Enough."
"Mmm… Say, would this student be willing to give a real demonstration of his skills?"
"What? You don't believe me?" I asked, aghast.
She cocked an eyebrow. "Enough with your theatrics. Now come with me."
Amelia opened the doors to a large, duelling chamber, easily the size of a Hogwarts classroom, bounded by runic enchantments on all sides to keep stray spells from escaping out of the duelling ring. To my surprise, the room wasn't empty. Susan, clad in a sports bra and trainers, stood on one side, facing a… pitching machine? What was that doing here?
"My niece wants to outshine me as an Auror. And ever since a certain someone made a joke out of Draco Malfoy in public, her zeal has only gone up."
My lips curved upwards. "That's a ball pitching machine, isn't it? How do you have a tennis ball launcher operate without electricity?"
She arched an eyebrow.
"Right. Magic."
"And it's not a tennis ball. That machine is enchanted to throw quaffles."
"Quaffles?"
"Quaffles." She confirmed. "A bit on the small side, but quaffles nonetheless."
I looked at Susan, who was clenching her wand. "What's she going to do? Dodge them?"
"Watch," was all she said.
As if on cue, the machine roared into action, shifting horizontally on an axis while firing tiny quaffles from different angles at Susan at moderate speed. Susan kept whipping her wand and throwing bursts of orange light — exploding curse, I recognized, at them. Every time the curse hit a quaffle successfully, the green number on the scoreboard ahead would increase. Every time it hit her, another stat — this one in red — would go up.
"A continuous minute drill," Amelia explained. "It gets a measure of casting speed, movement and accuracy. There are other machines for spell power and spell selection. Standard practice for Aurors. Obviously Susan cannot maintain it for long, so she does it in short spans of five minutes, until she's ready for more."
"It's brilliant!" I grinned. "How can I get one?"
Amelia cocked her head and gave me a pitying look. "You can't. It's for Auror personnel only."
"What? But Susan —"
"Is just lucky enough to be the DMLE Director's ward. I'm certain if you had similar upbringing, you'd have access to the same."
"Now that's just unfair. Are you trying to bribe me into becoming your ward?"
"Is it working?"
"No."
"Oh well," she exhaled. "In that case, you'll have to settle for a one-time teaser."
"You monster!"
The two of us kept bantering as we walked towards Susan as she went through the ringer. She saw us approach, and lifted her wand up, and the machine stopped firing. It was likely she knew the drill and waited for further instructions.
"Susan, I'd like you to give Mr. Potter here, a chance to prove his skills."
Susan arched an eyebrow, and gave me a full-body look, before stepping back. I stood in her place, undid the coat, and folded my sleeves. After over two months of constant spell practice and sparring with a werewolf, this was the first time I was getting to actually show off my skills.
"It starts off easy and gets faster depending on your performance, so don't let that surprise you." Amelia began stating the rules. "The scoreboard will mark you based on the number of quaffles you hit. The ratio of hit to miss also adds to your overall score. Wide angle deliveries get rated differently than balls striking you head on. The game ends if you get hit by one of them, which means you're a goner. Make sense? Good. Now your job is to stay hanging for five minutes without getting hit. Any more than that, well, I doubt it'll happen so let's get started."
"Go on, Potter," said Susan impishly. "Impress a girl."
I glanced at her, and then at Amelia and then turned around and faced my opponent. The magical pitching machine. I had no suspicions that this exercise was my best chance to impress Amelia Bones, and the result would cement our relationship. Practising spells alone in the dungeon until I was down to my knees gave me a good idea of my power levels. My ever increasing affinities also meant that my spells would be more potent with minimum energy expenditure. My reflexes would be the deciding factor in this game, and I was playing for keeps.
Activating Perk - Natural Demon
I cannot describe the power that burned through my veins right then. You'd think that sparring with a werewolf with the passive buffs that Natural Demon gave me would have prepared me for this. It didn't. I felt the power flood into every inch of my body, spreading like wildfire and filled me with an alien warmth. My muscles felt like steel cables, and my body, a perfect oiled machine. There was this physical sensation that I was at the apex of what my body could physically become, the tangible proof that conquering the impossible was by no means, impossible. It was me, at my most powerful. My senses were dialled to eleven, and I could sense both of their heartbeat, hear them inhale and exhale, feel the slight tremors on the ground from the slight shifting of my feet. The vision before my eyes upgraded, like I had been watching a movie on an old television, only to suddenly replace it with 4K.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Inhale —
"START!"
My hands blurred into motion, whipping my wand left and right, flooding the air before me with orange streaks of light. The machine, sensing a tougher opponent, increased its speed and the range of its throws, but it was far, far below what I was expecting. I stared at the device apathetically, shooting down every single quaffle before it even diverged past the midway line. It threw seven of them in increasingly wider arcs, and I slanted my body, firing repeated hits, blasting all the balls in a perfect line before moving to my next kill as the scoreboard kept a record of my ever-increasing count.
"How's he doing that?" I heard Susan murmur. An average person wouldn't be able to hear it from that far but to my ears, she sounded perfectly audible.
"Just wait," murmured Amelia. "The machine has yet to reach its top speed."
I smirked, and kept shooting down my targets, all the while looking at with a bored expression. The machine tirelessly increased its volleys, but it failed to stand against the reflexes of a werewolf. If I had to guess, the quaffles were shooting somewhere between sixty to ninety miles per hour, which was around the same speed of the killing curse, with roughly eighty balls per minute across varying ranges and angles.
"Fast!" muttered Amelia.
"Isn't it like… fifteen minutes already? Shouldn't it have hit max speed?" asked Susan.
"Seventeen and it did," said her aunt. "Thirteen minutes ago. He's been casting blasting curses and striking true. The sheer power alone dwarfs most of our records, let alone that consistency. If his spell selection is half as good as his performance, I'd love to pit him against one of my best Aurors."
"Or against you?" Susan quipped.
"Hush!" said Amelia. I couldn't hear what she said afterward, having to concentrate on my game. At this speed, anything less than my fullest concentration would get bowled out. I blasted nine quaffles with an overpowered exploding curse, only to have to fall back to an impossible angle to catch a solo close to my blind spot. The constant struggle fed into my perk, and an irrational anger began to scratch past my rationality.
The Demon within me wanted out.
I had seen this before. When I pushed Hermione really far, her eyes went all silver and her movements blurred. She'd lose all sense of her humanity and come at me like a cat, shifting from two legs to four limbs, dodging and spinning and striking in ways no human would ever consider. It was why werewolves were kept away from learning magic — their physical skills were more than enough to prey upon the average wand wielder. A werewolf spellcaster was possibly one of the most dangerous opponents one could face out there.
That alone said a lot about how ridiculously weak and hopeless Remus Lupin was.
I was no werewolf, but the Natural Demon instilled a similar power within me. I had already reached the limits of my natural power but the Demon within me wanted more. It had been nailing the game since the very beginning and it would not be defeated, not now that the blasted machine was keeping me on my feet. I spun, twisted and threw my hands out, my wand spinning from right to left and back, never stopping, never halting, never once resting before the next curse. My body was already running on fumes, so it was dragging power out of places I had no business doing. My anger, my hatred, my rationality, my spirit — things that made me what I was, and reducing them into bestial instincts in exchange for impossible power.
I went faster.
To an outsider, it probably didn't look like a continuous shower of spells. No, I was moving too fast for that. Instead there was a whip of orange light, a liquid flame arising out of my wand tip and slashing every single ball that entered my vicinity with ruthless prejudice.
"Impossible!" whispered Amelia as I bent sidewards, and lashed at five of my targets moving in an arc, aimed for my blind spot. My instincts predicted each and every single trajectory, and I slashed them into halves, exploding far after I was done with them. This was nothing, this was nothing, and I'd go on and on and on—
"Enough!" cried Amelia, and the machine stopped.
But the bestial instincts of Natural Demon didn't care about any of that. It simply saw the machine was its foe and wanted to destroy it. Overwhelm it. By shutting it down, Amelia had effectively snatched its prey out of its paws, and my instincts wanted to grab Amelia by her throat and rip it apart in return. Its nature was beautiful violence, stark clarity, the most feral need to hunt, to fight, to protect territory and to kill.
I fought against that drive, repressed it, held it at bay. That savagery wasn't meant for the incubus path I had taken up. It wasn't even meant for the wizarding world. It was meant for the dark and the dangerous, and had no place in this warm mansion with bright lights and lively people.
Natural Demon Deactivated
A fluttering surge of pure terror went through me, and it was energy enough to let me rip all bestial instincts away from my thoughts. It fought me every inch of the way, howling, filled with raw lust for flesh and blood.
And then it was gone.
I lurched.
My body stilled and trembled, and my wand which had remained clenched within my palm like an extension of my being, rolled and slipped off my fingers and fell to the floor. My eyes bulged out, and I feared they'd fall out of their sockets. My body trembled, like a force of a dozen blasting curses had hit me all at once, and my knees gave away. I fell down to the ground, my jaw hanging open, reddish drool slipping out of it.
"Potter!" "Harry!" I heard them yell.
Damn it. And things were going so well too.
Notes:
If you want to support me, find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Chapter 52: Enigma
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 2 - HOUSE OF BONES
It was like someone had just slammed a row of staples into my skin. Pain soared into my body, inflamed tissue crying out, my heart throbbing, my ribs cracking, the edemas beneath my skin pounding with a horrible tightness. Fatigue hit me like a rock. The sensations were so intense, the only way I could tell that I had fallen to the floor was by looking.
And my body abruptly went numb and useless from my stomach down.
That scared the hell out of me and confirmed my worst fears. When I activated the Natural Demon perk, it had magically enhanced my body to operate at a state that was physically impossible otherwise. A werewolf could move at the speeds I did because, apart from the physiological changes introduced by the transformation, a werewolf had a lot more raw magic flooding through its veins to keep fatigue away for the period of transformation. It was why Hermione was sick for days after her first full moon.
But I, in my arrogance, had pushed my body to operate at the same level purely through a magical boost without the transformative changes, and then exhausted the entirety of my reserves and then some. When the perk shut down, two things happened. The first was that all that fatigue, all that wear and tear, every single bruise and every single injury screamed out for action, in a body devoid of magic. If you think that's terrible, wait for the second thing, which goes something like this.
I'm going to say it just once, so make sure you memorise it.
Perks are not Free Lunch.
Much like a spell or a ritual, a perk is a magical action that requires a fuel source, which, nine times out of ten, is provided by the Host. When I shut the perk down, the stupid thing instantly demanded its fuel from my body — my magically exhausted body. If you can't imagine what that's like, imagine draining out blood from a severe anaemic patient.
I lay on the ground, my spine unmoving, my body denying me all control over my legs or bladder or bowels. It felt like a week, but it could have been only a few seconds before Amelia reached my side, with Susan right behind her. I knew they were there because I could see them, but their voices swam down to me from what seemed like a great distance among the cacophony of raking sensations scouring my nervous system. They lifted me to a sitting position, and I slid sideward, directly into Amelia's lap. And as if all this wasn't damaging enough, the Screen folded open before me, displaying a warning in an alarming shade of red.
Host Body under severe magical exhaustion 34% damage to magical core
A horrible, helpless feeling gripped me. 34% damage to my magical core? Just moments ago, Amelia had been commenting on my power levels being off the charts. And this wasn't just reduction, this was core damage, something that turned completely normal wizards to squibs.
And I had brought it upon myself. Tears escaped my eyes as I tried to twist my body into obeying my orders. It didn't work. Nothing was happening. I needed an alternative.
Replenishing attempt Unsuccessful Running Scan… Altering Replenishment Procedure…
Reducing magical affinities by 17% can reduce damage to 14% Proceed?
17%? From each? I might as well just return to the beginning of the summer. All my training, all my plans, all my… world anchors, all of them, would be for nothing. Throwing 17% would reduce the damage to 14%. Knowing my luck, it would take twice that to bring it down to zero. At that point, I might as well return to Square One. It'd mean that all my learning, all my training — everything would be useless. I wouldn't be able to perform Walburga's ritual by the end of the month, and all my plans with Narcissa would go down the drain. In one sweeping move, I'd lose everything.
Had lost everything. Because unless I did that, I'd forever suffer from a damaged magical core and whatever complications came with it. All of that for what? To impress someone? I needed my strength back. I needed to get back to where I was. But how? Minus a miracle, I had no way to—
I paused.
Technically, I could pull off a miracle. In the screen's vocab, it was called Meta-Luck.
Do you wish to use Meta-Luck?
A surge of terror shot through me. The last time I had used it, it had set the World Anchor's minimal limit to 15. If not for Romilda, it would kick me out of this reality. I had no idea what the results would be this time around.
But as they say, beggars can't be choosers.
Do you wish to use Meta-Luck?
Yes. Damnit. Anything was better than being like this. I wanted to return my body to exactly how it was before I used the Natural Demon.
Meta-Luck is being deployed
A rush of… something surged through me, made my body vibrate like the plucked string of a guitar, and I jerked into a brief, violent contortion. There was a strange fire in my broken bones, and the numbness in my spine suddenly vanished, while my body bowed into my violent bow, every muscle trying to tear its way off to my bones as a jolt of terrible, sweet power flowed through my nerves. A lightning bolt hit my chest, an agonising ribbon of silver power that felt too great and too terrible to be contained within a single body, returning control back to me.
And just like that, I knew I had achieved my miracle.
Consumed Meta-Luck Units: 23
Remaining Meta-Luck: 34.2
My body still felt like it had been electrocuted. Every single nerve flared. It was like being subjected to Dracos's cruciatus all over again. But no worries. Given the alternative, I'd take the cruciatus ten times over.
"Harry!" I heard Amelia speak. She was trying to hold me up over the last several minutes, but without success. This time, I grabbed her arm and sat up straight.
"I… I'm fine. Just… it hurts."
"Obviously it does, you dolt!" said Susan. "You exhausted yourself and then some. What kind of idiot does that?"
"Susan!" Amelia barked. "He's our guest, and he's already in pain. He needs rest." She grabbed me softly, but firmly. "Where does it hurt?"
"My skin," I murmured. "It burns."
"That'll be the magical exhaustion hitting," she murmured. "You — you need a hot bath. That'll get you sorted in a jiffy."
"SKIP!" Susan yelled, as a pop sounded nearby. I didn't bother turning my head, which was hurting like hell, but I heard Susan relaying orders to an elf to get my bath ready. I tried to stand up, but staggered and nearly fell down again, but Amelia caught me.
"Okay, you're in no position to walk. Grab onto me, I'll take you!"
"I can manage!" I said and staggered again.
"Yes," Amelia drawled. "I can see that."
Magical Core Status: Unharmed
Magical Capacity Status: Full
I ignored her dry wit and focussed on the screen. It seemed my bargain had worked. That alone was enough to make me leap with joy. Maybe I would have, if I was all by myself, and not standing with Amelia's help.
So saying, she threw my right hand over her shoulder and slowly trudged me out of the room. The view of her cleavage from this angle would have gotten me hard, if not for the fear I was feeling for what was about to follow.
Meta-Luck Deployment Complete
You have altered Fate for a second time. Allotted title: RULE-BREAKER.
Against my better judgement, I checked out what that meant.
Title: RULE-BREAKER
You have denied the effects of your own Destiny, shrugging off the effects of your own predetermined existence.
EFFECTS
Required World Anchorage raised to 35. Perk DOMINO EFFECT added
A perk? The System had actually granted me a Perk for using Meta-Luck? That the power had brought me back from being a vegetable to perfect physical and magical health and now it was awarding me, felt like getting an additional discount for winning a discount.
I really should stop looking gift horses in the mouth. Else, I might get punched by the fist coming out of its gullet.
Perk — DOMINO EFFECT
You've used Meta-Luck to alter your future and cause a systematic chain reaction, starting from small occurrences to large effects, diverging further away from their predetermined destinies. In doing so, you have affected the destinies of your World Anchors. None of their fates are now set in stone.
EFFECTS
CHILD OF PROPHECY perk applied to all associations with 50% world anchorage or higher.
I… might have spoken a bit too quickly. Domino Effect sounded less of a Perk and more like a warning that my knowledge of canon was about to become less relevant than last week's used tissue paper. The Child of Prophecy perk brought about a 50% increased chance of encountering significant entities in this world, and if it affected my top anchors, then they'd be attracting significant attention, which would mean that I would attract even more attention. Both positive and negative.
This could be dangerous. And profitable. Just like the old days.
I smiled. Yeah, I could work with that.
"That darn grin better not be because of this," Amelia warned me. "DMLE Director carrying a schoolboy to the bathroom. As if I didn't have enough of this as a cadet."
"Sorry," I apologised, "I'm being such a bother."
"Nonsense!" she scoffed. "It was my mistake, letting a newbie get carried away on Auror's equipment. What was I thinking? I should've stopped the machine after the first five minutes."
"Maybe you were awed by my performance?"
"Enough with your cheek!" She said, "and yes, it was a good show. You've got a lot of potential, Potter."
She smiled, the dimples in her cheek made her look not much older than Susan. She held me against her shoulder, while opening the bathroom door with her other hand and got me in. I grabbed the edges of the hot tub and looked at her expectantly.
"What?" she asked.
"I need to disrobe," I said, looking at her and then at the door.
Amelia looked at me, conflict in her eyes, before she took a step forward, barely inches away from me. Her wildflower smell hit my nostrils. She flicked her wand and the bathroom door closed with a snap. Then she grabbed the top button on my shirt.
Normally, I'd have taken this as a sign of progress. But this was no school girl or submissive eatery owner. This wasn't sex-starved Narcissa Malfoy either. The DMLE Director was a sharp woman with a sharper duelling skill and instinct, and she hadn't shown even a single sign that could be construed as sexual interest.
"... what are you doing?"
"What does it look like?" She snapped. Then, in a calmer voice, she said. "You're suffering from magical exhaustion and you can barely stand. How do you think you'll get out of those robes?"
"But—"
"I'm an adult," she claimed. "As are you, Lord Potter. So deal with this like adults." She unbuttoned me with careful precision and tugged the front of my shirt before stripping it off and undoing my pants. I'd have called this extremely hot if not for the mechanical tone with which she did it, as she pulled my pants down as I stepped out of them. With a flick of her wand, she banished my clothes to the stand, leaving me in just my boxers. If she noticed the tent forming against my boxers, she didn't comment on it and instead helped me step into the bath.
I lay back against it, luxuriating, the water churning to a controlled froth by jets that hit me from dozens of angles. The water was at that perfect temperature, a little short of scalding my skin, and the heat sinking into muscle and bone, warming me deliciously and washing the aches away.
"Feel better?" she asked.
The surface of the bath had enough in the way of bubbles and froth to be opaque, so I pushed myself back and got rid of the boxers.
"Much better." I told her. "The clothes were pricking my skin."
"Standard effects of magical exhaustion," she waved off. "It flares the nerve-endings and makes one extremely sensitive to touch. Not unlike the effects of a low-powered cruciatus, as I am certain you can relate?"
I gave her a slow nod. Amelia didn't look like she was in a hurry. Instead, she cast a quick impervious charm on her clothes and sat down beside the tub, her legs together and to one side, her hands folded on her lap. I stared at her for a long minute and then said, "It's not your fault."
"Excuse me?"
"You live in a castle that's surrounded by enough magical wards and defences that they make the Ministry of Magic look like a common marketplace. Given the oak forests and the hit-wizards you've chosen for your protection, you're constantly worried about the intentions of others. You also have this habit of compulsively blaming yourself for whatever wrongs happen to those that depend on you, regardless of the circumstances, whether it be the situation with the DMLE or a guest stupidly landing himself in magical exhaustion."
A slow grin crawled across her full lips, completely transforming her face. "Are you reading me, Mr. Potter?"
"Yes," I replied easily. "As have you, I'd wager. So why don't you ask me?"
She curled an eyebrow.
"It's obvious that you will not leave until I'm done bathing. I'll probably need help to get dry and wear my clothes. And it's obvious you've got questions," I told her. "If we are spending a little time here, you might as well ask them now."
She gave me a curt nod in acknowledgement. "Perceptive. But you're wrong there, Harry. I have questions, but I prefer solving them myself. I'm merely trying to draw a profile of what I've learned of you this far."
Deciding to appease my curiosity, I relaxed back into the tub, raising my hands out of it, and met her gaze. "And what does my profile say?"
That grin again. "You're an enigma, Harry Potter. You have been raised by magic-hating relatives for the most impressionable years of your life. By rights, you should be an emotional cripple if not borderline psychotic. That your friends for the first three years at Hogwarts have been an emotionally stunted Ronald Weasley and… to put things indelicately, a bookworm, Hermione Granger, definitely points to the former. Knowledge of your history as the Boy-Who-Lived and the tragedy of what happened to your parents could have caused a survivor's guilt mindset. Maybe a desire to play the part of the boy-hero, as a way for your dead parents to live vicariously through you. Gaining your inheritance could have rekindled your desires, which explains a sudden desire to involve yourself in your family business. That you hired someone following the recommendations of an Auror speaks of your lack of reticence in trusting people with your problems, but you're also quick to study them beforehand before deciding to trust them. You obviously knew Miss Tonks, probably through your authority as Lord Conditional of Black. That you trusted me with your memories, supplied the evidence and came clean with your agendas shows you as a person who's an excellent judge of character, and nonchalant about using others. Or a person who is too confident in his resources and his ability to shape events to his liking."
I grinned back. "Why the enigma?"
"Because the rest of it makes little sense!" she responded hotly. "I can understand meeting the Boy-Who-Lived, the last scion of Potter who's willing to trust the DMLE Director enough to come clean with his motives. It probably helps that your motives are aligned with the betterment of the DMLE and against the Dark Lord. But you — this you — you're anything but an emotional cripple. Your plans reveal a meticulous mind seasoned with playing the predator and not the victim, a far away from the borderline psychotic personality. You make grand, sweeping statements, and are not worried about getting your hands dirty, including cladding yourself with moral authority if it improves your case, not because it is the right thing to do, but because it is the most efficient thing to do. That you're so confident about leveraging your work to the point of brazenness speaks of a Hufflepuff attitude while your skill at arranging matters reveals a sharp Slytherin side. You choose to study what you think best, uncaring about your academic performance. One would call that a Ravenclaw-ish mind, but you pursue knowledge for the sake of ambition, and not knowledge. The person who is sitting in front of me is entirely different from the person in the dossier I have about you. And don't even get me started on your performance earlier."
I continued to smile at her, as though I was only intrigued and not freaked out. I was certain that Amelia wanted to freak me out.
"Hence," she finished. "Enigma."
"I think," I said, "that once you get to know people from the inside, they all reveal conflicting parts of their personality. Even you are not an exception."
"Somehow I doubt that," said Amelia.
"Do you?" I challenged her. "You come across as intimidating and busy, even though it is pretty obvious that taking time out for your family and those you consider dear is an important part of your life. You are, in all honesty, one of the most beautiful women I've ever seen and the Regent of an Ancient and Noble House. Yet you've focussed solely on your job and climbed the ladder with sheer diligence. That means you are alone by choice, and have probably dismissed any attention sent your way."
She folded her arms; her smile widening. Her gaze felt predatory, as if challenging me to go on.
Naturally, I took her on.
"At first glance, one'd think you're too feminist for your own good. At second glance, you're someone who's hard to get close to because trust isn't something you share too often. You grab at anything and everything that helps you trust others, even if it is something as subtle as wand woods. Not because you're a poor judge of character, because it lets you pass the blame onto something else just in case you get betrayed. Your closed-off nature keeps you from getting hurt by people, but it also keeps you from having anyone in your life. At night, when you close your eyes and allow yourself to be vulnerable… that's the only time you dare to wonder what it'd be like to be with someone."
Amelia swallowed. I had hit it on the spot. For someone on her level, being so easily readable was a no-no. Her entire demeanour suggested that she had trained against it. I considered myself a decent reader of people, but Hestia's perk was taking it to another level.
Maybe I should take her to the dungeon again. She loved it.
"The Bones mascot is a crup," went on. "Yet, I don't see a single dog in this house. It's like you wouldn't allow yourself to get attached to any animal when you know you'll most likely outlive it and have to deal with the heartbreak of losing the pet. You're detached by necessity, most likely by the painful past, and it's pushed you in this direction. Your past has pushed you into emotional solitude, but you stay there by choice."
She flinched. I'm sure she'd have taken a step back if she were standing. Her eyes dilated, and she stared at me with a mix of apprehension, curiosity and fear. There was something else too, but I couldn't really decipher it.
"Sorry… I went too far," I said, as if I had just not unravelled her confidence with one pull on the right thread. Her eyes were stuck at mine, and I smiled, throwing her a casual grin. It broke the tension, and an unexpected smile faltered its way into her lips.
"It's fine," she said. "Any other revelations, oh master profiler?"
"Yeah, I estimate a sixty-six percent chance of you helping me get up."
She arched an eyebrow.
I shrugged helplessly. "My hands and legs seem to have fallen asleep."
Both of us said nothing for a moment, before cracking up in laughter.
Notes:
If you want to support me, find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Chapter 53: Just Like Your Father Part 1
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 2 - HOUSE OF BONES
The bath was shaping out to be extremely interesting.
I watched as Amelia stood up from her place, folded her arms and leaned against the wall, her dark eyes taking me in with evident interest. Then she tilted her head and moved towards me, resting her hands against the sides of the bath.
"Erm—" I began.
"Do you need any help?" she offered, before I could finish. "I doubt you can do much cleaning, what with the pain and everything."
I blinked twice, trying to process exactly what she was saying. Had it been any other woman, I'd have understood, but Amelia Bones was the highest military authority in the entire nation. Just a single screwup would be enough to fuck with all my plans. But then I noticed how her eyes were gleaming with lust as her fingertips traced the surface of the frothing water.
"I suppose I could use some help," I admitted.
She came closer, her fingers now crawling all the way over my arm until they rested against a scar on my upper arm. She traced its outline and glanced up at me, lifting an eyebrow.
"Basilisk fang," I said. "Got bit by Slytherin's basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets. Dumbledore's phoenix healed it."
Every other person I had shared this information with had gone wide-eyed, and trust me, I had gotten asked this question a lot. Most of them just went crazy trying to wrap their heads around how a fifteen-year-old survived a basilisk. Some, like Hermione and Hestia, had been all about the details, trying to draw conclusions, while the rest had simply been shocked and awed by the entire episode.
Not Amelia Bones. She looked at me for a few seconds after I said that, perhaps processing my answer in her mind. Then she nodded.
And that was that.
Then her fingers touched the hollow of my throat. A shuddering sensation of heat fluttered through my skin in the wake of her fingertips. She looked up at me again.
"Burns. From when Professor Quirrel, possessed by Voldemort, tried to strangle me."
Her touch trailed down to my chest, right above my right nipple. There were a series of tiny etches, remnants of my blood rituals with the Black cilice.
"Spell practice," I lied. "Testing some high-powered battle spells."
She shook her head. "I know men that have lived five times as long as you have who have not collected so many scars." She flashed a look at my most famous scar.
"Maybe they lived that long because they didn't have a madman gunning after them?"
She met my eyes. This close, her eyes looked even darker than before. "Scoot."
"Excuse me?"
Amelia let out a small cackle. "If I've to help you get cleaned up, I can't do that from here, can I?"
And then she grabbed the hem of her shirt. I watched with bated breath as inch after inch of her perfect skin revealed itself to my eyes. She stopped once the fabric had reached her neck, revealing a satin pink bra beneath, looking at me for a moment before she closed her eyes and pulled the shirt off completely, throwing it down on the floor. She casually undid her skirt as well, revealing herself in equally pink panties. Watching me gape at her, she smirked.
"I couldn't just get in without taking my clothes off, could I? They'd get wet. Now, scoot over."
Given that her clothes had fallen on the wet floor, I doubted that was the reason. She came from behind me and pushed me forward as she dipped her long legs into the bath and sat on the other end, my head resting between her legs. Her hands sliding into the water, she lifted and poured it on my back. I smiled and lowered my head.
Amelia's hands caressed my back, and I smelt the soap in them as she worked her fingers into my shoulder muscles and upper back.
"Oh man, that's good," I moaned, feeling the stiffness and ache easing a little as her fingers probed and pushed, massaging soap into my skin, and every so often, a handful of water up and rinsing me clean. I closed my eyes, drifting in a sea of pleasure as she worked her magic. My cock throbbed at all the attention she was giving to my upper extremities and tightened up to full stiffness.
I sat up a little straighter.
"Feel better now?" she asked.
I barked out a laugh. "You've got magic hands, Amelia."
I didn't need to turn to see her smile. "I'm glad," she said. "It's been so long. I wasn't sure I remembered how."
"You were fantastic," I told her. There were no more doubts in my mind. I knew what was going on and where this was headed. Amelia's Occlumency might have resisted my Devil's Charm, but it turns out, Hestia's perk worked just fine on her. "I wonder if I could trouble your hands for a massage to my lower back. It's still stiff. Same for my legs."
"It is, isn't it?" She asked, smiling, playing along. "I doubt I can get those done from here."
"It'd be easier for you to just get in," I suggested, chuckling a little.
"That seems logical." I heard the amusement in her tone. I moved forward, and felt her shift her weight for a moment, and then she was in the bath behind me, her feet sliding past my hips and resting on my thighs.
"Look forward," she said, her hands holding my shoulders in place, before they slid down my spine and pushed me even further forward, until my head was nearly in the water. I felt the soap working into my muscles on either side of my spine, firm movements that sought the knots and slowly smoothened them out. Her free hands came up and rested on the back of my head and I felt her fingers gradually massage my scalp.
"Oh my," I murmured, as waves of pleasure hit me.
"Good?"
"Amazing."
She continued to massage me, and after a few minutes, she moved her hands down my back, smoothening the skin and removing any residual soap. I sighed, feeling incredibly relaxed and content.
"How is your chest?
"Still sore," I admitted.
I felt her hands slip around my ribs and until they were resting on my chest. I expected her to sit upright behind me, so colour me surprised when she pulled against me instead.
"Lean back, slowly."
I followed her directions as she adjusted her position behind me until my head was resting on her shoulder. I could feel her soft, massive breasts on my back, separated by a flimsy layer of cloth, while her legs crossed around my waist. They touched my cock and slowed down, resting against it.
"This is nice," I murmured.
"Put your arms out." She whispered in my ear.
I did, and she pulled water up and over my chest. It felt incredibly intimate and tender, as if two lovers who had been together for a long time were caring for each other's needs. I closed my eyes. Amelia ran the soap in circular swirls across my chest and began working on my pectorals. I could hear her growing breaths, sense her anticipation as her buxom chest heaved, while her fingers moved in acute concentration, dutifully massaging all over my stomach.
"Amelia?"
"Mmmm?"
"You said you had forgotten how to do this. When was the last time you did this for anyone?"
She chuckled. "Are we really talking about that now?"
"Well…" I conceded, "I'm not going anywhere."
She threw her head back and laughed. There was nothing musical or alluring about it. Just simple laughter, warm and genuine. "About twenty years ago. And now you've reminded me of my age. Does that make you feel good, Mr. Potter?"
I let out a quiet laugh. "I have a thing for older women, actually. Who was it?"
"Do you really want to know that?" She whispered into my ear.
"Ye… yes."
I felt her smile. "It was your father."
The water splashed all over the tub as I whirled around to face her. Given her legs were crossed over my waist, that had the unforeseen complication of pushing her sideward as I tried to face her. Her legs tangled with mine, and the only way out was for her to come on top, resting her bountiful assets against my chest, and my erection poking into her abdomen. One of her hands gripped my neck, while another slid down my chest, our mouths separated by inches. Her fingers left a trail of fire in my flesh, and the hunger to taste her lips grew within me.
"You, uh — James Potter?"
Amelia pushed herself against me, which meant pushing her bra-clad breasts over my chest, the wet cloth all but pushed downward, revealing her buxom chest in all its glory, the frothing waters only stressing her sexual appeal rather than hiding her from my eyes.
"Yes," she murmured.
"You dated him?"
She smiled, her fingers crawling across my chest, centering on the scar. "Your father and I knew each other since we were one. Your grandmother, Euphemia Bones, was my father's first cousin, and my favourite aunt. James and I shared a few milestones together: first prom, firewhiskey, sex…." she laughed again, and this time, it was a hollow one. "Then in his fourth year, he got smitten with Lily."
"I thought he was…. I thought he had been smitten with my mother since the first year."
Amelia rolled her eyes. "Hardly. I was a year ahead of him. Back then, Lily was this person he loved to antagonise. That she had a friend in Slytherin House only made it worse. James had always been a little too hostile towards Slytherins and Severus Snape didn't exactly have too many redeeming qualities. Between pranking a fellow Gryffindor muggle born and pranking Snape, the choice was obvious."
"And now Snape's taking his revenge by picking on me in class."
Amelia frowned. "I have… heard about your issues with Severus Snape from Susan. But I admit I've never quite looked at it that way."
I exhaled. "I'll deal with it."
Before she could say something,
I snaked one hand around her waist, and Amelia let out a quiet, satisfied, little moan and melted against me, her body pressing full length to mine. It was like all those years of repressing her sexual instincts were all erupting out at once. I felt her wet panties rub against my erection, as she stayed like that, eyes shut for five or ten seconds, and when she finally opened them, they were absolutely huge and molten with desire. She arched in a slow stretch, letting out a low, pleased sigh.
I held back from kissing her. There was no doubt she'd respond in like, but I wanted her further down the rabbit hole before I began exercising my charm.
"Honestly, Harry," said Amelia, "I'll admit I never liked your mother. Lily Evans was gifted at the magical arts. We all knew that. But something about her just rubbed me the wrong way. He went all crazy after her in his fourth year and would keep ranting to me about how Lily-Flower would just not give her the time of the day. Between the nerve-wracking tension of OWL preparations, and me being tired of his rants, I forced him to test for love potions."
I winced.
"Yeah," she chuckled mirthlessly. "That went really well. Turns out Lily didn't potion him, and that just destroyed our relationship. I got into a Hit-Wizard internship right after my OWLS, and that meant spending even less time with James. I knew my father and Uncle Fleamont had a betrothal contract readied for the two of us after James passed his NEWTs, so I went on with my career. After all, it was OWL year for James, and the next two years would be just as nerve-wracking with NEWTs on the horizon. I was looking forward to recruiting James for the DMLE right after his graduation. But most of all, I wondered, how much could possibly go wrong?"
She pushed her face into my shoulder, and I heard a sob escape her throat. I couldn't find it in my heart to ask her what happened after that, so I settled on making rings over her spotless back with my finger. By the time she pushed back, she was breathing harder, and her heart was beating frantically against my chest.
"I saw James after two years, and it turned out Lily was pregnant. With his child."
Amelia pushed back physically, a large scowl marring her features. Her eyes, so full of molten desire until then, had transformed into smouldering flames of impotent rage. "I… I was so angry that I lost it. I almost attacked him. Turns out, Death Eaters killed Lily's parents during her sixth year, and James had supported her, and they had dated. James claimed she saw how much he had matured and fell for his charms."
Amelia sat up straight, uncaring that her breasts were full on display, and splashed the water with her hands in fury.
"SENTIMENTAL TRIPE!" She snarled. "I knew what that witch had done. She got to know exactly what happened with muggleborns and half-bloods and didn't want to share that future. Her parents might have died at the Death Eaters' hands, but she used that to cement herself to James. And then she got pregnant with his child."
She glared at me, as if I was to blame. Then again, I probably was.
"I guess my grandfather didn't take that nicely."
Amelia snorted. It was a cold and callous thing. "You think? Uncle Fleamont was furious. A muggle born becoming Lady Potter? It was a giant scandal. He wanted nothing to do with Lily Evans, nor the unwanted—" she paused, realising the faux pas, but I gestured her to continue. "Uncle wanted James to honour the betrothal and marry me. He was even willing to keep Lily Evans as James's concubine, and let the child call itself a Potter. James refused and walked out with Lily to live in Godric's Hollow."
That explained a lot about the Potter financial statements and Gornuk's comments about Fleamont Potter.
"You know the rest," said Amelia softly, her eyes glistening. "Fleamont and James never saw eye to eye with each other. Aunt Euphie and I often tried to make father and son reconcile, but they wouldn't. And then… Voldemort happened. First with the attack on Potter Manor, and then on the cottage in Godric's Hollow."
"Potter Manor…" I narrowed my eyes. "Why did Voldemort attack Potter Manor? I thought Fleamont Potter was neutral."
Amelia's eyes glistened. "Why else? He was after Lily and James. I told them to avoid becoming part of Dumbledore's blasted Order, but he wouldn't listen. Lily wouldn't let him listen. She was furious that Death Eaters had killed her parents and wanted revenge, and James wouldn't let her do it alone. Blasted bitch dragged him to his death. I don't know why Voldemort was searching so madly for them, but he attacked Potter Manor first, thinking he was hiding there. Uncle Fleamont… he and Aunt Euphie fought to their last breath, but they never told him where James and Lily were."
She was shaking horribly. I wanted to hug her, but then decided against it.
"That madman took everything away from us. Uncle Fleamont, Aunt Euphie, my own parents, my brothers… their families, James… I was — I was a wreck. I told you I was in the will. I was supposed to adopt you. But I — I couldn't. I told myself lies. I told myself that Death Eaters had already breached the manor's defences once. Keeping Susan safe alone was a daunting task. Keeping the Boy-Who-Lived with her… But I was lying. I just… I just couldn't bring myself to look at you. You were the Boy-Who-Lived to everyone, the saviour of our world, but to me, you were the unwanted pregnancy that upturned my life. I just couldn't bring myself to look at you. But most of all, I didn't want Susan to grow up the way I did. I didn't want her to get her dreams crushed by another Potter. I — I —"
She couldn't say anymore. She grabbed my shoulders and thrust her head into my chest, breaking into sobs. But this time, I didn't let her cry by herself. I lifted my right hand to cup her jawline and leaned down to press my mouth to hers.
Amelia let out a slow, satisfied moan and melted against me again, pressing herself into my body like she wanted to be one with me. One of her hands grabbed my head, while my left hand ran through the curls of her red hair, drawing her more deeply into the kiss. Her mouth was inflamed with need, and she demanded vindication, and somehow in her head, I was the one that could give her that. Her hands ran all over my chest and back, her hips shifting in slow tension against mine, and I could feel her heat against me. By the time it was over, both of us were breathing hard, and I could see a primal desire in her eyes.
It was time to culminate it all into an explosive climax.
It was time to fuck her.
Notes:
If you want to support me, find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Chapter 54: Just Like Your Father Part 2
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 2 - HOUSE OF BONES
Amelia pushed her wet form against Harry, her breasts now bereft of her bra's protection, and her nipples brushing against his solid chest. She grabbed him by his neck and sucked his earlobe, grabbing his right hand and placing it on her cheek, shivering as his fingers crawled down her cheek, down the hollow of her neck and fell in between her heaving breasts. She felt his cock, thick and veiny and definitely larger than James, pulse angrily against her abdomen. It brushed against her panties and she shuddered again, her own wetness separated only by a flimsy piece of cloth didn't look at all enough to keep that raging cock from tearing a new one into her.
It scared her.
Harry grabbed her by her neck and pulled her to his lips. She allowed her own arms to flow backwards and snake around his neck and pull his face to meet hers. Their lips met instantly and parted seconds later. His tongue darted straight into her mouth and met her own tongue, probing hard and fast against him. She kissed him passionately, their mouths never quite leaving each other, even for air. Instead, she pushed herself further into him, his cock slipping all over her legs and abdomen every single time, water splashing all over the floor as they made out.
And then Harry pushed back.
Amelia left his lips and panted for air as he pushed her back, splashing even more water, until he was now pressing her against the other end of the tub. Their positions were now reversed, with him over her. His calloused, Quidditch-playing hands slid up and grabbed her mounds of tit flesh and with all and mauled them, squeezing them hard without abandon, all the while scouring the insides of her mouth with his tongue. She could sense the unrest within him, knew that he wanted to fuck her and she wanted to get fucked by him. She squealed as she felt his hand crawl beneath her and grab her arse and maul them, while his other hand squeezed her left tit, his cock probing against her panties.
And then she felt him grab the thin thread of her panties and pull them down and insert a single finger into her wetness.
Yes! Yes James! Finally! Just a little deeper.
She pulled him closer and stared into her emerald eyes —
And froze.
Emerald eyes, not brown. Emerald. Like Lily. This — This wasn't James. This was Harry, James's son, and she had just—
Her eyes widened, and her jaw fell open.
What have I done?
She gasped as she stared at him as if she had never seen him before. He looked so much like James, from the unruly hair to the intense, pussy-clenching gaze to that lopsided grin. It was all James. The Casanova outlook, James. That devil-may-care attitude, James. That intensely sharp mind hiding behind a brawn Gryffindor, James.
But he wasn't James. He was his son.
Harry. Harry James Potter.
"What the fuck have I done?" She asked, her pent-up sexual demands evaporating on the fly. "I — I — I need to get out of here!"
She tried to get off the bath, spilling more water all over the floor, but Harry grabbed her waist and pulled her down. She spun around and whacked his hand away with hers, but he didn't let her. He spun her around until her back was facing him and pulled her into the water with him, his hands mauling her breasts without mercy.
"Leave — let me — let me go!" She demanded between moans. "This is — is wrong! We shouldn't have done this! Harry — Mr. Potter—"
"We did what we wanted," said Harry. He was just trying to reassure her. No, he was just trying to fuck her. Obviously, he wanted her body after everything that had happened between them. Scoring with a sensual older woman was exactly how his teenage mind would work. There was no way she was going to —
Her thoughts died as she let out another long, soft moan as he pushed a finger into her folds.
"Please, stop! Harry! Stop! We can't do this."
He nibbled her ear. "Why?"
"Because — because this is wrong!"
The finger in her folds became two. "Why?"
Why? What why?
"Why not?" Harry asked. "I want to. You want to. We're both adults. You wouldn't have kissed me if you didn't want this."
Oh, how could she explain? She had gotten confused by her own emotions. Somewhere between talking to him and listening to him systematically tear down every single wall and reveal her true self to her with just words made her feel utterly naked before his gaze. Was it any surprise that her clothes had followed suit?
"It doesn't matter! I'm — I'm easily your mother's age."
Her words felt hollow, even to her. She wanted to kiss him. Wanted to be kissed by him. She tried hard to stop her thoughts, to regain the ironclad will she had maintained over the past two decades. She tried to convince herself that she didn't want this, that she would tell him off and obliviate him of this memory.
But the truth still came to her, and she knew she wanted him to fuck her, and that she was going to enjoy every minute, even though she wanted to deny it to herself. She knew that deep down, not only did she want him to fuck her, but she wanted to fuck him back and love all of it.
Slowly, her histrionics ceased, and she lay in the water, right above him, his erect cock between her legs and his hands on her stomach and breasts. Butterflies the size of houses fluttered in her belly. How had this started? When had she turned from the Iron Lady DMLE Director to this repressed slut craving for the touch of a young man half her age?
"It's okay," she murmured at last. "I'm not going anywhere."
She turned her head and met his emerald gaze. There was concern in his eyes, concern and affection and a finality that she just couldn't look away from. Just what was it he did to her? There she was, DMLE Director, war-veteran Hit-Witch, the bane of criminals. So why was this young man looking at her like she needed his protection? Their gaze extended, and Amelia felt a little worried, a little nervous too, and horny like hell. She wanted him and wanted him badly, yet she knew it was wrong. She was a woman in the prime of her life and he — he was still a teenager. A teenager with a lust so intense that it sent her fluids racing downward.
Amelia stared into his eyes for what seemed like an eternity until finally she thought perhaps she had been all wrong; perhaps nothing was going to happen. The sad thing was, she couldn't decide whether to be happy or sad about it.
"I'm not James Potter," he said out of nowhere.
Amelia flinched. She knew that, but somewhere along the line, the lines between reality and delusion had faded for her. He grabbed her hand and placed it on his cheek. Unconsciously, she twisted her body until she was on top again.
"James Potter did not reciprocate your feelings," he said. "He never had eyes for anyone but Lily Evans. I don't know if she tricked him or if it was just the way things turned out. I don't know if the pregnancy was unwanted or if James would have the betrothal. But what I know is this."
He reached around her waist and pulled her to him, his lips touching hers and their mouths separating and tongues dancing, softly this time. She put both hands on his chest as their kiss deepened.
Merlin, how was he so good at this?
And then he broke the kiss and smiled at her once again, a cocky grin on his face. "None of that matters. You know why? Because I will give you what James Potter couldn't."
His tongue licked her neck.
"I'll worship every part of you."
One hand went to her folds.
"I'll make love to you. Every single night."
His hand went up to her tit and squeezed it. Tight.
"I'll fuck you like you've always desired. I'll take this cock and drill it into you so deep that those hit-wizards you have out there will hear you scream. I'll make you cum so many times that you'll forget that there was ever any James Potter."
He grabbed her throat. "I will own you, Amelia. And I'll make you mine."
Amelia looked at him and nodded. It was a good thing that they were in a tub. Trying to hide the thrill of the lust and electricity shooting through her pussy as he said those words would have been difficult. She wanted him and wanted him now. Right or wrong, this was what she wanted, and she was going to get it.
His eyes roamed all over her body. Amelia blushed, but wanted him to look.
"Tell me," he whispered, "what do you want?"
"I want…" she whispered. "I want you to take me. Right here. Right now."
"No."
"WHAT?" she yelled, only to be silenced by his look. "Why?"
"You've rejected my advances, Amelia. And for that, you need to be punished. Isn't that the law, DMLE Director?"
This man… he was absolutely impossible, wasn't he? But as strange as it was, Amelia looked forward to whatever he had in mind.
"I understand," she said, resigning herself to his mercy. "Punish me."
"I will," He said, and turned her around, until she was bending against the walls of the tub, her breasts falling out of it on the other side. She felt his erection growing, pressing against her back. He leaned down, so close that she could feel his weight over her, pushing her down against the tub walls, and heard him sniff.
He was inhaling her scent.
Then his fingers reached down to her panties. He grabbed the thread and slowly, sensually, pulled it down, leaving her wetness on display.
Amelia bit her lip, feeling his impressive cock against her folds. Her fingers itched to reach back and stroke him, but she stayed where she was, obeying him like a good little slave should.
Slave? Wow. Where had that thought come from? She was the highest military authority in wizarding Britain. She couldn't have gotten off on being forced into submission. Could she?
I can't believe I'm doing this. I can't believe I'm letting him do this to me. Is this what I am now? A woman that lets herself on display for her —
For her master?
She felt his hand slowly caress her arse. There was a cold, spidery touch to them. Amelia almost whimpered, her body already responding as the moment stretched, the anticipation pure agony.
Smack!
When his palm connected with her arse, she made a noise that was half a sigh of relief and half a shriek. There was a sharp sting of pain, and then he hit her again, his hand smacking against her other cheek so hard that tears burned behind her eyes. The pain flared out, burning as she waited for the next blow. Instead, his fingers began rubbing her, caressing her, stroking the pain away.
It was almost worse than the spanking, because she mewled against the tub walls, unable to help herself, arching back into his touch.
Smack!
His hand came down again, making her cry out, the pain redoubled as he hit the bruised flesh, still tender from before. Again, his cruel palm landed a blow, then again, and then those dreadful, evil, sweet, wonderful hands were on her again, touching her like no man had ever touched her before, smoothing away the hurt.
Her pussy was aching, and she was aroused, painfully so. The way he was stroking her, his fingers were just inches away from her delicate folds. His cock, thick and pulsing, lay just within reach. If she arched a little further, maybe that weapon would slip into her wetness, teasing her, exploring until she cried out beneath him.
His hand came down again and again, and she screamed, her body so tense, she thought she might burst.
"Relax, Amelia!" he breathed into her ear. "Relax, or it will hurt more."
She let the tension out of her muscles as he commanded, and he spanked her again, harder and harder, his blows coming faster now, building to a crescendo. She moaned, the pain slowly changing into something strange — the fuzzy warmth flowing through his every hit, and the pleasure arising out of every slap on her arse.
And to think he had yet to fuck her.
Was this what he did with the other girls? She suspected he was in a polyamorous relationship with multiple girls, including, but not limited to, Hannah Abbott and perhaps Hermione Granger. He had Hestia Jones as his assistant, and given the way he maintained a leash on her behaviour, she wouldn't put it beyond him to have turned that young woman into his plaything.
He was a devil spawn. A sexual predator.
And she was his prey.
But despite that, Amelia found she didn't quite dislike her current situation.
And then his hands landed on her again, and all thoughts vanished from her head. Harry Potter kneaded her arse until she felt tears roll down her cheek, and then he was holding her, collapsed over her so she could feel his cock pressed against her folds. She rubbed against it, like a cat in heat, but he didn't even try to push it into her pussy. This… this impossible man that was playing with her, but would not give her what she wanted — the feeling of that cock deep into her wetness. This was the man she had given herself to.
And then he pulled away.
"That's enough for now."
"What?" she all but yelled, turning back. "Why?"
Harry stood up and stepped out of the tub. He gave her a look from her head to toe, and then casually squeezed her left tit before giving it a light smack.
"Because," he said, a damnable smirk forming on his lips. "Good things come to those who wait for it. And I'm here for the entire weekend. Aren't I? So show me who's a good girl."
With that, he turned around and raised his hand. Amelia watched as his clothes shot upwards, completely dry. She watched at his casual display of wandless magic, mentally tying it with that awe-inspiring performance she had seen earlier.
She watched as he dressed himself and closed the bathroom door behind him. Amelia rose, shaky and feeling a tighter wound than a suspension coil. She wanted to cry. She was so damned horny, and yet he had just dismissed her like that and walked out.
No. She corrected herself. Harry Potter wasn't the spawn of the devil. He was the devil himself.
Notes:
If you want to support me, find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Chapter 55: A Surprise Visit
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 2 - HOUSE OF BONES
I lay in my bed, gazing up at the blue sky through the window, contemplating on what had just happened and tapping my fingers thoughtfully against the mattress. The reckless attempt at impressing Amelia and Susan had endangered me, and if not for Meta-Luck, things could have gone terribly bad. Even so, I couldn't really bring myself to dislike what had happened.
Especially the aftermath.
I had made out with Amelia 'Iron Lady' Bones.
I had her, naked and wet, sprawled all over me, and begging me to fuck her pussy.
I had pushed the DMLE Director down like a bitch in heat, and spanked her arse six ways to Sunday and back, leaving a sex-starved creature in her place.
All in a matter of two hours.
At the same time, I had been incredibly reckless, and not just with the Natural Demon bit. I had Amelia exactly where I wanted her, and I didn't fuck her. All that I needed was a single fuck, cum inside her, and I'd have had her as my latest World Anchor. Instead, I had played the arrogant casanova card, and left her hanging for more. It probably added to my sex-appeal but it was still reckless.
Frowning, I checked my anchorage stats.
Ginny Weasley - 53%
Hermione Granger - 100%
Dobby - 43%
Hestia - 100%
Tracey Davis - 10%
Narcissa Malfoy - 82%
Hannah Abbott - 14%
Cynthia Abbott - 31%
CURRENT ANCHORAGE (TOTAL): 433
Romilda's world anchor had vanished, huh? There had been no notification whatsoever. I supposed it was a good thing I had gotten a quickie from Tracey the other day, or else her anchor too would have disappeared too. I had some plans to raise her anchorage to a lofty hundred by the end of the summer. As far as the Abbotts were concerned, I was pretty confident I could raise both of them past their halfway mark before the month was over. And Narcissa was… Narcissa.
Unfortunately that presented a major problem.
I was out of growth options. Dobby was an elf, and bound to me. I had absolutely no clue how to increase my importance in his eyes, what with the way the batty thing kept murmuring about the wonderful and great Harry Potter. Say what you want, but the crazy elf was good for my ego.
Of course, there was always Penelope. That girl was just itching to get a hard fuck, but her stubbornness and her pride were getting in the way. Besides, I had a feeling that Hermione wouldn't like it if I pursued her.
Oh no, it would be so much better to have her pursue me instead.
I checked my affinity stats.
Transfiguration — 43%
Charms — 79%
Martial Magic — 70%
Dark Arts — 71%
Psychomancy — 15%
Alchemy — 21%
Spatial Magic — 53%
Magical Analytics — 23%
Magical Sensing - 14%
If my plans went as planned, I'd have Transfiguration shooting up past the 50-mark. Charms, Martial Magic and the Dark Arts were already head and shoulders above what most trained Aurors and Dark wizards could claim. My spatial magic affinity was still something I had left untrained, having chosen to rely on Dobby most of the time. It was ironic, since one of my original reasons for purchasing my wand hilt was to apparate without the Ministry knowing any better.
Magical Analytics was something that lent itself to Arithmancy and Spellcrafting — both of them being stuff I had no clue about. Same for Alchemy. Magical Sensing on the other hand, could be an extremely useful skill, and one I had only started dipping into.
That left Psychomancy. Something that would be incredibly useful and at the same time, something I had the least affinity for. The Defiant perk would help against coercion, but I needed something against Legilimency. The last thing I needed was Snape, or worse, Dumbledore, peeking into my mind and discovering the secrets within.
But how? My only knowledge of Occlumency training was limited to reading about Snape mind-raping Harry in his fifth year, a process that left him mind-fucked and violated instead of strong and well-defended. It did jackshit against Voldemort's fucking with his mind or his half-brained possession attempt. The worst part? Narcissa was probably a solid Occlumens. Maybe Hestia had some skill in it too. But I couldn't just let either into my mind now, could I? What if they saw my memories of my other life? 100% anchorage or not, that would be difficult to explain.
No. I needed an alternative. I needed someone that could give me a Psychomancy boost. But who?
No one came to mind.
No one that could be fucked, that is.
What if I just went out and asked Hestia? Or Narcissa? Maybe they'd know something. Occlumency was supposedly frowned upon, but it was clear that if Susan was given Occlumency training then Amelia was a decent Occlumens as well. Maybe if I had both of them on my side, it would boost my current levels?
Damn it. No matter what I did, it was always an uphill climb.
Maybe I was being a tad difficult on myself. After all, the holidays were about to end, and I'd be back at school. With my skills and Devil's charm, I was certain I'd have no shortage of anchors to add and girls to fuck. Hell, if things progressed according to Canon, then I'd have access to students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang to add to my ever-growing collection.
And of course, Fleur Delacour. And Nymphadora Tonks. The ultimate prizes.
Exhaling, I pushed myself up. My skin was still a little itchy from earlier, but the pain was little more than a throbbing at the back of my head. The warm soak had been good to me in more ways than one. I was definitely back where I was — physically and magically, before the accident had happened. I had fortified myself using magic when I had grabbed Amelia and punished her, and was seeing the aftereffects only just.
Scowling, I tried to stand up on my shaky legs, taking a deep breath and ignoring the tinge of pain and the pressure building in my tendons, and stumbled as I took a step forward. That I was feeling a phantom pain of any injury that once existed but had been deleted from reality was unnerving as fuck.
Think that's nasty? You should have seen me when I got out of the bathroom and entered the room Amelia had allotted me.
My eyes had been fucking bleeding.
As in twin rivers of blood, running down both eyes like tear drops, cutting over my cheeks and over the corner of my lips. I don't know if reverse-placebo is a thing, but that's what probably happened to me. The phantom pain of being charred alive by extreme magical exhaustion was enough to pop a few blood vessels or something, and they hurt like hell.
And, as it turns out, it was the least of my worries.
For there was a knock on the door.
"Who is it?"
"It's me," came a composed reply.
Susan. What did she want? I could go out on a limb and say that the Bones heiress was just as impressed by my performance as her aunt. Maybe she wanted to see how I was faring?
Either way, I could let myself look weak.
Bad for the image and all that.
Closing my eyes, I channelled magic into my bones, pouring a little juice in the Natural Demon perk. Foolish you say? I know. But let me tell you, Natural Demon is addicting as fuck. Whiskey has nothing on this. Besides, I was only going to slightly enhance the passive effect.
"Come in."
The door opened, and Susan stepped in. She looked, well, I don't want to say angry, but conflicted at the very least. And for the love of God, I couldn't fathom what I had done to annoy her this time. No, that look wasn't for annoyance. She was genuinely pissed off, and not necessarily at me. For a brief second, I wondered if she had found out about my little moment of extreme familiarity with Amelia.
Guess that would be a reason to be infuriated about.
Shutting my inner monologue, I gave her what I thought was a charming, rakish smile. I think it actually looked a little out of place, mostly in the bloodshot eyes. No matter.
Then I realised she was staring at my clothes. Or well, lack of.
"Is this your latest stunt to impress me? Walking without a shirt on?" she asked.
"Is it working?" I shot back.
Her cheeks gained a reddish sheen. "I've got better things to do than admire your muscles, Potter."
"That definitely explains why you're in my room, devouring me with your eyes. You can have a closer view if you want, you know. That is, so long as you keep your hands to yourself. Molestation is where I draw the line."
Susan snorted and flicked her wand, pulling a shirt from the wardrobe and landing it on my left shoulder. I put my arms through, but didn't bother with the buttons. Susan just rolled her eyes and walked in.
Obviously she wanted something but didn't know how to voice it. Taking pity on her, I gave her an opening.
"So, what's next on the menu?"
She looked confused. "Menu?"
"Well I'm here for the next couple of days, aren't I? You're telling me I'll be locked up in my room all that long?"
She laughed. "Would you like that?"
"Depends on who's in the room with me."
She rolled her eyes. "Could you stop being a total flirt for a moment?"
"Yes."
She cocked her head, wondering how easily I had given in. "I've been thinking about your performance earlier, you know."
"Eh, what performance are we talking about? Because most of my performances require at least one participating member."
She blushed. "I was talking about spell practice earlier, idiot."
"Oh that performance," I mocked. "Why didn't you say that?"
"What happened to not flirting?"
I shrugged. "You asked if I could stop flirting, not to actually stop."
She palmed her face. "And would you please stop flirting for a moment? I really mean it."
I'll be honest. Part of me wanted her to leave. I really needed some rest and her presence wasn't helping. But rejecting a potential opportunity would be stupider and there was no way I would let a little magical inconvenience and pain take away a potential World Anchor.
"Eh, sure. You've got five minutes."
She looked ready to mutiny, but then accepted it as the best case scenario and moved on.
"It was really… something. Like originally when you hit the first row without a miss, I thought it was a fluke. Then I thought it was because of your training as a seeker. I mean, I've seen you pull some really dangerous moves in the air, and you're the best in DADA. But then the quaffles started flying in all angles and you kept hitting them without fail. That…" she breathed, "that was no fluke."
"Erm, thanks?"
She scowled at me. "After Auntie took you to the bath, I checked the stats. I even got Hazel to get me a copy of the Auror training records from Auntie's office, and your score leaves all of them in the dust. Auntie was saying that if you were half as good with your spell selection as you are with your casting, you'd be instantly taken in for Hit-wizard training."
"Just training?"
She gave me a levelled look. "Hit-wizards need to learn a lot more stuff than just shooting curses."
"Right."
"So how do you do that?"
"How do I do what?"
"That."
"What?"
"Oh for Merlin's, I mean your casting. How are you so freaking fast? Who trained you?"
"Oh don't you know?" I said with as much seriousness as I could muster. "After I defeated the Dark Lord, Morgana and Merlin took me to their magical castle up there in the clouds where I learned all kinds of magic and played with unicorns and roamed around with dragons. Why, there was this one time when I faced a really terrifying selkie and won a mermaid's heart. Best sex I've ever had, I tell you."
"Right, if you were trained by Merlin and Morgana, I'm freaking Circe."
"Are you?" I went on, giving her a really awestruck look. "I mean you are good at transfiguration and you wanted to lock me earlier. Would that be before or after you transfigure me into a pig?"
"Pig!" She snorted. 'Stop that. But seriously, how did you do that?"
I gave her a knowing smile but said nothing.
"I mean, I've seen you in class. Granted, you've changed so much over the summer. A complete shift from the recluse hiding behind Weasley and Granger to this stupid, casanova jock that uses others for his benefit but your skills… One would think you have been hiding your real talent all along."
"One would be correct."
Out of everything I had said, this shocked her the most. Susan opened her mouth to say something, but no words came out. I laughed at her repeated attempts and spoke again.
"I mentioned this to your aunt before, you don't need to score good marks to be a good student."
Susan crossed her arms. "And why would you hide your skills?"
I shrugged. "I've had a dark wizard gunning for me ever since I was born. I've had to face dangers every goddamned year ever since I entered the magical world. Possessed professors, cerberus, trolls, wraiths, basilisks, dementors, werewolves, and let's not forget Snape," — Susan snorted at that — "it's been one ugly thing after another. The last thing I need is for the other side to take me seriously."
She blinked. "That's a… surprisingly Slytherin approach, Potter."
"Must be," I said. "The Hat offered me Slytherin back then, but I had already been corrupted by Ron and Hagrid and I had met Malfoy, so me being the impressionable idiot I was, I decided not to go into the house of Dark wizards and bigoted idiots with great hair."
She chortled. "Harry Potter in Slytherin. Now that would be a sight to see."
"It would," I readily agreed. "The silver and green would match my eyes perfectly."
"Didn't know you took lessons from Gilderoy Lockhart."
"Well someone had to," I bantered. "Maybe if I was cute and female with blazing red hair, I'd have stared at him dreamily instead."
"Shut up," she said, looking utterly embarrassed. "It's different. As a pureblood, I practically grew up reading Witch Weekly. Auntie would listen to Hobgoblins and Celestina Warbeck, but me, Hannah, and all the other girls were crazy for Whomping willows, and after that, Weird Sisters. Witch Weekly defined our lives, and Gilderoy Lockhart was a heartthrob. Witch Weekly would do a full page on him at least once a month. That and contests over being the Boy-Who-Lived's Fairy bride of the month."
I blinked.
Susan blushed scarlet.
I cleared my throat. "Ah, well, that's… good to know." I really needed a change in conversation. "So, you wanted to tell me something apart from the spellcasting?"
She blinked twice. "Right, before you so cleverly distracted me," she glanced at my naked chest again, before meeting my eyes. "I've been wondering. Exactly what is it that you've got Penelope working for you?"
"I thought I told you."
"Yes," she said, annoyance filtering into her tone again. "An enchanting company. Those are dime a dozen. I don't see why you'd go all the way to start one, and then hire a muggleborn at that kind of salary."
"You don't think she deserves it?"
She shrugged cagily. "You know what I mean."
I tilted my head slightly. Knowing what I did about Amelia's experience with Lily Evans, I was now beginning to wonder exactly how pro-muggleborn the Bones family was. Of course, that wasn't saying that they were bigoted like Malfoy and his ilk, but perhaps after her experience, Amelia too shied away from being an active muggleborn supporter? Was that why she maintained her House in the Neutral faction?
It bore thinking about.
"My company Moonforge Inc enchants muggle technology for the wizards only instead of just enchanting it, we redesign it in ways that it stops being a muggle tech that works on a magical battery, and instead, becomes a magical invention that bears resemblance to a muggle tech."
"You realise that falls under Misuse of muggle artefacts, right?"
"Not quite," I said. "Take my car for example; I've got fire-based enchantments to increase fuel potency, water-based enchantments to improve the fuel efficiency and duration, durability charms to increase hardness, kinetic charms to enhance speed and driving experience and so on. We remove the extra muggle parts and hire enchanters and runesmiths to carve rune sequences that when combined with the right spells—"
"Function exactly like muggle technology while being a magical artefact," Susan finished. "Isn't that right?"
"Guilty."
"That's awesome."
"Er, I guess it is. I mostly had goblins run it in the background. My car was the first successful prototype, but after its success, they are more willing to work with me. The Ministry already is a big purchaser of muggle cars, and half the old families also want one. All they needed was someone to enchant it right. I've already gotten Penelope hiring more people to work under her, and she's doing a good job. Some of them have not yet passed out of Hogwarts so I'm taking them in as interns and part-timers for now."
"Like whom?"
"Tracey Davis for example." I said. "I've already got some applications from Hogwarts grads, Penny Haywood, Tanya Khanna and a couple more names that I can't remember. Penelope got a couple of people from her year, and why are you staring at me like that?"
And she was. Susan was staring at me. Not the 'I want to eat you' or 'I'll cut you into tiny pieces' stare but something inscrutable. Almost made me wish I could legilimize her thoughts right then.
"Susan?"
"Huh… uh, nothing, just wondering."
"About what?"
"You."
I arched my brow. "Me?"
Susan met his eyes and scowled. "You— you frustrate me to no end, Harry Potter. The last three years, you've been a complete recluse, hiding behind Weasley and Granger's skirts, and yet, you've been a hero. You fought Quirrell to save the Stone, you went to the Chamber of Secrets to save Weasley's sister and in the third year you faced dementors. You've been this lone hero all this time, and suddenly you turn into a jock and start flirting and bedding girls and…" She fumed. "It just makes me so furious!"
"Really? Why's that?"
"Do you really know nothing about our families? About the Potters and the Bones?"
Ah. I could see where this was going.
"Amelia mentioned it, yes."
Susan frowned at my casual use of her aunt's name. "Did she now? When?"
"When I was having a soak."
Her eyes bulged. "You mean—"
"I was suffering from magical exhaustion, and could barely move on my own. In Amelia's words, we're both adults and should act like one. She helped me disrobe and get into the bath. She thought I'd need help getting dry and putting my clothes back, so she stayed. We ended up talking."
And much more. But there was no need to tell her that.
"And she mentioned her history with James Potter?"
"Among other things, yes."
She frowned. "Auntie has never gotten past that. You know how she said she was supposed to become your guardian? Sometimes I think she did that because she couldn't stand being in your presence, because you'd remind her of James Potter. Honestly, you even look so much like your dad that it's crazy. I almost thought Auntie would reject your request just because of that."
"But she didn't."
"But she didn't," Susan agreed. "And she ended up welcoming you instead. Whatever you did in those ten minutes, you must have seriously impressed her."
Oh girl, I thought. She really has no idea.
"And that makes me wonder, if she was impressed by you, then where does that leave things for me."
I frowned. "What do you mean?"
She took a step forward. "You're a mystery to me, Harry Potter. I'm not sure if I like it."
"And why is that?"
"Because all my life I've seen my aunt live a lonely life because she dared to love a Potter. On the other hand, I've always wondered what it would have been to grow up with you. And then when you showed up at Hogwarts, everyone had this idea about you, but you proved us all wrong. And then the Chamber incident happened, and we saw you hissing…" she shivered, "and we got mortally afraid. We painted you as the Heir of Slytherin, and again, you proved us wrong. And then after this year, you became a casanova that plays with others' hearts and I knew my aunt was right, but then you do this for Penelope and others and prove me wrong. It's like you exist just to prove me wrong, and I don't know if I'm enthralled or repulsed by it."
"That feels like a major issue," I said.
She snorted, and took another step forward. "Joke all you want, but I'm now pissed off. All my life Auntie stayed negative about you, and the first time you meet, she gets so impressed that she invites you to stay, and now she's seen you without your clothes and I find that more than mildly annoying."
I grinned and took a step forward. "That can easily be corrected, you know."
She laughed again. "In your dreams, Potter."
We were only inches apart now.
"No," I said. "Not in dreams. In real life. I can make it real, even the naughty things that you might dream of."
"Naughty ones, huh?"
I softly grabbed her chin. "Especially the naughty ones. Question is, do you want that?"
Susan's response was to take another step forward.
Our lips met.
Notes:
If you want to support me, find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Chapter 56: Legacy
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 2 - HOUSE OF BONES
Susan was staring at me with a deer in the headlights expression on her face. Her deep brown eyes regarded me with such desire and wonder that I couldn't look away. All my plans of getting her to leave the room to get some rest flew out of the window, and the next thing I knew, her lips were pressed against mine.
It was soft to begin with, as if she were testing the waters, but I automatically returned her kiss. Within a few seconds, our tongues were battling for dominance as we forgot ourselves and simply enjoyed the moment. I wasn't sure when it happened, but the next thing I know, I was sitting at the edge of my bed, with Susan's leg swung over and now she was straddling me. My hands found purchase on her hips as her fingers ran through my hair as she pulled me into her. Susan's hips rocked against me, and my hands guided her movements before I let my fingers trail under her top, and up the smooth, bare skin of her back. I felt her moan into my mouth as her body shuddered from my touch, making me want to touch her more and more. I was drunk on the feeling of her body and addicted to the sounds I was drawing out of her.
We finally came up for air after what felt like an eternity. Her hair hung about us like a red curtain, blocking the outside world. Our chests heaved with heavy breathing as we struggled to calm our beating hearts, and I felt my cock nestled between her legs.
"Morgana!" She whispered. "Harry… is that —"
"Not my wand," I said. "And yes, it's because I'm happy to see you.'
"Prat!" She softly struck me on the shoulder. And then with a smile, she said. "I suppose that's flattering. Given what I'm wearing."
I pushed her slightly just to look at her baggy clothes. Someone had gone out of her way to hide her fantastic bust. I wondered if that was simply because she was at home, because Susan hardly dressed this conservative outside.
"You look great in anything," I said. "Even a potato sack."
She threw her head back and laughed. "I'll tell you I can totally rock a potato sack."
Her hand moved downward and touched my cock from above my shorts. "It's so thick. And throbbing." She met my eyes again, and bit her bottom lip.
"Can I see your….?" She trailed off.
"See my… what?"
Her fingers gripped my cock softly and began massaging it above the shorts. "This."
"Do you really think it's a good idea?"
"No," she admitted. "But I want to. I haven't seen one before, you know, face to face."
Susan, I realised, was a virgin.
"Never?"
"Not one." she confessed. "I'm not like Hannah. I know you've been with her. And her mum."
I looked at her in surprise.
"She's my bestie," Susan said. "We tell each other everything. She told me how you made her feel. How you made her mum feel. I felt angry, but I also felt happy. Auntie Cynthia… she's a lonely woman."
"Like your aunt?"
She frowned. "Don't get any ideas, Potter."
I raised both hands in surrender.
"But yes," she admitted. "Like my aunt. I wish I could have been like Hannah. She takes these things so easily. She's also more experienced with this sort of thing."
Somehow I doubted that Hannah really told her everything. If she had, she'd have mentioned how she was routinely raped by her uncle under the guise of preparing her as the future Lady of House Abbott.
Also, not just a virgin, but Susan was also absolutely inexperienced when it came to sex. It almost made me feel guilty about what I was about to do.
"You're right. I've been with Hannah. And her mum. And others. And will be in the near future."
"Why?"
"What do you mean why?"
"Why?" Susan repeated. "Why can't you be happy with just —"
"Just—?"
"You know, one woman."
"Like you?"
She blushed like a tomato. "Maybe?"
I chuckled.
She scowled. "What's there to laugh about?"
That made me laugh harder. "Just a day ago, you hated my guts. And now you're proposing marriage."
Her cheeks burned. "I'm sorry. I didn't intend to come across as a pushy woman. It's just… I've responsibilities. As the Bones heiress, I cannot just do whatever. It's my job to lead House Bones in the future, make it prosper, and for that, I cannot let my character be besmirched. It's why I've always tried to be like my aunt. I study hard, and train every day, so that someday I too can be DMLE Director. And when it's time, my aunt will find me someone that fits the bill to marry and have children."
"Someone that fits the bill?"
"You know, a pureblood of considerable pedigree, preferably the second or third son of another Ancient House, who'd be willing to marry into the Bones family and take my family name. In my absence, he'd be Regent Bones until one of our children can take the mantle. The other alternative is to, well, marry someone of my station— Heir or Lord of an Ancient and Noble family, but in that case, I'd be relegated to the position of a Second wife, while he'd have another wife for his own family. Our first-born would take his family's name while the second-born would be a Bones."
"Somehow I don't think Amelia would like that."
"She wouldn't," Susan agreed. "She's had her heart broken by your father. She thought he'd abide by pureblood protocol, marry her, and take Lily Evans as his concubine. Instead, James rejected their betrothal and Auntie became… well, what she is. When news of your association with multiple girls came to light, Auntie looked overjoyed at being proven right."
And what did that tell me about Amelia Bones?
I suppressed the urge to smile. Susan was… innocent. For all her mothering and her stern facade, she was an innocent girl that was still living under her aunt's protection, living a life as dictated by her aunt. Even though part of her rebelled at the idea of such a life, she had come to accept it as her destiny, ignorant of the fact that her aunt's views, something she had based her foundations on, were stuck in a maelstrom that would shatter them completely.
A plan began to form in my mind.
And it wasn't a good one. If I messed up even a tiny bit, it would spell disaster and utterly destroy my chances of having the Bones duo as my anchors. It would also damage my relationship with Amelia to a significant degree, and possibly hamper the professional relationship we had agreed upon. My plans for Malfoy and Greengrass would suffer serious setbacks.
It was a horrible, horrible plan.
But…
If I succeeded, the fruits would be magnificent.
Take a guess on what I chose to do next?
"Maybe it's not my place to comment," I said, "but in your own words, you're trying to imitate your aunt. And your aunt, honestly speaking, does not feel like a very happy woman."
"Don't I know that?" She asked. I could almost taste the bitterness in her tone.
"Then why do you follow her strict rules? She's the Regent, but you're the Lady, aren't you? Shouldn't you have the right to live your life the way you please?"
"You don't understand, Harry. I am Lady Bones. I have a legacy to—"
"A legacy that only exists so long as there are people. The Potters too are a Noble family. Same for the Blacks. You don't see me trying to fulfil my parents' aspirations. I want to live my own life, and make it worth living. The family, the legacy, they all come after."
I held her. "Look at you. You're straddling me, and we just kissed. You tell me, what do you want to do next? Enjoy and do what makes you happy, or force yourself to walk away, even if it hurts you, because you think you have a legacy to stay true to?"
"Does your family name really mean that little to you?" She asked in a small voice.
"My name's Harry Potter," I told her. "I'm Harry first, and then Potter. Your Auntie can hate it as much as she wants, but the truth is she let James go. She was too confident about the protocol and family legacy and focussed too little on my dad. Maybe if she had been more direct about her feelings, James would have never looked at Lily Evans. But she didn't, and James found love in Lily, and I was born. He chose his own happiness above his family. Imagine if he hadn't done that, Voldemort might have still been out there, terrorising this country and killing people left and right. I'm not saying that Family and legacy means nothing, but your own life has to come first. The dead are dead and they're not coming back, so let them be. Only the living matter, as it should."
Susan just… stared. There was something intense in her eyes, a calculation that I couldn't make heads or tails of.
"... what?"
She didn't say a word. Instead she brought her lips closer and kissed me again. And as she did, I felt her loosen the threads tying my shorts and I waited for the ultimate moment to arrive. My cock was still not fully hard, but it was enough to make her eyes go wide. I resisted the urge to get her to suck it, and let nature take its due course.
"Can I touch it?" She asked tentatively.
"Go ahead."
Susan slowly reached out with her fingers, trailing up the length of my cock as it grew to full mast. She must have sensed the sudden change, and pulled her hand away.
"Sorry," she mumbled. "Did that hurt? I think I did something wrong."
Oh you sweet summer child, I mused. I was going to have so much fun corrupting her.
"Didn't hurt," I promised her. "It felt good."
This time, Susan tried again, not shying away when my cock twitched.
"It's so big," she giggled.
"How do you know?"
"Well, me and Hannah talk. And I've seen pictures." She bit her lip. "Would you like to see my… you know?"
I arched an eyebrow. "Don't you think you're being too hasty?"
"You— you do this every time, Harry Potter," she said with a scowl. "You've been flirting with me non-stop over the last month and now when I offer you to see me naked, you ask me if I'm sure? Why can't you just behave as expected for once?"
I laughed, and she huffed at that.
She touched my cock extremely carefully, as if it might attack her at any given time. At least she had good instincts.
Her movements were absolutely slow and clumsy, showing her utter lack of experience with this thing. Even Hermione, back when she had been a virgin, had been loads better than this.
Not that I'd ever tell Susan that.
Even so, I found it to be just as arousing as Hermione's recently gained expertise in taking me in all three of her holes.
Susan got bolder by the second, and began caressing my balls with her left hand, as she slowly stroked my cock with her right. She also started to grind herself against me, and then let out a soft moan.
She rested her head against my shoulder. "Do you think we can cuddle a bit tonight? After dinner?"
I almost laughed at her innocent suggestion.
"Of course."
It didn't take a genius to know that Susan was still apprehensive about sex. I could tell by the way she looked at me, and how her body moved against me that she wanted to have sex very much. But she just hadn't crossed the finish line yet. Add to the fact that she was still a virgin, and her own complicated situation as Bones heiress, I could empathise with her. I'd have let her take it at her own pace.
As I pondered over my next plans with Susan softly stroking my cock, there was a loud gong somewhere. Susan almost jerked back, as if physically struck, and pushed herself off me.
"Wha — what happened?" I asked.
"That's Auntie. She must have gone to my room and didn't find me. So she rang the gong. It's time for dinner."
Dinner. With Amelia and Susan.
I had left the former all hot and wet and ready, and left her hanging as a punishment.
And now the other was leaving me blue balled, my hard dick hanging without a fitting end.
And I was about to have dinner with both of them.
Together.
The weekend was shaping into a wonderful thing, wasn't it?
Notes:
If you want to support me, find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Chapter 57: A Fun Meal
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The dinner was unexpectedly lavish. A stone edifice, representing a hedge, easily seven feet tall, ran from one end of the dinner table to the other. Innately sculptured leafs and twigs sprouted out of it, holding pans filled with a wide variety of dishes and chilled beverages. There was a bar shelf on the other side of the table, and just as long, but it was closed off, likely because Amelia was the only person above drinking age. The dinner table in the middle boasted of a pure black granite construction, the ends twisting and billowing outward like a cloak, guaranteeing each person a degree of privacy. The entire set up would have fit a party with at least a dozen people sitting in.
Instead it was just three of us.
After Susan's hasty retreat, I had allowed myself a moment to let the Natural Demon perk dissipate. After a quick round of minor bleeding, I cast Vulnera Sanentur upon myself. The experience left me short of breath, but at least the pains and the bleeding was gone for good. I had ditched a formal robe, and settled for a shirt and slacks, and came down to dinner, and found Susan and Amelia standing there, talking. Amelia was wearing a black and white summer dress, heeled sandals and had her hair up in a ponytail that let her red hair fall in waves halfway down her slender back. The dress was cut to just below mid thigh and although the neckline did not show a lot of cleavage, it still showed some and clung loosely to her curves, showing them off perfectly.
"Oh, you, uh, you've arrived," said Amelia, "come, have a seat."
I noticed how she avoided my eyes, and centred her gaze somewhere below my nose. I didn't know if she was feeling guilty of whatever happened between us, or she was just shy, but it was clear that she wanted to pretend that nothing had changed between us since the morning. It was obvious that she was feeling horny still, but she refused to act upon them, at least in front of Susan.
Speaking of Susan, she had it worse. She darted glances at me when she thought her aunt wasn't looking, and was doing her utmost to look like she was still the composed, legacy-driven Bones heiress and not someone who had just had the first taste of the forbidden fruit. Both women were conflicted in their own ways, and wanted to avoid being seen doing something the other would disapprove, and dismally failing to keep up appearances.
At the very least, I mused, they won't notice things very much.
Which meant I could move ahead with my plan.
I walked over past Amelia, taking the seat to her right, my fingers slowly crawling across her splendid arse. I took careful notice of the way she suddenly stiffened and brought her legs together, but her facial expression didn't change in the slightest. I sat down, directly opposite Susan, with Amelia to my left, the dining table essentially hiding everything below the abdomen from view.
And then the crockery came alive.
It took every bit of control to not squeak at the suddenness of it all. As used as I was to magic casually breaking the laws of nature, I still did the majority of the simple tasks the muggle way, not using magic unless necessary. In my mind, magic was simply one of the many tools the mind used to get results. The mind was the more important part of the pair.
Obviously the Bones, like most purebloods, did things differently.
The crockery floated over to our plates, and began to auto-serve the dishes. There was truffle chicken and potato gratin, pomegranate salmon, tangled asparagus salad on toast, spiced aubergine bake with a yorkshire pudding for dessert. Amelia must have noticed my lack of familiarity with them and aided me. I could smell the scent of wildflowers on her, Amelia shivering from our closeness even though she didn't acknowledge it, settling back on her chair once she was done.
Stubbornness. Well, now, time to see how stubborn she really was.
"So, Amelia," I began, "I was talking to Susan earlier, and she had lots of interesting things to say about being an heiress."
Amelia's eyes snapped at Susan who determinedly avoided her gaze, only for her to fall back on my face.
"Being an heiress…" She repeated.
"I mean, an heir, heiress, whatever. Last scion of an Ancient and Noble family. Is it really true that we've to follow some protocol for that?"
Amelia's lips pursed slightly, no doubt wondering about what Susan might have told me. Regardless of our recent intimacy, she was a woman deeply-rooted in her beliefs. A little fun time was not going to change that.
"Of course," she said, "being a part of an Ancient and Noble lineage means following protocol. It is through things like that that we show respect to those that came before us."
"Legacy."
"Right," she said, chewing a piece of chicken, which, in my opinion, was really good. "Every wizard or witch worthy of being called an heir has to follow them, and maintain the bloodline."
"I'm assuming that there is more to maintaining bloodlines than just bigotry."
Her lips thinned. "There definitely is. Tell me, Lord Potter, have you accessed the Potter Grimoire?"
"I have."
"And have you started learning from it?"
I shook my head. The minimum requirement for starting the Grimoire was a fifty percent affinity in Transfiguration, which unfortunately, I still didn't have. But that was only a temporary stop-gap at best, because my plans with Tracey would uplift my affinity soon.
"And why didn't you?"
"The spells are beyond me. I tried performing them, sometimes even for hours. But the spells do not work."
A thin frown appeared on her lips. "Did you know, Harry, that your father, and his father before, started studying the Potter grimoire from the moment they received their wands?"
I arched an eyebrow.
"Same for your great-grandfather Charlus Potter, and his father Natheniel."
"I think he gets the point, Auntie," Susan mumbled.
Amelia looked like she was about to scold her, but controlled herself. "Every single Lord of your family has been able to do that. Any guesses why?"
Because they had 50% affinity or more, I didn't say.
"They were more naturally gifted than me?"
"Exactly," said Amelia, a vindictive smile on her face. "The Potters have cultivated a strong affinity for Transfiguration and passed it down generation to generation. And every single time a Lord has taken a wife, it has been a precondition that she must display a significant prowess in Transfiguration or its sub-disciplines. Your great-grandmother Dorea Black, was an animagus, an owl to be exact. Your grandmother Euphemia, as I mentioned, was a Bones. We Bones are exquisitely gifted at organic transfiguration and runecraft, part of our Scandinavian heritage right down from the great sorcerer and god-king Odin, creator of the Elder Futhark and the father of runecraft."
I nodded, realising where this was going. "My mother on the other hand…"
"Lily Evans was gifted at more esoteric branches of magic. Her scores in Arithmancy were some of the highest Hogwarts had ever seen. She could have become a spellcrafter had things been different."
"But she was not suited for James Potter," I said bluntly.
"Yes."
Susan winced.
"Well, too bad about that really," I said. "Unfortunately, I can't change my mother."
Her features cracked, and she clasped my left hand softly. "Do not misunderstand me, Harry. I'm not saying that she did not deserve your father—"
"Just that she did not fit the prerequisites for Lady Potter." I finished.
"Yes."
"Auntie," Susan exclaimed, "don't you think you're being too rude?"
Amelia arched an eyebrow at her. How she was able to channel annoyance and grace in that tiny gesture was beyond me.
"I'm merely satisfying his curiosity, Susan. It's best that he understands what is expected of him."
"You're not Regent Potter, Auntie," Susan snapped.
"I might as well be," Amelia said coldly. "Who else has he got that can tell him what his family was like? His muggleborn mother's sister who abused him while growing up? Or Albus Dumbledore, who's more than happy to keep him in the dark? Sirius Black perhaps, oh, he betrayed them and was kissed by Dementors. Or maybe James's pet werewolf. I hear he was your Defence instructor and in less than a year, turned an innocent into a monster like himself."
I winced.
Susan looked like she wanted to drop her spoon and walk away, but protocol kept from acting out. The discussion had gotten out of hand and needed a quick change. Naturally, it fell on me.
"So what you're saying is," I said, biting into a potato, "I should take a Bones woman as my wife."
And just like that, the atmosphere changed. Susan's features shifted from resentment to embarrassment in a heartbeat. If I were an artist, I'd have called the shift from one reddish tinge to another was absolutely exquisite. Amelia on the other hand, coughed into her hand, and looked down at her plate which had suddenly become a lot more interesting.
"Well, I'm not saying exactly that…" she began, and froze, as my left hand crawled upon her right thigh.
At the exact same time, I pushed my right leg upwards, and rubbed Susan's shin with my foot. Susan all but squeaked, turning an intense shade of crimson, but otherwise did nothing.
"You were saying, Amelia?" I offered.
Amelia gave me a dirty look, and quickly glanced at Susan, and found her focused on her food. Slowly, she slipped her right hand under the table to push my hand away, but as she did, I moved her hand aside and put mine on her creamy thigh. Once again she tried to move my hand, but I just did the same.
"There's something you'll find interesting, Susan," I said out loud, surprising both of them. "Turns out Sirius Black made me his heir. And yes, it means there's a chance that I'll end up being Lord Black."
Amelia took advantage of my conversation and tried to move my hand, but I repeated my earlier actions.
"But didn't he betray your parents?" Susan asked.
"No, he was innocent. In fact, it's one of the things I came to talk to your aunt today. Isn't that right, Amelia?"
"Ye— yes, that's correct." She said, giving me a look that told me to stop, but I didn't care. We kept pushing each other's hands under the table.
"Wow, that's just…" Susan mumbled, squeaking again as I raised my leg further, reaching her thigh. She flushed and with as much inconspicuousness as she could manage, put her left hand below the table. I felt her pull her skirt upwards, letting me unfettered access to her skin.
"I know right?" I went on, pretending all was normal, while continuing my little game of wills against her aunt. "In fact, Amelia, I read somewhere that becoming a Lord of multiple houses has its own protocol too. Something about taking a wife for each house. Is that really true?"
'Are you shitting me right now?', her look promised.
"Oh, pass me the asparagus, please," I said.
Amelia thinly smiled, and directed the needful at me, but in doing so, had to raise her hand. I slid mine up her smooth thigh right away, pushing my fingers under her skirt and given that Susan was looking at her, Amelia couldn't even try to push me back without appearing conspicuous. She couldn't tell me to stop because even that would attract attention.
In hindsight, she could have just pushed the chair back.
But she didn't.
Instead, she clamped her legs tightly to stop my hand from invading any further, and would have probably glared at me if Susan wasn't looking. Instead she gave me a wide smile that promised certain injury if she got her hands on me later, and nodded briefly, acknowledging my point and ignoring that my fingers were inches away from her pussy.
"You're right, Harry. If you indeed become Lord Black, then you'll have to marry someone that fits the requirements of the Black Charter. From what I know of that family, it'll likely be a pureblood of considerable pedigree, with an inclination towards the Dark Arts. That is, assuming it even allows marrying anyone out of the Family."
"Now that would be problematic," I said casually. "The only Black female I know of that's still unmarried is Nymphadora Tonks, and I doubt she'd want to marry me."
Susan choked on her food as my foot climbed up her thigh. Just a little more and I'd touch her snatch.
"Susan!" Amelia cried, her parental instincts acting out, "you alright?"
Susan coughed a little but nodded.
Amelia nodded, concern shining in her face as she sat back down. It was right then that she realised her vital mistake, and crossed her legs again, but I was faster. I pushed my hand straight under her skirt and pressed my fingers over her panties. It was a curious case where her own legs were keeping my hand from moving any further, but at the same time, kept me from pulling it away from resting against her wetness without her loosening her grip.
It was quite a situation, and Susan was looking at her. I suppressed the urge to laugh at her dirty glare.
And then I started moving my fingers. I traced the outline of her folds with my thumb, while my middle finger furrowed into her pussy from above her cotton panties, my index finger roughly massaging the outer layer of her clit.
Amelia shuddered and exhaled heavily, no doubt feeling the effects. Her legs still held my hand locked, but other than reaching into her lap and attracting attention, there was nothing she could do. So she sat, just like that, doing her best to chew her dinner and explaining the different tenets of pureblood protocol to me. At one point, I even questioned her about the unfairness meted upon witches by a system that allowed men to engage in polygamy. It was a beautiful sight, seeing Amelia react to the pleasure feeding into her system, as she gave me a minor dissertation on how pureblood protocol allowed polyandry as well, and how several Ancient families were actually matrilineal, and in some cases, the Lady of the House maintained multiple concubinus, like the Zabini family. Susan added her two knuts by mentioning the Rosier family, only to blush crimson as my foot rubbed above her panties.
Interestingly, the more I played with Amelia, the more relaxed she began to get, and even began smiling, continuing to talk further on the subject. At one point, she stopped tensing her legs and opened them, and immediately, my fingers crawled beneath her panties into her soft, pliant pussy.
Amelia sighed audibly.
"Auntie?" Susan asked.
"Oh— I, uh, never mind. I guess I ate a bit too much," she lied, doing her best to ignore the pleasurable sensations from my thumb rubbing the inner lining of her folds. I noticed how she bit her bottom lip, trying to stifle a moan and slouched a little, allowing me further access into her pussy.
One finger became two.
Two became three.
I smiled at my success. There I was, sitting at the dining table, finger-fucking Amelia Bones and pleasuring Susan with my feet at the same time. Both women were blushing to their neck, and utterly ignorant of each other's situations.
Then it happened.
Amelia began to squirm, and a moment later, Susan did too.
"I, uhm," said Susan, "I need to visit the bathroom, please excuse me."
Amelia was too happy to excuse her, as she slouched further, ignorant of the way Susan dashed towards the loo. She gave me a look of pure desire and grabbed my hand and pushed it further into her folds.
"You…" she growled, still holding my wrist as I ploughed her pussy. "You are a very bad boy!"
And then her body shook.
"Ugh! Fuck! Yes!" She groaned, landing her head against the table with an audible thud, as she gripped the edge of the tabletop with her other hand, as her pussy flooded with an undeniably powerful orgasm. She shut her eyes, and forced my fingers deeper, as she kept squirting juices and coating my fingers with them.
"Feels good, doesn't it?" I asked, withdrawing my fingers as I smiled at her. I stood up, revealing my cock, which had gone full erect again. "Think it's my turn now."
I moved towards her and grabbed her chin and kissed her roughly, shoving my tongue into her mouth. Amelia's only reply was to moan further and hold on to the table top for dear life.
"We— we can't do it here," she said at last.
"Why?"
"Susan—"
"Send her away."
"Won't help," Amelia whispered furiously. "She'll still be able to hear."
"We can be quiet."
"Quiet? With that cock in me?"
I arched an eyebrow. She wasn't even trying to pretend otherwise. We were going to fuck this night. That was a given. The 'How' needed addressing.
"Find a way to send Susan off," I smirked, "unless you want her to listen."
"No," she whispered. "Merlin damn me. You're going to be my death." She paused, considering it for a moment. "I'll send her off. We can use my office."
I smirked. "Of course, Director Bones."
Notes:
If you want to support me, find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Chapter 58: Never Letting You Go
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 2 - HOUSE OF BONES
I might have not mentioned this before, but Amelia's office was a working office. It had rich furnishings and everything, complete with a dark, hardwood background, but it reflected clarity and purpose more than status or power. Mail was stacked neatly on a corner of her desk. Files and envelopes each had their own specific positions upon her desk and the worktable against one wall. A self-inking quill set was in evidence on the desktop. There was a big, black leather chair behind the desk and a large black sofa sat to the left, blending perfectly with the background. There were absolutely no portraits and the tiny little lamps on the walls maintained a steady illumination. Paperwork anarchy threatened the room, but order had been strongly imposed, guided by an obvious will.
In short, it begged me to wreck it apart.
"I told Susan that you and I have some unfinished business," said Amelia as she entered the office. I turned around and noticed her close the door, and felt a surge of magic rise up instead. Closing the door must have activated the wards in the room, isolating us from any and all eavesdropping. Amelia turned the knob towards the right, and I felt another surge of magic — a locking ward, if my hunch was correct.
"Nice," I said, taking a step towards her. "You know I'm going to fuck you, right?"
She looked at me and nodded. I noticed she had gained a sliver of her composure back, but there was a wildness about her, a growing anticipation of what was about to happen. She wanted me badly, and she knew she was going to get fucked.
Badly.
And it turned her on.
"Where do you want to fuck me?" she asked, stepping back and leaning against the door. "Right here, against this door?"
Her voice and face was equally teasing and lusty and her arms rose above her head to grasp hold of the door frame above.
Before I could answer, she pushed herself away from the door and approached me. Her hands found purchase on my shirt before slowly crawling down to my shorts. Her fingers grabbed my growing cock through my shorts, and squeezed it hard.
"The sofa perhaps? Or maybe you'd like to fuck me right here on the floor?"
Her voice grew even more aggressive, and she pulled my cock out, caressing it with one hand. She came closer, her other hand snaking around my neck as she breathed into my left ear. "Or maybe you want to make me cum on my chair? You know, where I sit as the DMLE Director?"
My cock twitched at the idea.
She smirked, and turned to her left, leaving my cock as she quickly bent over her desk. Then she turned around and gave me an innocent smile.
"Or over my desk?"
She pushed her hips outward, sashaying them as she rested her massive breasts against her table. "Oh yes, you'd like that, wouldn't you? Grab my hips and fuck me hard while my tits mash against my desk? You'd make the DMLE Director your bitch right in her place of power. You'd like that a lot, wouldn't you, Harry Potter?"
I nearly lost it at the sight.
Then she turned around and faced me. "Maybe I should take this dress off?" She inched closer and whispered again. "Unless, you want me to fuck me in it?"
That was the final straw as far as I was concerned. With a growl, I grabbed her by her neck and smashed my lips at hers. Her hands rushed at my chest, quickly unbuttoning my shirt buttons, and pushing it off me. I grabbed the edges of her shirt and pulled, and she let me pull it off her, leaving her in a crimson bra.
I stared hungrily at her and grabbed the bra, and pulled it down, squeezing her tits harshly as our tongues fought. She moaned loudly into my mouth and her hands grabbed my slacks and pushed it down, grabbing my cock, while I undid her skirt.
Amelia lustfully stared at me, her face inches away, flushed and breathing hard. I squeezed her breast once more and then lowered my hands to her waist and met her eyes.
The tension was stood in silence, basking in the heat of our near naked bodies. Both of us were hungrily consuming each other's bodies with our eyes, and we were both starving. Finally, our eyes met again. I looked at her. She looked at me, our hunger clear in our gazes.
Then we feasted.
Our lips met in a fiery kiss, her tongue aggressively sliding into my mouth as we swapped spit. Gone was the rigid, inflexible, iron-willed DMLE Director. The woman in my arms was an adult with needs. The side of her that was horny and sexy and needed the pleasure she had restrained herself from over twenty years. The side that saw me as a sexual partner and was so fucking horny that she wanted me to fuck her to oblivion.
We were acting on raw, boiling, physical lust for each other. Every single thought, every single motion, every single gaze of our eyes pushed towards one inevitable outcome.
My cock in her pussy.
Her massive yet perky udders, barely contained inside her bra, smashed against my chest as her hands kept stroking my cock while I grabbed her round arse and squeezed the life out of it.
"Mmmm…" She moaned at my roughness, pushing herself into me and jerking my cock faster. She pushed me back until I fell upon the sofa, and she crouched, kneeling between my legs and brought her face inches away from my cock, inhaling its scent.
"I'm going to love this." she muttered, her eyes hungrily gazing at my swollen shaft and thick, angry mushroom tip. Her hands caressed my nuts, admiring my swollen sack. "You— I'm never letting you leave."
And then her lips were all over it.
"Mmmm…" I groaned, as she sucked the very first of my precum. And with that, came a fast notification.
You've just gained a World Anchor
Amelia Bones - 31%
Current World Anchor Analysis
World Anchor — 464
Required World Anchor — 35
Meta-Luck — 34.2
"You've no idea how much I've wanted this massive cock" she gushed. "You were being so nasty earlier. Punishing me like that, leaving me unsatisfied, and then that stunt you pulled at the table. I should…" she licked it again. "I should detain you for your transgression. Keep you in my private custody."
"Oh, and what would my punishment be?"
She let out a wicked little laugh. "Satisfying me until I cum every single day."
Her lips wrapped around my throbbing meat and I felt her tongue against the underside of my cock, massaging it lovingly, savouring it. She looked up at me as she began slowly bobbing it up and down.
"That's it Amelia, suck my cock. Yes!" I groaned.
Her eyes twinkled with joy as she inhaled my cock like a fucking slut smoothly taking the top half in and out of her mouth. Nobody that would look at her now could ever claim that she had a dry spell for two decades. This was a Knockturn Alley whore that screamed her lungs out as every random stranger with a galleon to toss could fuck and empty himself inside her.
"This is the best!" She gushed. "You— your father had nothing on this, Harry! Absolutely fucking nothing!" I could really sense her resentment towards James.
She began sucking my dick again, sliding her eager tongue on my sperm-filled nut, before taking my dick into her mouth again. She brought her palm up to my sack, massaging my spit-covered balls in one hand. She was really, really into this.
Meanwhile —
Gained affinities from World Anchor — Amelia Bones
Runecraft +11%
Magical Sensing +8%
"Who would've thought?" I asked, as I held her head and kept her slobbering all over my cock. "DMLE Director, Regent Bones, kneeling before someone half her age and swallowing his cock. Behind all that seriousness, all that superiority, you're just a repressed slut, aren't you? You want me to fuck you, and fuck you so hard that you can't sit upright."
Amelia only moaned and kept sucking.
Grabbing her by her hair, I stood up and dragged her across the room. She followed, forced to crawl on her hands and knees, but her lips held onto my cock for dear life. I sat down upon the chair — her chair, with her kneeling on her knees, vigorously sucking my dick. I watched as she reached behind her back, and unsnapped her bra for me. Her breasts jumped forward slightly, as the fabric loosened, and she tossed the fabric aside, exposing her large tits to me.
Her eyes met mine, and she pulled off her mouth with a pop.
There was no glib remark. No cocky smirk. The spark in her eyes told me what she wanted next.
"Do you like big tits, honey?" she asked, squeezing her own breasts, the soft flesh pouring through her fingers.
"Very much so," I said.
"Ever been with someone this big?"
"No… none of them," I said, enraptured.
She smiled, and raised herself up on her knees, and placed her breasts on my abdomen, the tanned and smooth skin now enveloping my cock. I grabbed her perky tits, and began titty-fucking her, my swollen cockhead hitting her chin as she tried to unsuccessfully land it into her mouth.
"You like that?" she asked. "Then you're going to like this even more."
And she stood up, bending over, letting me watch her udders bouncing against each other as she reached down, slipped her fingers into her panties and tugged them down, letting them fall to the floor. She moved in to straddle me, as I relaxed into her chair, her hands on my chest.
And then she let herself sink down upon my shaft.
"... Shit!" She hissed, closing her eyes and sighing in pleasure. Her pussy was tight as hell. If I didn't know better, I'd claim that her two decades of dry spell had regrown her virginity. I tensed as my cock slid deeper and deeper into her clenching pussy, my hands on her hips, gripping her soft skin as she took over half my length, helping her along.
"Big!" She murmured. "Fuck! You have no idea how bad I needed a big cock like this in me. All these years, sometimes I hoped for some brave soul to just grab me and have his wicked way with me in my office. Make me feel how it's like to take a fat cock all over again. Who knew it'd take James Potter's son to remind me of what I loved so much?"
She grabbed my neck with her hands, and pushed herself deeper. I had imagined that I had hit rock-bottom with a few inches left outside of her, but she pushed herself deeper. "No, I'll have it all. I'm no quitter! If those sluts you fuck around can take this, I can do better!"
She angled her hips so she could find more space inside, and forced herself down, and somehow, as her arse came to rest against my balls, she took my entire weapon inside up to the root, and screamed in ecstasy. She ground against me, her cunt flexing around my cock, her tightness driving me crazy and I fought against cumming right away.
"You like it, huh?"
"Oh yes," she moaned. "With a cock this magnificent, no wonder you're so cocky. You came in wanting to make the DMLE your hunting dog. I suppose you wanted the Director to be your bitch."
I laughed, and pushed her up, only to let her weight drop her down on my cock again.
"Ughh!" Amelia groaned, as we started to work up a slow rhythm, meeting my rhythm with her own, driving down into me as I pushed her up. Her arms entwined around my neck, her breasts rubbing against my chest and slapping against my mouth.
"Ah! Yes! Fuck me, Harry! Fuck me like a whore! Make me your bitch!"
"My bitch, huh? I don't think you can manage that."
"I— I can!" She panted.
"Hah! In that case, choose a safeword."
"Lily."
I arched an eyebrow. "Why Lily?"
"Because I'm not saying her fucking name while you fuck the shit out of me," Amelia replied, her chest heaving with excitement, eyes filled with need and lust.
I grinned, then grabbed a fistful of her hair, and kissed her roughly. "Alright then."
I was hardly a stranger to rough sex. Narcissa and Hermione in particular, had a kink for it. Hestia too, but her tastes lay more along chains and punishment and reveling in pain than actual fucking. Amelia's body was closest to Narcissa, sexual appeal forged by strength. I could learn to play this body like a freaking guitar.
I grabbed one of her legs and threw it over my shoulder, before I pushed her against the table, and dove into her succulent pussy. I licked at her thighs, savouring the taste of her pussy before assaulting her slick folds and engorged clitoris with a savage intensity that had her all but screaming in pleasure within the first minute. Amelia still hadn't come down from her first climax and I could tell the second was bearing down on her like a dump truck with no breaks rolling down a steep slope. Then it crashed into the sexy vixen, and she nearly suffocated me with her luscious thighs as I continued to devour her.
"Holy Mother of Merlin!" Amelia yelled.
I was high on her juices and the sound of her moans now. Rock hard, ready to go and filled with raw desire to breed this marvellous specimen of a woman.
I lifted her other leg over my shoulder, and pushed her over her table completely, now grabbing her hips and looking down at her naked form as she lay on the very desk she did her daily job. Her chest heaved, her udders moving up and down like waves in the sea. I smacked her playfully on her arse and watched her give me a sensual, primal look.
She wanted me.
It was time to give it to her.
With one thrust, I sheathed myself completely inside her pussy, growling in pleasure at her warmth as she squeezed my cock. I pulled almost all the way out before shoving it back effortlessly and she let out a loud moan. Then I started thrusting like an animal in heat.
The night was warm, even with the weather monitoring charms around. Adding in the heat from our bodies and the intensity of our rutting, I could see sweat run down my chest as i ploughed into her now well-fucked cunt without reprieve. Amelia's hair was matted with sweat as she clung to the table like her life depended on it, moaning non-stop and growling with pleasure as I bottomed out inside of her with each hard, savage thrust.
I felt my first climax build up and instinctively slowed down to prolong the pleasure, but something in my brain clicked, and I started hammering into her. Faster and faster I went, and my orgasm hit hard, and I hilted myself deep inside her and despite cumming, I kept fucking her. My cock was hard as rock as I kept plunging into her, my seed seeping out of her folds and running down her thighs and mixing with her own juices. Between magic and Natural Demon, I had endless stamina. My erection never wavered.
I pushed her over and made her rest on her breasts, and renewed my slamming. Amelia accepted me willingly, egging me on with curses, moans, growls and words, encouraging me to use her like a whore.
Another orgasm hit, and I filled another load inside her pussy, and kept pumping anyway. Our naked flesh slapped together into the deep of the night, as we locked ourselves in the most frantic and savage sex of my life.
"I love you!" Amelia managed to gasp out between her moans of pleasure, as I filled her for the fourth time. "I love your cock! I love the way you fuck me! I am never letting you go!"
And with that came another notification.
World Anchor — Amelia Bones has gone up by 14%
Gained affinities from World Anchor — Amelia Bones
Runecraft +1%
Psychomancy +10%
I let out a soft groan and fell upon her delectable body, wiping away the tangle of hair from her face as I lay above her, squashing her between myself and the hard stone table. Her pussy clenched and trembled as my half-erect cock lay in its confines. The scent of the room was overpowering with sex and sweat, but neither of us seemed to mind.
"Never let me go, huh?" I asked, breathing hard. "Does that mean we're partners now, DMLE Director?"
She chuckled. "Upon one condition."
"Which is?"
She twisted her head slightly, just enough to be able to meet my eyes. "That you don't fuck me this hard everyday. I'd never be able to do a damn thing."
I snorted.
Notes:
If you want to support me, find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Chapter 59: Outmaneuvered
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 2 - HOUSE OF BONES
Something tickled my balls, and with a start, I jerked awake.
"Oh, Merlin!" a feminine voice gasped in the darkness, followed by a thump as she stepped back onto the floor. I felt the mattress shift as her body weight was no longer pressed into it. It probably said something about me that I didn't say Amelia's name out aloud, and instead blinked a few times and tried to peer into the darkness.
Then I remembered I was a wizard and snapped my fingers.
A pulsing ball of evanescent light popped into existence, and I found my culprit. There she was, wearing a long t-shirt that stopped mid-thigh, leaving her milky white legs exposed, and by the delightful bounce of her breasts with every breath, she wasn't wearing a bra.
"Susan," I croaked. "What are you—" I paused, and then lowered my voice down to a whisper. "What are you doing here?"
Susan frowned, and instead of answering my question, climbed back into bed first, scooting over next to me until our faces were merely an inch apart.
"You promised we'd cuddle after dinner."
Oh. That's right. I did. Guess promises of cuddling tended to evaporate when faced with an alternative of savage rutting with an older and far more lascivious woman.
"I got a bit carried away last night," I replied, still shaking cobwebs loose from my brain. A quick Tempus charm told me it was four in the morning, so not an hour when I did my best thinking. In fact, I was so addled at the moment that it was a miracle I hadn't called her Amelia.
Speaking of Amelia, we had stayed like that for over an hour of post-coital bliss, occasionally shifting over each other, our sweat mashing with each other as we made out on her worktable. It was only sometime after midnight that she pushed me off, and demanded that I take a shower, and leave. Damn woman wouldn't even let me walk off to my room, and stressed that I have the shower — a really cold one, in her office bathroom instead, and no, she wasn't going to join me.
And then I dragged myself all the way to my room and collapsed on my bed.
That was less than three hours ago.
"Must have," she whispered, surprising me with a soft kiss on my lips. "You were sleeping like a log."
I must have, given that I was a pretty light sleeper, and Susan had vanished my boxers without me noticing.
"I waited and waited until midnight, but you didn't come, so I planned to get a morning head start."
"I can see why you're a Hufflepuff."
She stuck her tongue out. "Hufflepuff and proud, and don't you forget it."
"And what does this Hufflepuff want?"
"To wake up next to you," she murmured, wrapping her arms around my waist. I arched an eyebrow at her forwardness but said nothing. I looked at her legs and found that unlike me, she still had her underpants on.
"I'm sorry," she mumbled. "I don't think I'm ready for… you know."
"It's fine," I assured her. "No rush."
"I.. I wanted to touch your dick again," she replied shyly, "I mean, I kind of left it hanging the last time."
Yeah, babe. Not a problem. Your Aunt took care of it and more.
"You can touch it again, if you want." I said.
"Well," Susan bit her bottom lip in a way that made her look incredibly sexy, but she probably didn't even know what she was doing. "I haven't seen anyone cum before."
"And you want to?"
She squirmed, something I found very entertaining.
"Only yours," she blurted out.
"Okay," I nodded.
Susan pushed herself close to me, until her assets were brushing against my chest, the flimsy layer of cloth only accentuating the feeling as she grasped my cock and began jerking it.
"Is it true that guys just do this on their own?"
"Yup." I said, "though usually there's some kind of mental or visual image."
"I can show you my breasts if you like," she said, almost too quickly.
I laughed. "I won't object to that." I paused, and quickly added, "that is, if you're comfortable."
"You keep staring at them," she said, "you must like them."
"Breasts like yours?" I replied. "I'd have to be a reptile not to."
Her eyes lingered on my naked chest for a few seconds before she sat up, and pulled the hem of her shirt up and over the head, spilling her glorious breasts out. I couldn't help but wonder if like runecraft and organic transfiguration, being top-heavy was also a Bones bloodline trait. Even as a sixteen-year-old, Susan was almost as gifted in the chest department as her older and mature aunt.
"Does this help?" She asked, sitting there, looking a little apprehensive.
"A lot," I murmured, eyeing her breasts as she returned to working on my shaft. Slowly, I crawled my right hand up to her right breast, keeping my touch spidery, and Susan moaned, squeezing my shaft in response. I palmed her nipple and gave her a light squeeze and she squirmed, and squeezed my shaft even more, eliciting a hiss from me.
"Oh, I'm so sorry," she apologised, looking ten times more nervous. "Did I hurt you? That looks painful."
"Not really. Just took me by surprise. That's all. You could even squeeze a bit harder. It feels good."
I grabbed her by her hip and pulled her close. She draped over my body, her breasts flattening over my abdomen as she gripped my cock, slowly working on my tool. I closed my eyes and fondled her breasts and her body quivered every single time I hit a pleasure spot. My eyes drifted shut somewhere along the way as I lay there, basking in the feel of her hands around my pole, idly noting the difference between Susan and every other woman I had been with.
I'd go ahead and say that every single woman I had bedded had been an absolutely unique experience. Even so, sex with them had been about carnal desires, mostly pleasure, and other times, pain, and sometimes just good old lovemaking. Even Hermione, despite being a virgin, was marred with her intellectual bent of mind and the darkness of her curse, twisting her deflowering into an actualization of her darkest desires.
But Susan was different. She was beautiful, funny and adorable in a puppy-sort of way. You'd think that her utter lack of experience would be a major turn-off after having so many women, and more importantly, her hot, mature and extremely willing aunt.
The truth couldn't be any more different if you tried. Susan boasted a sensual figure, but anybody with eyes could tell that she gave zero fucks about other's perception. She dressed casual, and often without make-up, accentuating her natural beauty. I'd even say that her lack of open sex appeal merging with her acute sense of wonder about sex made it an intensely magical and novel experience for me.
Which made what I was about to say so much worse.
"You're beautiful, Susan," I murmured, and she smiled, and draped further along my body, shivering as my fingers danced across her naked back.
"Your cock is beautiful too." she said.
The pragmatic part of me wanted to wait until she had sucked my cum and gotten me an anchor, but I knew it must be done. Susan was a pure and delicate thing, a sheltered angel, and as arousing as it would be to corrupt something like her, I could end up breaking her.
It was better I burned the bridge before that happened, not after.
"Look at me."
She paused, and turned her head, her delectable body rubbing all over my chest as she faced me, our lips an inch away from each other and her dark orbs meeting my green eyes.
"There is something we need to talk about."
Her hand fell away from my erection, and she raised herself slightly, her massive udders filling up my gaze.
"No," she said, looking absolutely pissed off. "This isn't about to happen. Give me one Merlin-damned reason why we need to have a talk."
I blinked, utterly unprepared for her reaction.
"Susan, you need to know — "
"That you slept with Auntie?"
Of all the things I expected her to say, that definitely wasn't part of the list. I was about to tell her about my nature as an Incubus, and why I needed to have sex to keep gaining power, and why I couldn't give her the love of a one-woman man that she expected out of me.
Instead I had… this.
"How did you —" I croaked.
Susan sneered, reminding me of the pissed off mother-hen Hufflepuff I knew and loved to annoy. "It's cute that Auntie thinks she can fool me that easily. Auntie's a creature of habit. She has a bath right after waking up, and right before sleeping. I knew something was wrong the moment she came out of the bath, looking all tired and freshly-bathed just minutes after you walked out. You telling me that she was inside the bath with you, and calling her by her name only made it easy to suspect."
I stared at her, like a deer in the headlights, and began to realise just how massively I had underestimated her.
"And don't get me started on dinner. You forget I've got friends, Harry Potter. After all the times I've seen Megan squirm while Ernie fingers her under the table during dinner, I'd be a fool to not notice what's happening in my own home. I had Auntie after the first minute when she stopped being a bitch and went all silent and squirming. She never does that. Once she's got something in her head, she'll bitch on about it for hours."
I was impressed. Lack of experience in the bed notwithstanding, Susan had an extremely sharp mind. And just like her aunt, she was quick to connect the dots, tally her knowledge and understanding of body language and come to neat, precise and logical conclusions.
"I'll hand it over to you though," she snapped. "That attempt at footsie was inspiring. Play with both women and they'd be too distracted to notice each other's oddities. Guess what, Potter, I still noticed. The older someone gets, the more rigid they grow in their mannerisms, and Auntie? She's a bloody rock. You'd have to be blind to not notice the difference."
I exhaled. For the first time since coming to this place, I was completely out of my wits.
"You're a right bastard, Harry Potter," she hissed. "Fucking Auntie behind my back. Making out with me behind her back."
Susan sat up straight, and planted her hands on her perfect hips, glaring at me.
"Then why didn't you do anything?"
"Because you're right." she said plainly.
I looked at her — a little shocked at her response. "Excuse me?"
"You're right. About what you said. About living your life. About legacy. James Potter could have stayed true to his family and betrayed his own desires by marrying Auntie, but I doubt he'd be really happy that way. Instead he married Lily Evans and had you. I'm not saying it was the best or the smartest thing to do, but he chose to do what made him happy, and that's a lot more precious than most people think. I… I've lived all my life as the Bones heiress. I've gotten everything I've wanted and more — toys, friends, a grand house, servants at beck and call, Auntie even got Auror Cadets when I wanted to learn how to duel. She lets me throw parties, attend events with friends, throw lavish get-togethers and everything I'd possibly want except for one damned thing."
"Choosing how to live your life." I murmured.
"Yes," she said in a very small voice. "I'm living the life of the Bones heiress. Somewhere in this vast mansion, Susan got lost. Protocol became my life." She met my eyes and glared at me. "And then you happened."
I blinked, unsure how to react at being addressed like a disaster.
"I —"
"You!" Susan snarled. There was so much fury in her little form that I idly wondered if she'd catch fire. Her blazing red hair had gained a subtle glow, as her innate magic fueled her momentous wrath. "You and I had so much in common. Both of us were heirs of Ancient and Noble Houses, only children, orphans, and had media attention focussed on us the moment we stepped out on our own. For the last three years, you behaved like a bloody peasant, unaware of your lineage, your class, your fortune. Auntie thought that Fleamont Potter must have not acknowledged you as Heir, and all you had was your Trust vault."
"To be fair," I acknowledged, "I thought the Trust vault was all I had. And I didn't know jackshit about the Potter name or its legacy. Nobody ever said anything to me until I checked it myself at the start of this summer."
Susan grumbled. "And that's when everything changed. You took up the Potter mantle. Auntie got a notification from Gringotts and everything changed. We — I expected that you'd embrace your heritage and play your part as a Potter. Instead you — you —"
"Became a douchebag buttfucker?"
She growled. "Yes. It made me furious. You — I was so angry. You were in the same vessel as I was, so how dare you get to live life like you chose, while I —" She was practically frothing. "I was so angry that it hurt. Between what Auntie told me about you, and what I saw —"
"And me bedding Hannah and her mum —"
She growled.
"Right. I'll shut up now."
"You pissed me off. But at the same time, you were still the guy I knew over the last three years. You helped Mrs. Abbott, and I know you promised her that things would be better. You hired that Jones woman, a halfblood and you let Granger stay in your own home when anyone else would've thrown her to the streets and shunned her as a werewolf. And then Penelope…"
"I told you, Penelope was just at the right place at the right time."
"Don't lie," she snarled. I was sure her wand would be hissing out sparks if she had it in her hand. "You might have done it for your own reasons, but you helped her out. You didn't have to, but you did. You hired her, and gave her a salary she deserved in a fair world. You're a douchebag buttfucker, Harry Potter, but you've done more good to people than I have in my entire life."
"So saints turn you on?"
She growled again, and I chuckled.
"I'm a pureblood witch," she said. "Magical power and skill are the easiest ways of attracting our attention. We've grown up looking up at people that have changed the world with their might. You're the Boy-Who-Lived, Lord Potter, and a master of tremendous fortune. The way you used me and Penelope and Malfoy to get what you wanted demonstrated political acumen. You impressed Auntie enough to make her play ball. And then you demonstrated raw power and talent. And you drive me crazy. It's obvious I'd be attracted to you."
"That's… a definitely unorthodox way to admit your feelings."
She blushed.
"Tell me something," I asked. "How did you know I've been sleeping with your aunt?"
She glowered for a second, before mumbling something under her breath.
"Sorry?"
Her hands went down to my shaft again, and she began squeezing and stroking it. "At first I was puzzled and curious. I thought maybe I was overthinking things. But then I realised that Auntie never gave me any explanations for whatever she did, but she went out of her way to let me know that you were going to be with her. I was curious and I wanted to know the truth. So I cast a listening charm."
"And Amelia couldn't feel it?"
"I cast it on her sandals."
"Sneaky," I smirked, impressed. "And then you went to your room and masturbated to our make-out session? Guess you saw a different avatar of your aunt, huh?"
She blushed to the roots of her hair. "I didn't think she could be that… vocal. She's always been —"
"A blowhard?"
She snorted. "You've no idea how mad I was with her. All my life she's preached nothing but hate for James Potter's child and when that child visits her, she snatches him away and fucks him like a bloody harlot. All that preaching about manners and protocol and she lets you finger her at the dinner table and takes your cock like a Knockturn Alley whore on her own work table. The sheer hypocrisy…."
I hissed out in discomfort, and Susan realised she was squeezing my cock really tightly. She quickly apologised and began to stroke me softly. She slowly laid herself down on me, her breasts flattened over my body and her chin resting on my chest.
"I couldn't believe her nerve. She makes me go through all this my whole bloody life, and then she just snatches you away from me like a jealous bitch. I laid on my bed, listening to you grunting and fucking her and imagining me in her place, and when you left after midnight, I knew I had to have you."
That explained a lot.
"I — err, don't really know what to say."
"I can think of at least one thing."
I blinked.
"You said you had something to say earlier. I know you, Harry Potter. I've watched you for years. I've offered myself to you twice now, and you've tried to pass it off both times. You've been nothing but an absolute gentleman to me, and even when I'm in your bed, naked and stroking your dick, you wanted to stop. Why?"
I opened my mouth to speak —
"And don't feed me some bullshit about fessing up about Auntie. You wouldn't have fingered her over dinner while feeling me up if you did."
My jaws snapped shut.
"It's like everyone thinks my boobs replace my brains," she grumbled.
I snorted. "Far from it. You're one of the sharpest women I've ever seen."
"Oh?" her lips curled. "And who else is on that list?"
"Well there's your aunt, no doubt about it."
"And your secretary, who you're obviously fucking."
Damn it. I really need to up my game.
"...And my secretary."
"Who else?"
Could I trust her? Maybe, maybe not. If she had sucked my cum, I'd get a quantified value of her anchorage. But if I stayed silent, then she'd see it as a lack of forthcomingness on my part. She had known what was happening behind her back, and instead of confronting me with it, waited — like a snake — until I had fessed up. And given that she was draped all over me and stroking my cock, it had to mean that she considered me significant enough to reveal her plans despite my obvious and ill-timed deception.
It was like dealing with Narcissa for the first time all over again.
"Narcissa Malfoy."
Her eyes went wide like saucers. "Of course. Of bloody course. You're fucking her, aren't you? Narcissa bloody Malfoy is jumping on Harry Potter's dick behind her husband's back. That's why you knew what to expect. That's why you pulled all that bullshit out of your arse and agreed to her proposal. And then you asked me for a private meeting with…"
She stilled.
I said nothing.
Her hand left my cock. She crossed them over my chest and rested her chin on them, her dark eyes on the same level as mine.
"So tell me," she asked, "What's really going on in that twisted mind of yours, Harry Potter? What are you really up to?"
Notes:
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Chapter 60: Dirty Secret
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 2 - HOUSE OF BONES
I swear there are days when I totally hate the Child of Prophecy perk.
Fifty percent increase in chances of encountering significant characters of this world was such a misleading statement. You'd think it meant that I'd meet all sorts of people in positions and power, and end up in bed, either with them if they were females, or their wives. No doubt the perk would go hand in hand with my chosen nature as an Incubus, and help me develop my World Anchors. I won't say that it wasn't happening like that, given my recent encounters with all sorts of interesting witches like Tonks, Hestia, Narcissa and Amelia, and no doubt I had ended up in bed with almost each and every one of them. But nowhere was it written that I'd be caught off guard by people that I thought were just side characters and forced into a desperate situation.
Like, right now.
Fucking Amelia Bones had been a massive payoff. Her virgin and utterly inexperienced niece, who was also the future Lady Bones, was supposed to be a bonus, an extra serving of dessert. Even my attempt to clear the air was a trick to further influence her to look at me in a positive light.
Instead I had… this.
"So tell me," asked Susan, "What's really going on in that twisted mind of yours, Harry Potter? What are you really up to?"
My rising paranoia told me to just shut up and try to obliviate the shit out of her. I was faster than her, and stronger, and I had made it a point to learn the memory spell. But Susan had shown to be remarkably cunning and sly, and perfectly capable of playing the part of prey while being a predator. There was no doubt that behind that youthful face lay a mind as sharp as mine, if not sharper. One that wasn't above using her own insecurities, her lack of sexual experience and her sheltered lifestyle to get what she wanted.
I was right. I was dealing with another Narcissa Malfoy. Only one that had a different set of agendas, and hid her plans behind a childish facade, and most importantly, one that I had no protection against.
Suddenly I was reminded of the fact that I was all by myself, in the heart of Bones mansion, the residence of the DMLE Director, and guarded by a minor army of hit-wizards. And worse, I was in bed, naked, with the future Lady Bones. Regardless of how I tried to slice it, or how much Amelia liked being dicked by me, it wouldn't stop her from throwing me into Azkaban if Susan played her cards right.
Susan giggled. It was amazing how an expression that looked angelic a moment ago now appeared utterly malevolent.
"I love watching you think," she giggled again. "I can almost hear that poor little hamster running and running on its wheel."
"You clubbed me over the head with it," I replied. "What did you expect?"
"Oh, this," Susan said, her eyes sparkling. "You are always so sure of yourself. I love seeing you off balance."
"I have to tell you this, you might be an inexperienced virgin, but your brain is fucking sexy."
She giggled again. "My thanks, Lord Potter."
Now only if I could figure out what did this twisted bitch wanted from me? Either way, I began conjuring multiple worst-case scenarios and making assumptions on what this could mean as fast as I could. I barely even paid attention to the way she snaked around over my body and began playing with my balls.
"Well?" She demanded.
"Well what?" I challenged her. "I have a ton of plans rolling. Do you really expect me to reveal them just like that?"
She frowned. "Tell me why you asked me for that favor."
Oh. That narrowed the field a lot.
"You're right. I have something cooking with Narcissa. And it involves my becoming the next Lord of House Black."
"Draco Malfoy was supposed to be the next Lord of Black."
"And he would have, if not for Sirius Black nominating me instead. I need Sirius declared a free man, and for that, I need Amelia to do certain things for me."
"You mean sleep with you."
I shook my head. "Do certain things for me, as DMLE Director. It'd be for our mutual benefit."
"Like sleeping with you."
I snorted. I swear she had a one-track mind. "Contrary to what you might think, I didn't get in here to sleep with you or your aunt. I certainly didn't know about your aunt's history with my family, or her personal vendetta against my mum. Whatever happened was just a nice bonus."
"And me? What were your plans for me?"
"You?" I asked, shrugging. "Absolutely nothing. Believe it or not, Susan, my life doesn't revolve around you. From the very start, it has been about acquiring the mantle of the Black Lord. The debacle with Draco, my arrangement with Narcissa and this meeting with Amelia, all were geared towards that purpose. I won't tell you that I am against having something with you, or your aunt, but it was completely unplanned. You pointed it out yourself, I rejected your advances twice."
She frowned. "Why do you want the Black Lordship so bad?"
I curled an eyebrow.
"I wasn't born yesterday, you know. The Potters were freaking rich. Richer than us. Unlike Auntie who donates half of our annual profits to running the DMLE and the war before that, or the Blacks who practically funded the Dark Lord's campaign, Fleamont Potter was a fencesitter, happy to do nothing with the war. You're loaded with enough gold to let your seven generations squander it around and be left with more. You don't need the Black fortune any more than you need to win the Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile award."
Perceptive little thing, wasn't she?
"Voldemort," I said, and noticed her lack of flinching, "will be back in a year."
Her confident and condescending stature didn't change immediately. It took a few moments for her to slowly realize what I was talking about, and twice as much for the realization to sink in.
You could tell that from the rapid vacation of colour from her face.
"No…" she whispered. "That can't… be…"
"Yes, and he will. Not believing in it will not stop it. I fought him back in my first year, when he was a wraith. He was indirectly behind the petrifactions of second year, and last year, I inadvertently let a man escape, who is prophesied to resurrect Voldemort."
Susan stayed silent.
"From what I've seen, everyone is content with the freak magical accident that stopped him. No one pauses and thinks that, maybe, just maybe, a wizard as dark and twisted as him would have taken steps to prevent his own death? A fluke took him out, and what did the Ministry do? They let the same men in charge. Malfoy, Nott, Selwyn, Goyle, Greengrass, Crabbe — all of them are still free and causing problems in society."
"But —"
"You know as well as I do exactly what the society is like," I said, channeling my rage through my eyes. Susan had already moved back, allowing me my space. That or she was simply too shocked by the truths I was throwing at her face.
"Hogwarts is a place where an entire House is filled with students who believe that Might makes right. The majority of wealth is concentrated in those same hands. The same discrimination, the same bigotry, at least the last time when Voldemort was there, his people were young adults, freshly out of Hogwarts. Now? They are in charge. They make the law, they run the economy, they direct the country. Tracey Davis's mum's a muggle, fucked by a pureblood lord of an Ancient House. She should be an heiress like yourself, enjoying life on a silver platter. Instead, she whores herself to pay her education bills. Hestia's one of the sharpest minds I've ever picked, and she was thrown out of her job just because she acted against one of Lucius's acolytes. Hermione's one of the highest scorers in our year, and you told me she'd be lucky to be hired as a whore after becoming a werewolf, and the less said about Penelope the better."
My power was practically rolling off me in waves by the end of it.
Okay, I might have been a tad more annoyed at this than I had believed.
Yet, a small part of me that wasn't overwhelmed by rage couldn't help but ask: why the hell was I so angry?
I could understand being upset after what happened, anyone would be, but I didn't understand where all of this anger was coming from. This rage, this overwhelming need to smash things, or anyone's face for that matter, was so unlike me that I couldn't understand where it came from.
I tried to sort out my emotions, examine what I was feeling so I could understand the source of my rage but no matter how hard I thought about it I came back empty.
I really need to get started with Occlumency.
Exhaling, I glanced at Susan's pale demeanor. The manipulative little bitch had been shocked out of her wits and was staring at me with wide eyes.
"Last time," I said in a lower, composed tone. "Last time it took a toddler and a magical fluke to stop the man. I don't believe in coincidences, so this time, I'm gonna attack him where it hurts."
"His finances…" she mumbled.
Quick, wasn't she?
"Yes. Lucius Malfoy commands the Wizengamot. He uses the Black fortune to fund his illegal ventures and gets richer every damn year. He's the reason behind the DMLE getting starved for funds and why your aunt has to adjust the difference from your family revenue."
"And you think getting the Black fortune —"
"That's only a single step in the way," I whispered. "It's what Amelia is helping me with. If I succeed, it will solve the DMLE problem for good. As well as end the problem known as Lucius Malfoy."
"That sounds like —"
"Yes," I said. "It's exactly what it sounds like."
Susan's brows furrowed, as she slowly digested it all. "And Auntie is helping you with this, while also sleeping with you."
I barely suppressed a chuckle. "Yes. That's exactly what's happening."
Her lips twisted. "Damn it, Potter. Couldn't you have acted out like expected for once?"
I arched an eyebrow.
"I mean, I thought you were doing this just to sleep around and gain power. I thought I'd use your little game against you and get something out of it. But this… damn it. You just have to prove me wrong all the bloody time, don't you?"
I shrugged. "Apparently, I'm Fate's bitch."
I even had a Perk to prove it.
"So now you know everything," I said. "Now tell me, what do you want?"
She frowned, her eyes flickering around in quick calculation. "If you want to overturn the economy, you'd need more than the House of Black and Potter. You'd need allies — "
"I know, which is why I have Amelia —"
"Not like that, idiot. I mean, Allied Houses. A coalition of powers."
I nodded slowly, wondering if she was thinking exactly what I thought she was.
"Potter… Harry, I want to live my life the way I want it. While also being Lady Bones. And it's obvious that Auntie has no plans to let you go anytime soon from her grasp, which means you're gonna show up at my house frequently."
"I suppose I can be sneaky."
"This is the DMLE Director's house, dummy. Being sneaky gets you killed."
Right. I hadn't considered that.
She grabbed my hands and met my eyes. "I want to marry you."
I blinked.
"Say what?"
"I…" she repeated with the air of talking to a child. A dumb child. "Want. To. Marry. You. You're the Lord of an Ancient and Noble House, and hold the same station as I do. I'll be the second wife to House Potter, and Lady Bones. It allows you to… well, have two more chances to gain powerful allies by marrying women from other Houses, and I'll even help you sort them out. But most importantly, it gets you regular entry to this mansion, and gives me all the time I need with this cock."
She squeezed it for good measure.
"Oh, and Auntie gets to continue with her hypocritical perversities."
"That.. came out of nowhere."
Susan threw her head back and laughed. "Only you, Harry Potter. You didn't think twice before jumping in bed with Narcissa freaking Malfoy. You're single-handedly fighting the Dark Lord and working to upturn an entire political structure, while also fucking the DMLE Director. And a simple marriage proposal from little old me gets you gawking? That's just sad, you know."
"And… it doesn't bother you that your husband would be sleeping around with others?"
Susan blushed. "It actually turns me on to see my man is so coveted, but only I can have him by law, and be on his arm as his wife, while the others will have to contend to be his whore for the night."
"They're not my whores. I care for every one of them."
"I forget the details sometimes," she said dismissively.
"And the fact that I'm screwing around with your aunt?"
"Honestly? It infuriates me as much as turns me on. You might not know this, but you've got the unique ability to get under anyone's skin. It might sound weird, but Auntie is never lacking in composure. Seeing her turn this unpredictable has been a treat. That said, she is going to fight tooth and nail against my proposal."
I arched an eyebrow. "And why's that?"
"Because Amelia Bones is a jealous bitch," she snorted. "Your father spurned her and in return, she spurned his child by refusing to take you in. She might not have thought it like that, but on some level, she was spitting on his wishes like he did on hers. I don't know what bloody magic you did on her, because I know for a fact that Auntie's got a strong resistance against the Imperius, but she's taken in by you, and let you fuck her on her bloody table in just a day's encounter. You remember what she told you at the end of your fuck-fest, right?"
"She'd never let me go."
"Damn straight," she laughed. "Aunty will fight tooth and nail to keep you all to herself. Me marrying you will make her mind go all weird, because I'm her niece and she would hate for me to look at her differently. If there's one thing Amelia Bones cares about more than protocol, it's her sterling reputation. You're her dirty secret, Harry, and she will go to absolute lengths to keep it that way. Me marrying you, that will spill it out before me, and she can't have that."
I blinked.
Her lips curved into a small smile.
"And that's exactly what you want, isn't it?" I asked, "to push her so far that she spills her dirty secret in the open."
Her smile deepened. "I like the way you think, Harry."
"I'm thinking of you and me right now."
"I'm thinking of you too, Harry," she squeezed my cock as she draped herself all over me. Her smile was innocent and pure and completely belayed the fact that she had spent the last thirty minutes shit-talking her aunt.
Our lips met.
Notes:
If you want to support me, find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Chapter 61: Swimming
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 2 - HOUSE OF BONES
Later in the morning, I sauntered to the kitchen looking for an apple. Elsie, the elf in charge of the kitchen, was quick to remind me that the kitchen was her territory and Masters and Guests were not allowed in it. Her demeanour reminded me a bit too much of Poppy Pomfrey and Minerva McGonagall, so I took her chastising without comment. At least she gave me an apple and a glass of lemon, before she sent me off on my merry way.
That's where I ran into Amelia.
Not the woman dressed in a bra and knickers giving me a soap bath. Certainly not the naked, sex-starved woman I had fucked to oblivion over her worktable. No, this was the DMLE Director, dressed for work, complete with her monocle over her right eye.
"Good morning," she said awkwardly, avoiding my eyes.
I refused to let things become awkward and took a step forward. Cupping her cheek, I kissed her tenderly on the lips. She grunted in surprise but quickly relaxed and kissed me back, only to break apart a few seconds later as she quickly looked around for potential witnesses.
"Feeling better?" I asked, taking a step back.
Amelia's cheeks burned. No doubt she was thinking about last night. "It's a little sore, but I can get used to it."
My grin widened. "I told you. Always respect the safeword. It's there for a reason."
Her eyes glittered with desire. "And I made my feelings clear about it."
"That you did." I said. "So, another busy day at the Ministry?"
She sighed. "Unfortunately. This month is a nightmare and a half for me."
"Security checks for the Quidditch World Cup, I take it?"
"I imagine you'll be going?"
"Angry dragons couldn't stop me," I said. And with due reason too. The Quidditch World Cup was exactly where all my efforts would culminate to an end. Whether that culmination turned out to be a success or an abysmal failure remained to be seen.
"You could come with us," she said.
"Would love to," I said. "Unfortunately, I promised someone else first. My friend Ron said something about getting tickets."
That was a lie. It was Ginny that told me about the tickets. In fact, Ron didn't even know about the tickets yet. Ginny only knew because she had eavesdropped on her parents' conversation the other night. That and she was really looking forward to making out in the Weasley barn. It was something of a fetish.
But knowing Amelia, she'd probably get jealous on hearing another girl's name. Plus, I'd have much less freedom in her presence. I had places to go, people to meet, plans to execute. You know, the usual.
"But that's not a problem, is it?" I asked. "I can meet up with you and Susan there."
Amelia looked like she did mind, but shook her head. "That's okay. What will you do today?"
I grinned. "Susan asked me out for a swim."
She looked at me curiously. "A swim?"
I shrugged. "She said something about a giant pool. And the weather outside is just perfect for a swim."
"Morning Auntie," chirped Susan, as she climbed down the stairs from behind her. She wore a light green half-sleeved shirt and hot pants. Even from my vantage point, I could see that she wasn't wearing a bra, given that her creamy, developed breasts kept bouncing at her every step.
I watched Amelia for reactions, and suffice to say, I was not disappointed.
Amelia's face flashed a multitude of emotions. First, a curiosity at my words, as well as a curiosity of what it might entail. Then I watched her smile fade as she considered Susan's presence in all of it, no doubt tying my random comment about marrying a Bones woman. If she was even half as perceptive as her niece, and believe me, one doesn't become the DMLE Director by collecting chocolate frog cards, she must have noticed Susan's rising interest in me during my spellcasting performance. That was followed by a quick, full glimpse of Susan's outfit, appraising her, followed by a slight smile. Then, her lips pursed slightly looking slightly mad.
"Hi, Auntie," said Susan lightly. "You're — uh —"
"I didn't know you had plans for a swim today," said Amelia. She made it really difficult to spot the annoyance from her voice but I heard it.
"I, uh, I really thought about it this morning." Susan squeaked. "Hazel told me you'd be off to your office. Honestly I thought I'd ask him for a spar but he got hurt yesterday and I thought relaxing by the pool would be a good way to spend the time and it wouldn't be very dangerous and we needed something to spend the entire day so…"
Susan, I realised, had a tendency to lose control around Amelia. I didn't know if it was because of her intimidating mannerisms or Susan was just that submissive around authority figures. It was almost impossible trying to spot the crafty bitch I had met in the early hours of the morning in her.
Still, best to put a stop before she blabbered anything vital.
"Is there a problem?" I asked, pointedly. Amelia turned towards me, holding my gaze for a second or two before she gave me an annoyed smile.
"Of course not," she said with a put-on grin. "Just… caught me by surprise. That's all."
I sat down on a chair as Elsie laid down Amelia's breakfast for her. The elf asked me if I wanted breakfast but I waved her off. Susan took a seat next to me, and I engaged her in small talk about the jacuzzi I had on my apartment's terrace. That led to me describing exactly how my apartment was, and what kind of facilities I had installed within it, with quick references to the business venture I had with the goblins. Amelia was pretty quiet during the whole meal. She was paying attention, but the annoyance stemming out of her was clear. I spent most of the meal wondering exactly what it was that drove her mad. Sure, part of it was that Susan had surprised her with her decision to go on a swim, especially with a boy who was a guest in their home without supervision. It was what a normal aunt or guardian would be annoyed with, but Amelia was definitely not normal, nor was her relationship with me for that matter, anything remotely close to normal. Obviously she had been happy to see me, and given how earnestly she had returned the kiss, things were just like I had left it last night.
Then… What could it be? My casanova nature? She had made no secret about her history with the Potters and had obviously bitched a lot about it to Susan over the years. Whatever I did outside with other girls was not her business, and she knew I wasn't foolish enough to try something with Susan under her nose. Not only would that create an explosive situation between us, it could very much cause our professional relationship to shatter.
Obviously, that didn't stop me from doing the same, which tells you exactly what kind of a safeplayer I am.
But if not that, then what else? Jealousy perhaps? Of whom? Susan? Susan had a woman's body, but anybody with eyes could tell that she was inexperienced in the games of seduction. At the same time, she was the future Lady Bones while Amelia was simply the Regent. Could it be that the idea of her niece getting wet with me, while wearing provocative clothing had gotten her competitive feminine juices flowing? Or was she just mad that I'd be here with her niece, flirting with her, swimming with her, while she laboured at her office. Or maybe she was just insecure because she had finally gotten a taste of sexual pleasure after a very, very long dry spell?
Either way, it was cause for concern. As much as I wanted Amelia to divulge her relationship status to Susan, I feared that this paranoia was going to make her act out. There was nothing preventing her from assigning elves to spy over me and Susan, which meant that we'd be spied over. Damn it. Maybe this swimming idea wasn't as good as we thought.
It wasn't a pool. Instead, it was a combination of spatial charms, atmospheric charms and runic enchantment to create a mini-copy of a sea beach within the castle periphery. In hindsight, it shouldn't have surprised me very much. After all, Newt Scamander had a dozen different natural environments put inside separate cubicles inside his freaking suitcase. Compared to that this was… almost normal, albeit a lot more polished and occupying a larger area.
I spread my towel down on the warm sand, smoothing it out before seating myself beneath the umbrella to get some protection from the unrelenting sun overhead, as several miles of blue ocean lay before me. Susan was laying out her towel outside the shade, preparing to make full use of the sun's rays to maintain her perfect tan.
Now that she had ditched the shirt and pants, I could see that she wore a two piece beneath. Her top was a little traditional in coverage, except it looked to be for someone with a smaller bust size, and pressed her tits upwards, as if they were trying to escape or scream for one's attention. It barely kept them trapped and instead, they bounced around with every step. Her bottoms were a simple piece of material covering the hot zone between her legs with a tiny string splitting of her glorious arse-cheeks. She kept giving hungry looks at me, but given how I had her naked and stroking my cock earlier, I was completely comfortable.
"So Harry, can you help?" she asked.
I looked at her, and she blushed, raising a bottle of oil as she turned and laid down on her towel, face-first.
Fuck yeah.
"Sure, I guess," I said, trying to sound as casual about rubbing oil on the exquisite creature next to me.
I took the bottle from her hand and dripped a generous portion on her back. Susan reached behind her and undid the strap on her bikini, resting her chin on her hands. I studied her naked back for a second before setting into my task. I poured more oil and rubbed a little into my hands, proceeding to rub her exposed flesh across her shoulders, down her spine and lower back. As soon as I was done, I moved down to her legs, taking note of her moans the moment I massaged her butt cheeks.
"That looks comforting."
The voice startled me, and I withdrew my hands so quickly, you might think they had been burnt. I looked to my left at the newcomer and froze.
"...Auntie?" Susan croaked.
I gawked, unable to believe the sight in front of me. True, I had seen her naked and had her writhing in ecstasy beneath me, but in both cases, it had been behind closed doors. My gaze danced over her body, which was almost completely on display. The skimpy bikini she had picked was only a bit more than a collection of strings, mixed with occasional tiny triangles. Two of those small triangles rested on her breasts, hiding her nipples and their immediate surroundings from my sight, leaving the rest uncovered for my viewing pleasure. The bottom piece was only marginally larger, managing to cover her nether lips, but with the promise that all it would take was a careless step for it to end. I couldn't see the portion on her back, but I guessed it would be even more revealing, with just a string to cover her backside.
Amelia stalked towards me, a predator towards her prey. She was aware of my hungry gaze on her, and it probably made her feel sexier and vindicated.
"Well?" she asked. "What do you think?"
She stood a couple of steps away from me, then did a full turn. It was a slow, lingering turn that allowed me to examine her perfect legs, her almost naked arse while her breasts danced with the movement.
"Err… nice," I managed to say. "Very nice."
Her smirk was a perfect portrayal of selfish satisfaction. It lingered on her face for a moment before vanishing in its entirety.
"But I thought…" Susan croaked. "You'd be off to the office."
"I would have," Amelia admitted, her nonchalance fooling no one. "But it's a Sunday, and we have a guest at our home. A guest that I invited to stay over for the weekend. I wouldn't be a good host if I left him by his lonesome the entire day now, would I?"
The frustration on Susan's face was a delight to watch. I might have agreed to join her little plan, but I wasn't stupid enough to not recognize a counter-move when I saw one. Susan had taken advantage of Amelia's absence to get out ahead, and Amelia had offered a strong comeback, even if it meant showing up like a bikini model.
"Plus," Amelia said, not at all hiding her pleasure at thwarting her niece's plans as he regarded me. "You were right. It's a beautiful weather, perfect for a swim."
I barely managed to suppress a chuckle.
Amelia wasn't done yet. "I see Harry gave you an oil massage. A little sunbath should do wonders for your skin, Susan."
Susan opened her mouth to speak, but then shut it. I got the impression that she really wanted to get up, but given her top was still untied, she had to stay down.
"Do you want a massage too?" I offered.
"Tempting," Amelia murmured. "Haven't had those in a while. But maybe later. I'm thinking of a swim. Join me?"
She might have phrased it casually, but something about her tone made it look more like an assertion. A command. Regardless of our relationship behind closed doors, she was the DMLE Director and me openly skirting her authority would not go nice with her.
I glanced at Susan. She was still lying face down with her top off and the oil on her skin made her shine a brilliant bronze in the sunlight. A beautiful sight, only marred by the frustration evident in her face. Despite it, she said nothing, either out of fear or she just knew a losing fight when she saw one.
"You coming too, Susan?" I offered her a way in.
"No," she said, a shadow of resentment in her eyes. "I'll just get some sun here."
I took that as her consent, and turned to Amelia. "Alright, let's go."
Notes:
If you want to support me, find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Chapter 62: Amelia's Offer
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 2 - HOUSE OF BONES
We waded into the fresh saltwater, all the way up to my wait, Amelia's tits doing amazing things as she bounded along, crashing through the smaller waves that splashed against us. I glanced past to look at Susan, my enhanced senses revealing the open scowl she was wearing.
"My breasts are up here, stud." said Amelia as she grabbed my arm and pulled me towards herself, me crashing against her impressive rack.
"Oh, don't worry. I noticed," I said with a grin.
She grinned and pulled me further into the surf. I glided through the water and she joined me, until we were far enough to look like dark silhouettes against the morning sun.
"I love this, you know," she whispered, as we floated face to face. "I had almost forgotten what this was like."
"Swimming?"
"Swimming with someone you want," she corrected me.
I felt a little bad inside. Despite her tough exterior and her blowhard attitude, Amelia wore her heart on her sleeve when it came to me. When she hated James Potter's child, she was ruthless. And now when she had become my lover, she did so without reservations. It was almost enough for me to ignore Susan's little deal and just be with Amelia, except for the fact that it would send the little redhead into the same vengeful route James Potter had sent Amelia into. And besides, she was right. Amelia had always had her on a leash, controlling almost every aspect of her life. I had no doubt that Amelia would try to control me as well. It was just part of her character. On the other hand, if I married Susan, I'd be the Lord Bones, and continue my dalliance with Amelia. Plus, Susan was completely willing to let me continue my other dalliances without even factoring my Incubus nature.
The only major problem with this was Amelia herself.
"So," I floated closer. "What happened to going to work?"
"I thought I told you," she began.
"And we both know that isn't worth hippogriff shit," I reprimanded her softly. "Amelia Bones deciding to skip work just to entertain a guest? And showing up in that swimsuit?"
"You don't like it?"
"I think you're the sexiest thing I've ever seen. Now stop trying to digress."
She didn't meet my eyes.
"It's about Susan, isn't it?"
She looked away. "It's complicated."
"You saw your niece take your lover for a private swim, and you reacted out of jealousy. Seems pretty straightforward to me."
Amelia's eyes flashed, and for a moment, I thought I might have stepped the line. But then she sighed and closed her eyes, controlling her breathing. She exhaled coolly, letting the air blow out through her slightly parted, smooth lips.
Then she finally opened her eyes.
"Everyone thinks that the Ancient and Noble Houses have the best of everything. And to be honest, they're mostly right. But more often than not, we also have the worst in everything."
I waited for her to explain.
"It's… custom for a woman born to any family of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, to be put under a chastity binding. It abstains us from going any further sexually than perhaps… kissing and groping. The spell is undone by the husband as part of the marriage vows by deflowering the virgin woman on their marriage bed."
"That sounds pretty misogynistic."
Amelia frowned. "Not really. It's magical symbolism at play. Sacrificial magic, invoked through the woman sacrificing her sexual energies and her pleasure until her wedding night. It is what allows her to be accepted by the magic of her husband's family as its Lady. The same is true for any man wanting to marry into one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight."
"So if someone wants to marry Susan —"
"Unless he's from an equal or higher station, he'd need to be, among other things, a virgin. Though that's only applicable if the woman is the Lady of the House."
"And if he is?" I asked. "From an equal or higher station?"
Amelia gracefully arched a brow. "Subtle you are not, Harry Potter."
I scratched the back of my head.
"If he's from an equal or higher station, then he doesn't need to be accepted by the Family magic. He can occupy the position of Regent just fine."
"Gotcha. So you and James…"
"I was betrothed to James at a very early age. Seven, in fact. I didn't mind because James and I practically grew up together. We were best friends, until he joined Hogwarts and met the other rascals, Black and Lupin and Pettigrew. And I…. let's just say that I was extremely sexual and leave it at that. The trouble began when I hit puberty."
I crinkled my nose. I could understand getting angry and repressing herself for two decades, but imagining this stern woman as highly sexual felt strangely dichotomous.
"My body went into overdrive seemingly overnight. I was bombarded by hormones. I remember looking at my classmates and wondering why they weren't being driven as insane as I was. I could barely control myself, and my body craved constant satisfaction, and with the chastity binding intact, I could think straight."
Her hands grabbed mine and she pulled me closer. "I finally admitted to James about it in my fourth year. We knew that we couldn't move past kissing, but that just didn't feel enough. I wanted more, and James was a sixteen-year-old male. I don't know exactly what he did, but he fudged with the betrothal contract, altering its provisions."
I winced. James Potter had done some pretty outrageous things as a student. He had hacked into the Hogwarts wards, invented the Marauder's map, become an animagus by his OWL year, and developed enchanted mirror-phones that allowed long-ranged video-calling — all of that before passing his OWLs. Somehow, twisting a betrothal contract seemed right up his alley.
"You're thinking how typical it is for James to have done that, aren't you?"
I couldn't help it. I laughed.
Amelia frowned, but after a moment, she smiled fondly as well.
"What did he do?" I asked.
"He used sacrificial magic and the law of equivalent exchange to overwrite the clauses in the contract. It allowed me to engage in all forms of sexual activity, without any bar, but confined me to a single partner. Himself. Or rather, the Heir of House Potter, staying true to the contract. But we were to be married, so at that time, I was absolutely ecstatic. That year, we fucked like rabbits."
She paused. "Then my OWL year happened, and everything went to hell."
I sighed, realising where this was going. "My mom."
"Lily Evans," Amelia uttered the name like it was the vilest curse imaginable. "For obvious reasons, neither of us ever mentioned the changes in the contract to our respective families. Forget what Uncle Fleamont would say, my father would have skinned me alive for tweaking around with sacrificial magics just for sexual debauchery."
She exhaled. "You know the rest. I joined the Hit Wizards as an Intern and James stayed back at school and pursued Lily Evans. I like to think that James enjoyed me in bed, but I don't know, maybe he thought he got me too easily and that reduced my worth in his eyes? And Lily Evans kept turning him down, so maybe the chase gave him the thrills?"
"It's natural. Everyone loves a chase."
Amelia glared at me, and then sighed. "I guess that can't be helped. I accepted that James would keep mooning over Lily, and after my attempt at getting him checked for potions, he became distant with me. I had become a Hit-Wizard intern and focussed on my career."
Her face tightened. "And then he died. And I got fucked for good measure."
"Wait, how did —"
"My father passed away some months earlier. Cerebrumous Spattergroit. Uncle Fleamont and Aunt Euphie had died in a Death Eater attack. With James's death, the three people capable of cancelling the betrothal contract were gone for this world. In less than six months, I lost my father, my future father-in-law, and my would-be husband, and everything went to hell."
"I don't understand. James was dead, so why should the contract matter anymore?"
Amelia gave me a pained smile. "It was a side-effect from the tampering. It held me and my magic bound, allowing me to experience sexual pleasure with the Potter heir and the Potter heir alone. With your father dead, I stayed celibate for twenty-years, unable to so much as pleasure myself to sleep.""
I winced.
She let out a silent snarl. "I was…. I was angry. I was absolutely furious. Furious at my own stupidity. Furious at James for dying. Furious at Evans from stealing my life, my James, and my pleasures from me. I was… I was… UGH!" She smashed her palms on the water, splashing it around in impotent fury. "James was dead. The Potters were dead. My entire family was dead, leaving me behind with a little baby to take care of and twenty years of repression."
I stayed silent. Like, what did you say to that? What could you say to that?
"But I didn't give up. I immersed myself In Occlumency. It was hard work but it paid off. There were times when I just wanted to give it all up. But I couldn't. Amelia Bones doesn't quit. The mind arts are dangerous, and if I made a mistake, I could burn out the ability to feel desire out of my system. It would… damage me. So I went a different route. A far more difficult route. I made myself believe that the others were not worth it. That I was better. My body was a temple and everyone around me was unworthy of worshipping it. I became the dominatrix. I still felt desire, but I could control it. With my new discipline, a future of fame and power came to me. I became stronger, ferocious and absolutely ruthless. In a single decade, I arose from an intern to DMLE Director. And it was like that, until you came into my life."
"Until I…" Her words hit me like missiles. "The heir of House Potter, is that why…"
"Yes."
"But I'm the Lord —"
"You haven't taken your seat at the Wizengamot, yet. By Ministry mandate, you are still the Heir of House Potter." She closed her eyes and exhaled again. "You've no idea what just looking at you made me feel. I'm sure you've heard this, but you look exactly like your dad, except for your eyes. When I met you for the first time, I thought James had come back."
"So you gave me a hard time."
Amelia opened her eyes and cocked her head. "I'm the DMLE Director. Giving others a hard time is part of my job description. That you had come in demanding a private meeting didn't help either. It was just like James, demanding to get something done, regardless of the consequences. I have no lasting love for the Malfoys, or the Blacks for that matter, but you kept reminding me more and more of James with every passing minute. So I took it further, wanting to see just how far you could be pushed. Honestly, I had half a mind to send you rejected, just out of spite."
I scowled.
"But then you offered me your deal. The way you strong-armed me into siding with you, toying the line between a direct bribery and a political alliance, was a masterstroke. If nothing else, I was impressed. I wanted to know more. So I challenged you in other ways, and you performed, no, you surpassed my expectations. And then… when you said those things..."
She pushed herself against me, her wet breasts rubbing against my chest. "You were more right than you know. I was forced into solitude by my past, but I stayed there by choice. Between the contract binding me, and my own anger at James, I took it all out on my desires. I crushed them, ignored them, turned into this… harridan that only lived to work and see her ward grow up as per protocol. Until, well, you happened to me."
Yep. She was Susan's aunt alright. If nothing else, both of them described me like a natural disaster.
Her hands moved down my chest, and into my boxers until she grabbed my cock. "This cock gave me something I had missed for twenty years. The moment I gave in to your ministrations, I was flooded with desire. I wanted it all. That raging slut, the sex-starved bitch that wanted to be fucked in all three holes was finally awake Two decades of Occlumency, and that one moment shattered it all. Sex was my addiction, and the moment I relapsed, I knew I would never be able to conquer it again. And believe me, I hated you and loved you for doing this to me."
She began stroking my cock and pushed herself even further, entwining her hands behind my neck as she pulled me closer. Our noses touched. "Remember last night, when you made me cum at the dinner table? That was my first orgasm in twenty years."
I swallowed. To the best of my knowledge, even an orgasm denial for a couple of weeks could reach impossible levels of agony. But twenty years? I was hearing her, sure, but my mind was still working on believing.
"Last night, you made me cum after twenty, long years. If not for Occlumency, I would have screamed to the high heavens. Screamed in utter delight and ecstasy. But you know what, Harry? I thought it'd make me feel better. Instead I felt worse. I wanted more. I wanted more. I wasn't thinking straight. I just knew that I needed to be fucked in all my holes and I needed you to keep fucking me until I was unconscious." Amelia met my eyes. "I was serious, you know. Darling, I'm never letting you go."
I mentally winced. When Amelia had said those words to me last night, I hadn't given them much value. But now, after I had context, I suddenly realised exactly how complicated the situation could become. For her, and for me.
"You want me to stay here? I have a home too, you know."
Amelia scoffed. "By home, you mean your whorehouse where you fuck your pet werewolf and your secretary? Bones Mansion has everything you'll ever need, and your home is just a Floo away." At my frown, she backpedalled. "Come on, Harry. My mansion is the most secure place in all of Wizarding Britain. There's nothing you'll want if you live here. Those Auror equipment? Yours. Use your home as a place for business if you must, but stay here. With me. I'll help you connect with the Wizengamot. And every night, we'll have mind-blowing sex. C'mon Harry, you've had me. You know this body can give you pleasure more than what any of those little sluts can dream of. I'm willing, Harry. Any hole, any position, I'll be your slave in bed. You want the Black Lordship? I'll help you get it. You want me to go after Greengrass and Malfoy? I'll ram my resources on their Death-Eater arses. Just… just stay with me."
"What of Hogwarts?"
"A non-issue," said Amelia dismissively. "You're a Lord now, and that means getting Lordly privileges. You have the right to leave Hogwarts for official business from time to time. You can even leave the school right after your classes on Saturday. So long as you return for classes on Monday morning, it won't be a problem."
Amelia was on the level with the offer, wasn't she? I'd be a fool not to take advantage of her desperation. I knew I could push for more, a lot more, and Amelia would likely cave in. But in doing so, it might utterly destroy my reputation with her. Would the undue benefits I could extract out of her outweigh the loss of reputation if she put me in the same slot as Malfoy and Greengrass? An opportunist sonofabitch that was taking advantage of her situation?
"Harry," Amelia cupped my face. "I've finally gotten a new chance at life. I don't want to… I don't want to lose it."
Damn it. This was getting complicated. Amelia must have noticed the growing unease on my face and pulled me by my hands.
"Enough of my sob story. After twenty years, I finally have the chance to swim with someone I want to be with. I'm not gonna waste another minute." She gave me a dazzling smile, as she came closer, and whispered into my ear like a seductive dark angel.
"Fancy a challenge, Mr. Potter?"
I looked at her playful avatar in surprise.
She pointed at a tiny reef, easily a hundred and fifty feet away. "Last one to reach there loses his swimsuit."
And then she immediately started to swim.
"You minx!" I barked out a laugh, and followed suit. With my larger arms and Natural Demon boosting my capabilities, it wasn't hard to overtake her. Still, for someone operating purely out of athleticism, Amelia was freaking fast.
"I… lost?" she stammered, upon reaching the end-point and finding me waiting for her. Her face flamed red.
"And now you get to lose your swimsuit."
"Ah — Harry, maybe we can choose an alternate punishment? I mean, Susan is out there on the beach. Without my wand, I cannot — uh —"
The rest of her words died as I moved in to kiss her. Mimicking her actions, I whispered into her ear. "Why Amelia, are you going to go back on your word?"
Amelia looked at me, tongue-tied.
I watched as a bunch of emotions played across her face. There was resignation, followed by fear and slight insecurity, only to be replaced by a vindictive smile. Then she met my eyes.
"I will, but on a condition."
"Oh?" I played along. "And what is that?"
Her lips twisted, and she came closer, grabbing me by my arms. She entwined her arms around my neck and whispered into my ear.
"Take a deep breath."
"Wha—"
Before I could even finish the thought, she drew in breath and pulled me underwater. I let her kick and struggle as Amelia pulled me to the bottom, until we were about ten feet beneath. She was slippery and fought like a tiger, and we landed against one side of the reef with her sandwiched between me and the wall of coral. A shoal of fishes, painted in every shade of the rainbow, were playing tag, while turtles sang from the holes in the reef. Everything was so full of colour, just tinted with a greenish hue, as sunlight struggled to force its way through. I had never been to a reef before, so it was all a novel experience for me. My eyes darted towards a formation of corals, fragile, yet the longer you looked, the more intricate each precious piece appeared. Each section of coral was beautifully formed, with none quite like each other.
Just like the gorgeous woman with me.
A desperate need for air flared within me, and I tried to push myself up, but she wouldn't let me, determined to get the upper hand. I had never seen this side of her. Just what was she trying to do?
Confused, I tried to push her away and struggled against her iron whole-body grip. After another five seconds or so, I managed to escape her arms and swam to the top and took in fresh air.
"What the —" I began, but the rest of my words died in my throat as I looked down.
Amelia was coming after me. Predator after its prey. I felt her hand on my hips and took a deep breath. She yanked me down again for the second time. I marvelled at how she had been under for almost a minute now and hadn't even come up for air. It was clear that she was an expert swimmer, and me outmanoeuvring her in her own element had triggered this side of her.
Be it the bedroom or underwater, there was always another battle.
As Amelia pulled me down, I grabbed her red bikini top and yanked it off her. Her breasts popped out from behind the trivial fabric triangles and bobbed freely in the sea water.
Amelia didn't give up easily either. The feisty woman yanked my boxers down, pulled and twisted with her legs above her and soon had it down around my ankles. Pulling with my arms, I tried to reach the surface but she held me down with my boxers in one hand and her fingers wrapped around the coral reef in the other. Her determination both amazed and aroused me. But it was close to two minutes now, and she needed air desperately, so she released us and we both struggled to the top together.
We met each other's eyes.
Two deep breaths later and we went back down under.
I let free some of my breath as her hand clenched my cock. I reached for her tits and grabbed her nipples, pinching it hard with my fingers. She jumped back and her grip loosened on my cock. That cost her her breath and we both had to swim back up again. Catching our breaths, she dove down again and this time, grabbed me by my ankles and pulled me under.
I was ready this time.
Dropping all resistance, I went straight for the offensive and grabbed her hips, yanking her bikini bottom free. Before she knew it, I pushed two fingers into her submerged cunt and Amelia let out a gasp, releasing her breath. She struggled for air, but I grabbed her and held her down, pulling her into an aggressive kiss, my fingers digging deeper into her tight cunt. We landed against a reef wall, scaring a school of fishes away, her hands around my neck, and her legs entwined around me. My right hand was busy fingering her cunt, while I mauled her breasts with my left. Amelia broke the kiss suddenly and gasped for more air, fighting out of my grip as she swam up to the surface, and I followed suit.
Only to realise my mistake.
Amelia had surfaced before me. She took in a deep breath and dove down before I could reach the top. She grabbed my cock with one hand and with another, pushed me by my chest until she had been sandwiched between her and the reef. She clamped her pussy against my cock and sank down until I hit all the way in, and pulled me into a searing kiss, her legs entwined around me. Within seconds, we were sinking deeper into the bottom of the sea.
Was this psychotic woman actually trying to drown me?
Within seconds, we were easily twenty-five feet below the surface. I could only look up at the surface which looked so close and yet so far. I could feel the weight of the water pressing down on me. Breaking the kiss would mean a struggle for air and Amelia didn't look like she was in any mood of letting me out of her grip.
And so I grabbed her and looked at her straight in the eye. Before jamming my fingers right up her arse.
Amelia let out a gasp and loosened her grip almost instantly
It was getting harder to breathe now. I knew Amelia could cast a bubble charm on us if things went south, but where was the fun in that?
Speaking of which, now I know what spells to add to my rings next.
Pulling away, I shot for the surface and took a deep gulp of air. This time she surfaced a little away from me, just enough to keep me from getting back at both floated in the water, with only our heads above the surface. I was getting horny as hell and wanted to fuck her underwater. And looking at her rock-hard nipples, I knew she wanted the same.
"Not bad for a newbie, wouldn't you say?" I asked her.
"Barely," she gave me a condescending sneer. "At least you're brave enough to take on the queen of the seas. Guess you're a Gryffindor for a reason."
"The Queen of the seas is a sore loser," I laughed. "Tell me this isn't about me besting you in that swim?"
Amelia didn't acknowledge my statement and slowly padded herself towards me. "I've been a swimmer since I was little." She dunked underwater, and then emerged right before me, her breasts rubbing against my chest. "It's one of the few pleasures I can still enjoy."
She put her arms around my neck again, and this time, I mirrored her gesture. Looking in each other's eyes, we submerged and sank down, landing against the reef walls again, still holding each other at arm length, our lips holding our precious breaths. I pushed her against the reef wall, and sank into her depths, my right hand palming her right nipple while my left hand gripped her hair tight, pulling her head back. Amelia tried to suppress a hiss, and pulled my head into her cleavage, as I pushed my cock deeper into her. She pulled me deeper as I kept pushing harder and harder, her legs coiling around my waist as we fucked each other. The buoyancy made it extremely easy for me to hold her like that, while she grabbed the reef with both hands, holding us in place.
And not just that, Amelia kept fucking me back. Perhaps with greater enthusiasm than I did. It spoke volumes about the sheer desperation she was under.
It wasn't long after that that I felt a need for air. I watched her closely as each of my strokes on her cunt took effect. I sped up my pushes, and with each stroke, more bubbles escaped out of her lips. I hoped she was going to give in first. She in turn began squeezing me harder and harder, trying to get me to cum. Both of us wanted to escape to the surface for air, and both of us were heading towards a massive underwater orgasm. But we were too stubborn to accept defeat and neither wanted to cum first.
It was ecstasy. It was agony.
I grabbed both of her nipples and twisted them hard. To my surprise, Amelia pulled out and clamped her mouth against my cock. Before I could even register what she was up to, she dug a finger into my arse. I got so surprised that I totally lost control, and erupted in her mouth, her cunt spasming as it greedily accepted my cum. Scowling, I pushed herself off and went up to the surface, and she followed suit.
"How did you like that?" she asked, grinning like a loon.
"You cheated!"
"How?"
"You put your finger in my arse."
"Oh?" she arched her brow. "So it's only okay if you put yours in me." She threw her head back and laughed. "You've complicated rules, Harry."
I couldn't come up with a retort at that, and only scowled further.
Amelia laughed and came up to me, our bodies touching. We had entered a small pocket inside the reef, with barely enough space for three people.
"But if you're really that annoyed," she whispered into my ear. "Why don't you take me right here and show me exactly how displeased you are with me?"
Notes:
Finally, I have caught up to FFnet as far as the chapters are concerned. And also, you will find that the chapters are Double-length from now on, at times crossing 6000-7000 words even.
I will be posting 6 chapters every month (approximately every five days), so roughly 30000-36000 words per month.
The next update will be tomorrow (17th) and then every five days from then on.Also, I have been thinking of having a discord server for all my readers and benefactors. I haven't given it a lot of thought, but it can be a place where readers can discuss the plot, the lore, suggest ideas, and have access to chapter snippets before they are posted. Now I'm absolutely rubbish at managing such things, so anyone willing to lend a hand in helping me manage the server and stuff can reply in the comments.
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Chapter 63: Wager
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 2 - HOUSE OF BONES
Amelia pushed me backward, her giant udders pressing flat into my chest, my cock pressing against her flat stomach as the horny woman came for my lips and moaned breathily. My hands found her hips and pulled them up, the buoyancy only making it easier. She wrapped her legs around my waist, and broke the kiss, leaning back, exposing her cleavage for me to kiss and suck, as she moaned in ecstasy.
“Merlin,” I murmured, “have I mentioned how much I love your tits?”
“Yes, but you can appreciate it more. I worked very hard on my body.”
I bit into her nipples, and she inhaled, trembling, as I mauled her breasts with my hands, and she came for my lips again. She couldn’t help herself, and locked her lips with me again, her tongue speedily and hungrily probing my mouth as passion roared through her. Hotly kissing, lips smacking, tongues mingling, she let me devour her whole. All her anger, all her resentment for everything her family and James Potter put her through was dissolving and she wanted to forget it all while succumbing to the erotic pleasures of the flesh that only I could give her.
“Like your nipples getting bit, huh?” I asked, grinning.
“I like a lot of things,” she told me. “I’ve forgotten half of what I like.”
“Maybe I can make you remember them?”
“Are you sure?” She asked saucily. “My list is quite long.”
“I doubt that. We can already cross biting your nipples and underwater sex off the list.”
“Tip of the iceberg, Harry,” she said, grabbing my cock and positioning it at her clit. I pushed deeper into her, and she let out a wild moan. The buoyancy helped, and she moved upwards, her hips resting on my palms and my face trapped within her mile-long cleavage. Amelia coiled her hands around my head and pushed my face into her chest.
Drowning me had failed. Perhaps this was her attempt to suffocate me next?
Grinning inwardly, I reached into her arse and jammed two fingers in. Amelia squeaked and pushed herself further, impaling herself completely upon my cock, all the way down to the base.
“Ugh! Fuck!” She groaned. “It’s like I’m getting double-penetrated.”
“And now we’ve found out a third kink.”
“Not a kink, a fantasy,” Amelia corrected, “No one but the Potter heir gets to do anything with my body, remember? Unless you can get your hands on a Time-turner, this is all I can get.”
“Damn it. Not even a dildo?”
“Not even a dildo,” she scowled. “It was either James or nothing.”
“So how did you end up with such a big stick up your arse?”
Amelia slapped me on the shoulder. “Prat.” Then, her lips twisted in amusement. “If you want, we can always put your stick up my arse.”
“I doubt it’s gonna make you any less of a bitch.”
“At least you’ll know what’s to blame this time around.”
I laughed. “Well, so long as it’s in the name of science.”
Amelia moaned, and sank down on me, my cock still inside her cunt, throbbing softly, resting against her moist walls. As we just floated there, I thought about everything she had told me, and the implications of that statement. She was supposed to have been James Potter’s wife, but fate and circumstances had other plans. For the first time, I could say for sure that it didn’t have anything to do with my arrival into this world or my intervention into other people’s lives using Meta-Luck. The real Harry Potter would perhaps never have learnt of his family, and the only time he’d have interacted with Susan would be the DA, and then gone different ways. He’d perhaps have never interacted with Amelia Bones in person, and she’d have gone through life as a celibate, cursing the memory of James Potter and Lily Evans until her death bed. An ugly, unfair, wretched ending for the most powerful woman in the Ministry, and that was assuming she’d stay alive until then. In hindsight, death by Voldemort’s hands was almost a kindness to her.
But that wasn’t an option any longer.
Had things been different, had I never come to this mansion, had I never fucked Amelia, she could still keep on living. But after getting an orgasm after two decades of repression, Amelia would go insane without me. And that also meant that there was nothing she’d not do, no lines she’d not cross, to keep me with her. Fucking her. Regularly.
“Amelia…”
“Mmmm?”
“Why did you come swimming today?”
She rubbed her face against my neck. “I thought I told you. I wanted to swim with you.”
As if to emphasise her point, she pushed herself deeper against my cock..
I smiled. Her attempt at distracting me was almost cute.
“Amelia?”
“Mmm?”
“I won’t leave you.”
That sparked a reaction. Slowly, softly, she pulled off me, and took a good look at my face. The moistness in her dark eyes had nothing to do with us being in sea water.
“You — you are —”
“I’m not lying,” I said. “I won’t lie to you. Not about this.”
“And that isn’t because you’re afraid your little deal would go down the drain?”
I smiled. “Of course I’m afraid of that too. But if I stop, if we stop, then I know for sure that you’d lose your mind. It’s a lose-lose for both of us. And that’s not really my style. I’d rather have you as a partner, as someone I can trust.”
“Someone you can fuck and treat like a whore?”
I laughed. “That too. But you’ve got to be honest with me.”
Amelia frowned. “But I have. I’ve already told you everything about this betrothal and the binding. Unless… you don’t believe me?”
“Not about that,” I corrected her. “You told me about your past, yes. But not about what you did earlier. You were ready to leave for your office. But then you changed your mind and came racing to the beach, dressed like a raging slut. Why?”
A nasty look flashed across her features. “Because of my niece.”
Bingo! Finally I had hit the crux of the problem.
“And why’s that?”
Amelia glared at me. For a moment, I thought she knew about my nightly encounter with her niece, but instead her expression twisted further. “Because she’s a scheming bitch, that’s why. I know how her mind works. All her life she’s been a sheltered princess, playing rebel as if her life was upset with dangers and nightmares. All I wanted was for her to grow up a proper Lady of House Bones. By Morgana’s lacy underthings, I wasn’t even a Lady, just an offshoot that had to be married off.”
I blinked. Twice. I had not been prepared for that level of disdain erupting out of her, especially not for her niece. Susan had shit-talked about her earlier, but I had sidelined that as her rebelliousness. But if Amelia too shared such acerbic opinion about her niece, just how dysfunctional was this family?
Damn. I was treading in dangerous waters. Be careful Harry!
Wait. I was calling myself Harry? Yes I couldn’t remember my own damn name but —
Just how little time did I have left? How long until I became Harry Potter?
I swallowed.
Okay. Not the time to stew in my own identity crisis. Potential dysfunctional family shenanigans around. Focus on this, Potter! I shivered as I unknowingly called myself that.
Damnit. Damnit.
In order to make myself stop thinking about it, I turned my attention to the current situation. And the easiest thing to start the conversation would be…
“What —'' I croaked, before clearing my voice. “What does Susan want?”
“What else?” Amelia seethed. “You.”
I gulped. I really was stuck between a rock and a hard place, wasn’t I?
“I’ve sacrificed everything for this family, Harry. My father bound my chastity. The betrothal bound me to James. His death forced me into celibacy. I’ve lived all these years staying true to pureblood traditions and preparing Susan to become the Lady Bones. And now, when I’ve finally got a second chance at life, she wants to snatch it away?”
“Susan isn’t —”
“The hell she isn’t,” Amelia snapped. “I saw the lust in her eyes when you were casting. I saw the desires you raised in her. This entire summer she’s been bitching about you, and now, she invites you to a private swim and gets naked for an oil massage? Hippogriff shit. That was a move. Scheming little bitch. If she wants to play rough, then I’ll be her competition. I get it, she’s like me. Cute, maybe stunning, but I’m gorgeous. Her skin’s pale despite everything. Mine is sexy and tanned. She’s tiny and I’m lithe and firm. Her breasts are —”
“DD’s,” I pointed out.
“Well mine are FF’s,” she snapped back. “And I’d request you not to stare at her tits or arse or anything else, for that matter. You have mine to view and touch and play with all you want. And seriously, she’s the freaking Lady of Bones. By authority, she ranks higher than me, but she’s always so transparent in trying to get my approval. One hard look and she begins stammering. Ugh. Gag me. A superior woman doesn’t care for approval from another. I’ve tried to forge her into a bastion of strength, instead she’s a young, stupid, pathetic, jealous little girl. A loser. And the little virgin thinks she can steal you away? From Me? I’ll be thrice-damned before I let that happen.”
Shit. Shit. Shit. Bloody hell, why do I always get into this kinda mess? Why in the name of Morgana’s thong couldn’t this be a normal seduction?
“What about her chastity bind?” I asked, remembering Susan’s reluctance over losing her virginity.
Amelia scowled. “The Bind is put on during the child’s third birthday by the Lord or Lady of the House. Three being a powerful magical number and all that. My brother Edgar and his wife Alicia died sometime after her first, so she missed it. I’m just the Regent, and I lack the authority to enforce ritualistic magic on the Lady of the House. So I just did what I could. I brought her up following the old ways, taught her to respect the traditions, and made her believe in the power of a woman’s virginity when maintained all the way till her marriage. And it would have worked out for the better, but then you entered our lives.”
That certainly fit in with Susan’s own claims, no matter how much she hated it. Even her first action was to ask me if I would be willing to settle for her and her alone.
“What do you want from me, Amelia?” I asked, deciding to go blunt for once. “I can fuck you all you want, but it doesn’t make the truth go away. I’m the Lord of House Potter, and if things work out in my favour, the Lord of House Black too. As much as I hate it, I’m a celebrity. And you are…”
She narrowed her eyes. “I what?”
I swallowed, knowing I had just entered a deadly zone. “You’re the DMLE Director, and as you put it, my mom’s age. Regardless of my position, I’m a teen. What do you think will happen to your reputation if we’re seen together?”
Amelia scowled, but said nothing.
“And even if we keep this thing secret, I doubt I’ll be able to keep it going when I’m married. I doubt my wife, or wives for that matter, would turn a blind eye if their husband was not in bed half the nights in a week.”
Amelia opened her mouth to retort, but no words came out. She tried again, but nothing happened. Finally, she fisted her hand and splashed it on the water surface.
“You want to be Lady Potter, don’t you?”
Amelia raised her head and looked me squarely in the eye. The look she gave made it quite clear exactly what sort of turmoil was raging in her mind.
“What if I do?”
I shrugged. “I’d have said that because of the age difference and a lot of Ministry reasons that probably won’t make sense, it’d be illegal. But then worse things have happened in the name of pureblood protocol, so I’m just gonna let you say your piece.”
“And if it were allowed?” She asked bitingly. “Would you have married me?”
Damn good question. Would I have?
Despite the increasingly progressive society back in my old world, the age-gaps in relationships was a taboo that just refused to die. That said, it was not uncommon to see a man or woman in their forties dating someone barely in their twenties. Despite thousands of years of evolutionary psychology, generations of social and cultural norms, economic shifts and recent social justice movements, couples with large age-gaps face judgement to this day. Rather than assume people are happily together, there is a social tendency to worry about possible power imbalances, and view the relationship as transactional, assuming one party is seeking to elevate their social status or wealth. There’s even specific vocab to aid that judgement — an older man must be a ‘sugar-daddy’, a younger woman a ‘gold-digger’ or a victim of ‘daddy issues’. An older woman is reduced to a ‘cougar’ and a younger male a ‘toyboy’.
And all of that was excluding the retrogressive nature of the Wizarding World.
“If we married, then you’d be painted as a cougar trapping a young celebrity,” I said, weighing my words as I uttered them. “I’d be termed a playboy, pleasuring an older woman to get things at the DMLE run my way. And with what we’ve planned…”
“It’d destroy everything,” said Amelia in a small voice. “A scandal like that would damage my reputation, and yours.”
Mentally, I gave Susan my thanks. She had quite clearly established Amelia’s position. The DMLE Director cared very much about her sterling reputation and pureblood protocol. But Susan had also been wrong about Amelia’s hypocrisy about me, but she lacked the proper context so she was blameless on that point.
I thought about Narcissa, about her desire to shed her Malfoy connections to become ‘Narcissa Black’ again. Something told me that there was more to it than just annulling her marriage, not that it would mean anything if we succeeded in offing her husband. With older, wiser and politically well-connected ladies like Narcissa and Amelia, and a secretary like Hestia, I could almost see a future ahead. Susan’s sharp mind would make a lovely Lady Bones, and I’d still have two options for taking in brides for my Houses. Hermione was a werewolf, and thus out of the question. Everyone else was just in for the ride.
It was enough for a man to be content with.
But that wouldn’t be my life.
I was an Outlander. I needed World Anchors to keep growing. Whether it be Dumbledore, Voldemort or motherfucking Destiny, I’d always be moving uphill.
There’d always be the next woman to fuck, to conquer, to make my own.
One could call it a blessing. Or a curse.
I recalled Susan’s words. As much as her aunt’s hypocrisy infuriated her, it also aroused her. And I doubted Amelia was stupid enough to see the easy solution that lay before her.
So why wasn’t she jumping at the opportunity?
“Amelia,” I said, looking into her eyes. “You can’t tell me that you don’t see the obvious solution.”
Amelia scowled but said nothing.
“Susan is attracted to me. Susan is the Lady Bones, and I, as the Lord of the Ancient and Noble House of Potter, fit the bill perfectly. If I marry her, Bones Mansion would become the house of my in-laws.”
“And me? What happens to me? Do I become the spinster aunt that opens her legs for my niece’s husband?”
I smirked. “Isn’t that what you’re doing already?”
Annoyance flashed upon her face. “Don’t play games with me, Harry. There are alternatives that do not have you marrying Susan. You can make me the Potter Regent. Let me help you rebuild Potter estate. Make it just like it was before Voldemort destroyed it. As your Regent, you are always welcome to visit me, for consultations or otherwise. We can keep what we have, and nobody needs to know a thing.”
Which, come to think of it, was a fair trade. I doubted I could bring myself to live in a grand old fifteenth-century style mansion, but I had to maintain appearances. And after Susan took over as the Lady in the Wizengamot, Amelia would be excused from her position as Regent. She could become the Potter Regent, and even choose to live at the Potter mansion if she wanted. And between her own political power, and my world anchors, I was sure I could convince my future wives to be perfectly okay with her joining me in my bed.
Amelia would fight tooth and nail against that possibility now, but who knows, maybe after hitting past her eighties in world anchorage, she’d become a lot more compliant.
It was a good plan. A solid plan. There was just one tiny problem.
I had bedded Susan. As in, not fucked or anything, but in her virgin mind, I might as well have. I had seen her naked. Hell, we had made each other cum, while lying in each other’s arms, naked. Susan had openly offered to marry me, and she was perfectly fine with letting Amelia continue with her shenanigans. If I walked out on Susan to satisfy Amelia, it would trigger her bad side. And that wouldn't be nice.
The only way forward was to make Amelia agree to let me marry Susan.
“So it’s not about you getting satisfied, is it?” I asked. “You don’t want to get fucked. It’s about Susan. It’s all about Susan. Isn’t it?”
“YES! DAMN IT! YES!” Amelia seethed. “It’s about Susan. I’ve spent the last sixteen years of my life playing parent to her, keeping her safe, getting her every damn thing she wants, but she just wants more and more, doesn’t she?”
“Susan is perfectly —”
“Don’t try to teach me about my own niece, Potter. I know exactly what she is. And I’ll be damned if I let her lord over me. I refuse to be that whore you fuck in the bedroom while Susan gets to be on your arm in the light of day.”
“But you are my whore,” I said, twisting her nipples as Amelia moaned softly. I chuckled. “And why shouldn’t they? I mean you’re literally writhing over someone your niece’s age. All that attitude during that meeting, looking down at me like I was nothing, when all you wanted was to bounce on my cock.”
I pushed her up slightly, and let her sink down upon my dick for extra emphasis.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” she replied, a hint of derision in her tone while also sounding breathy and staring at my naked chest. “Yes, I’m repressed. Yes, I’d like to stay with your cock inside me until I’ve got my fill. But that’s only because your father was an asshole.”
“I’d say you’re equally to blame for that, Amelia,” I taunted her. “None of this would have happened if you had controlled yourself. But you were too much of a slut for that.”
“I wasn’t a slut,” she seethed.
“My dad’s slut,” I rephrased. “And now mine. Isn’t that why you’re bouncing on my dick right now? Why you brought me so far into the sea, knowing that your niece, someone of my age, wants me so badly that she got topless and had me rubbing oil on her back?”
“Are you trying to annoy me, Harry?” she asked, narrowing her eyes. “Because I swear it’s working.”
“I’m just calling a spade a spade,” I said. “You talk of how much you need me. But the truth is what you need is my cock . You want someone of your niece’s age to become your boy toy, because you were a horny bitch then, and you’re a horny bitch now.” I slapped her arse, making her wince. “Isn’t that right?”
“Yes! Yes! I was horny!” She snarled. “Yes! I’m horny now! I’ve been horny for two decades. And stop being a sanctimonious bastard, Harry Potter. We both know that I was willing to walk away from that bath. You were the one that pulled me back. James Potter’s son or not, you’ve wanted to fuck me, and you’re the one that can’t resist me.”
SLAP!
“FUCK!” Amelia yelled, feeling the sting of my palm on her naked arse. She glared daggers at me. My smirking at her didn’t help.
“Think Susan heard you? I wonder if she’s sulking, cursing you for snatching her crush like a cougar and nailing him in the middle of the sea.”
“You’re such an arrogant arse, Harry Potter,” Amelia whispered, her eyes practically shining as she looked into my eyes, our lips inches apart. That smile returned to smugness incarnate, and the sexual tension between us practically tripled. “You can annoy me as much as you want, but in the end, I’m the one you’re having sex with, not Susan.”
“Why not? What’s stopping me?”
“I am.” Amelia looked dead serious. “Do not play that game with me, Harry Potter. You won’t like what follows.”
I smirked. “Playing a game, am I? What does that make you? My pawn?”
Before she could answer, I rammed the entire length of my cock into her folds. I smashed my lips into hers and our tongues danced more and more passionately, as Amelia, predictably enough, began to rock her hips back and forth faster, my dick sliding in and out of her tight pussy. I cupped her breasts and mauled them, and her nipples only hardened at my rough treatment. All Amelia could do in response was moan, her vocal cords seemingly lost for the moment in the intense pleasure coursing through her body.
“Fuck! I’ve fucked you so much and I still can’t believe how tight you are!” I groaned, and Amelia looked at me, smugly.
“Benefits of a woman’s body, darling,” she smirked, “I couldn’t get the pleasure, so I worked hard on it. I turned my hate to focus. This body has twenty years of diligence built into it. No matter how much you fuck this pussy, it’ll always be tighter than a virgin. No matter how much you pull and maul these breasts, they'll remain taut and firm. And don’t even get me started on my arse…”
Her smiles made me throb. “Darling, you can sleep with an entire veela coven and all you’ll get would be above-average fucks sprinkled with psychic nookie. But this body? It’s the real thing. You’re delusional if you think it gets any better than this.”
“James Potter was really an idiot,” I murmured.
My words made her smile.
“That he was,” she said. “But if he hadn’t, then you wouldn’t have been born, sweetheart. And you wouldn’t have your fingers clenching this arse while your cock shapes this pussy.”
“Fuck! You’re hot!” I breathed heatedly, taking one of her breasts into my mouth as she continued to rock against my cock. I pushed her to the other side, and grabbed both of her breasts and began slobbering over them hungrily. And then I slapped them.
Hard.
Amelia squealed.
“You’re such a fucking pig!” She added with a low moan, biting her lip as I pushed deeper. “I — I can’t believe how big your cock is! I can’t believe you have such stamina! Oh! Just how do you, Oh! Yes! Fuck me! Show me how you fuck ugh! Harry!”
“I’m going to make you scream!” I promised. The conversation had flown out of the window as we began to make out. She was unbelievably tight. It felt SO fucking good. Now that I think of it, her cunt was better than any pussy I had ever felt, and that included Narcissa Malfoy. It was squeezing my cock from every angle, smothering it with pleasure, doing things that had me shivering. Just like quicksand, wet and velvety quicksand, it pulled me deeper with every slight move I made. And I was only too happy to oblige.
“Ugh!” She groaned. “Make me scream! Make me scream!”
I pushed more of my meat into her. I had drilled the entire thing into her before, and it had been incredibly tight, but this time, it was welcoming me like an old friend. I was able to push more into her, spreading the walls of her pussy around my invading shaft, her juices coating every bit of my cock and easing its journey. I looked down to see her scrunching her eyes in pleasure.
“You like that?” I growled at her.
She looked at me, lust painting her face. “You’ve yet to make me cum, stud.”
The woman I had made out with had been an angry, repressed bitch that was only just tasting the forbidden taste of sexual pleasure she had been denied all her life. The horny woman I had fucked in her office had her floodgates of ecstasy opened, and now that she had a taste of it, she wanted more. But this? This was a seductress, one with a mature body and boiling with intense feminine competitiveness.
Yes she wanted my cock. Yes, she’d do anything to ensure I stayed with her, and yes, she was a mean bitch like Narcissa Malfoy.I might have impressed her with my skill at politics and spellcasting, but I had yet to dominate her in bed. I had fucked her sore last night, but the yearnings of her years of celibacy wouldn’t vanish with a couple of fucks.
She wanted an odyssey. And she wanted me to give her that. But until then, she wasn’t mine. Not completely.
And her world anchors only reflected that status.
“Fuck! ” Amelia screamed, as I pulled out and slammed back in, filling her to the brim with my dick. “Yes! Stay right there! Stay right there!”
“SMACK!”
“Ugh!” She groaned, feeling my coarse palms against her arse. In return, she pushed herself deeper against my cock to gain a longer reach and —
SMACK!
SMACK!
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!
I rained down smacks upon her butt. She hissed, groaned and moaned in pain and ecstasy, taking in my every ministration head on. She was being an absolute submissive, but her ability to tank whatever I dished out was making me feel uncomfortable.
It was time to take it up a notch.
I grabbed her hands and threw her against the reef, her body resting on it, joined with mine at the abdomen. Grabbing her shoulder, I used all my strength and slapped her in the face. For a moment, I feared I had crossed the line, but instead, when she looked at me, her eyes were melting with raw desire.
“More!” She groaned.
Gritting my teeth, I slapped her face again with the other. And again, and again and then some more. Every single slap left an imprint on her face, her cheeks growing redder and redder while she kept fucking me back harder with every single blow. Her legs were actually coiling harder around me, and she was using my trapping her as a leverage to fuck me back, as I slapped her. Her huge boobs were bouncing and jiggling with each motion, her nipples dancing in the cold, sea air. And she kept on driving into me, again and again. She was relentless.
“You like that? You like fucking like that?” She panted out. She was pressing her advantage, well aware of what she was doing to me. On each stroke, her cunt squeezed every inch of my shaft and that tightness felt incredible as she drove into me, her pussy stroking my cock with each bounce. I couldn't find the words to reply to her and this just spurred her on.
It was essentially a competition, and I couldn’t help but feel that she was having different thoughts about me. She must have been wondering exactly how I was managing to last this long, physical stamina and magic be damned.
And you know what the funny thing was? If I told her that I was an incubus, it would actually drive her crazy. She’d instantly connect my nature to Lily Evans, claiming that Lily must have enthralled James using her succubi powers.
“C’mon Harry! You big, strong man!” She spat out sarcastically. “Look at you, being a pussy, just taking it. Letting me fuck you!” She met my eyes, and a vicious snarl tore through her lips. “You think you are my master? Boy, you dominated me because I let you do it. You fucked me like a whore because I was willing. You’re nothing but a child, taking advantage of something your father did. Give it up, Harry! This nasty bitch’s body can give you more, so much more than the girls you slap around! Why! Just why do you keep talking about fucking Susan when I’m here? Why?”
“Because she’s got a lot to offer, too. And she’s perfectly fine with letting you be, as you put it, my whore.”
Amelia gritted her teeth and kept fucking me harder. “Why? Why are you doing this, Harry? Am I… Am I not enough for you? What? Do you need me to prove it? Because I swear by Merlin I will —”
“Prove what?” I asked, fucking her back. “That you can outfuck me? Bitch, please. Did you forget what you told me last night? You asked me not to fuck you that hard every night. Because you couldn’t handle it. Trust me, Amelia, you can’t. You simply can’t.”
Amelia gripped my hands and brought me to a pause, her enraged eyes meeting my gaze.
“And what if I can?”
I curled my lips and gave her a patronising smile. “You’re a sucker for losing, aren’t you?”
“Losing is all I’ve done in my entire life, Harry,” she said in a small voice. “At least this way, I’ll know I’m best fair and square, not because of a pointless betrothal and pureblood tradition.”
I froze at her words. Like, what could you say to that?
“But yes,” she said. “I will still wager on that.”
“Amelia,” I said. “We had sex last night. You know very well how long I can last. Don’t go making claims you can’t keep.”
“No,” she said. “If my sacrifice of twenty years means anything, if all my hard work at shaping my body to be the perfection that it is means anything, then yes, I will get the better of you, Harry. Yes, your cock is beyond impressive, and you have the stamina of a god. But I’m Amelia fucking Bones, and I do not quit.”
Her words sent a surge of emotion shooting through me. There was something utterly inhuman about it. Something too pure, too primal, and it made my body thrumm in response. I had challenged her in a way no one had, and knowing her, she’d die but not accept defeat.
“Fine,” I said. “We have a wager. We fuck. It’s just like you said. Any hole, any position, any place. I’m gonna fuck you in every hole and every position that your slut brain can imagine and then some. And I’m gonna dominate you. I’m gonna leave you lying, my seed coating your face and breasts. I’m gonna cum in every hole until you appear five months pregnant with my cum. And I’m gonna make you admit that you are my bitch.”
I smirked at the flash of rage on her features. “And when I do, you’ll withdraw all opposition from me marrying Susan.”
“WHY?” Amelia roared, making them back-off in surprise. She pushed me in a bout of rage and practically pinned me against the reef with her voluptuous form. “Why do you need that girl? I’m hotter, mmm, yeah, and sexier. I have way sexier hair! I have better legs. A way prettier face. Breasts to die for. Arse tighter than Lucius Malfoy’s wallet. I’m way more fit, and you’ve already seen my cunt is better than anything else you can ever have.”
“Bugger!” I murmured, as she slid my cock deeper into her pussy.
“But it’s fine!” she said. “Fine! It’s a wager after all. Alright, I accept. If you succeed, you can go marry her. You can bed that pathetic whiny bitch. Is that what you wanted to hear? Does the idea of destroying her tiny pussy make you throb?”
She threw her head back and laughed. “Well, you’re never gonna get it. Do you know why? Because you won’t win.”
She raised herself slightly, until she was at my eye-level.
“You do not understand what force of nature you’ve awakened, Harry Potter. I’m going to fuck you, and leave you on the ground, gasping for breath and claiming my superiority. And when I do, I’ll make you my bitch. You will stay here, with me, away from all your whores. You’ll be my bitch and lick my pussy until I cum all over your face. You’ll slobber all over my nipples and my breasts and I’ll fuck you until you’re unconscious. Every. Single. Night. Yes, you’ll marry, but I’ll teach those bitches that their husband belongs to me.”
My cock throbbed powerfully at her words. I knew this was a challenge where I had very less to gain and very much to lose, but I didn’t care about that anymore. She had challenged my pride, my sexuality, my nature as an incubus.
It wasn’t even about defeating Amelia in the wager anymore. That was actually a given. The question was how badly she would be defeated. If despite all that we shared together, she thought she’d be able to overwhelm me in bed, then she had something else coming. I’d show her how stupid she had been to claim that I was just enjoying the fruits of James Potter’s labour.
Angry or otherwise, she had tickled the wrong dragon. And she was up for a rude awakening.
“Fine,” I told her, my eyes meeting hers. “We have a deal.”
Notes:
If you want to support me, find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Next Update on 22nd August.
Chapter 64: An Object Lesson
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 2 - HOUSE OF BONES
We decided to return to the manor. As enthralling as an underwater fuck session sounded, both of us were already exhausted, and an official challenge deserved preparation and ambience.
Amelia’s words, not mine.
Both of us waded through the waters to the beach. Me without my shorts, and Amelia, without her bikini. As much as the idea of us walking out buck-naked stirred my cock, there were limits to our debauchery and indecency, and also, pureblood protocol to consider. So I stayed away, adrift in the shallow waters, watching Amelia slowly rise, the salty waters kissing her naked arse as they dripped and fell down to the sandy floor, as she treaded towards an absolutely shellshocked Susan, who had her bikini tied back on.
I saw her fumble around, utterly flustered as she handed Amelia her wand, who then conjured a towel around herself and tied it around her voluptuous form. Aunt and niece exchanged small conversations, the latter constantly throwing me looks of intense longing. Susan’s expressions turned increasingly volatile as the conversation flowed, and at a certain point, her red hair was billowing like Snape’s cloak, despite the lack of wind. I contained the urge to get out and check what was going on, but Amelia wouldn’t like that. After all, I was still a guest at the manor and had to keep a certain decorum.
Several anxious minutes later, an angry Susan stormed off, stomping the ground and blowing off sand with her legs.
“You can come out now,” Amelia yelled, flicking her wand to dry herself.
Silently, I got out of the water, until I was standing right next to her. She cast a drying charm over me, and conjured a pair of shorts which I put on.
“What happened? She looked… angry.”
“Oh nothing,” Amelia said airily, fooling no one. “She asked me what happened, and I told her.”
I gave her a blank stare. “You told her we had sex underwater?”
“No. I told her we were swimming, and went into the reef. The water was too strong and you lost your boxers in the process. I tried to save your arse and ended up losing my bikini to your greedy hands.”
I snorted. “No way she believed that.”
Amelia gave me a pleased look. “No, she didn’t, which makes it so much better. Does she know exactly what happened there? Maybe. Maybe not. But she knows we swam with each other.” She brought her lips close to my ears. “ Naked.“
My cock throbbed.
“While,” said Amelia as she pulled back, “she was here, all by herself, in the sun. Just like a pathetic loser.”
“She seemed… upset.”
Amelia let out a soft laugh. “That’s putting it lightly. I must thank you, Harry. In just two days, you’ve managed to do what I couldn’t in fifteen years.” She chuckled. “Susan showed me that she, too, has a backbone. She had the gall to tell me that she likes you, and wants to pursue a relationship with you.”
“And… what did you say?”
“Oh, I’d have said no, obviously,” she drawled, “but it looks like seeing me naked and getting all wet with you got her juices flowing. All these years she’s been a nice little poppet, and now she’s barking at me. Really, will wonders ever cease?”
Barking? Now I knew what that hair-raising moment was about.
“She actually had the temerity to talk about my relationship with the Potters, and how I held nothing but derision and scorn for James Potter’s child. She claimed that my actions are proof that not only have my feelings changed, but I also consider you as someone worth my time. With you being the next Lord of Potter, Susan claims that you’d make a perfect husband material.”
I whistled.
Amelia gave me a withering glare.
“What? She’s not wrong.”
“I told her that you’re a serial womaniser and reminded her of what it means to be the Lady Bones. Yes, you have the station and lineage, but you’re like a whirlwind, a walking-talking chaos machine. And it’s obvious that you can’t walk down the street without looking down every skirt that catches your eye. Being on the arm of such a figure would be detrimental to our political stance, which advocates traditions and culture above everything else.”
“Really?” I drawled, feeling the very first tendrils of annoyance seep into my tone. “You’re talking about loose morals when you have spent the last two days getting nailed by this womaniser? Hypocrisy, thy name is Amelia.”
Amelia cocked her head and let out an extremely refined snort. “I’m not the Lady Bones, just the Regent. And even then, it’s less of my own choices and more of that contract’s magic. Me choosing to sleep with you is no different from a person lashing out with a dangerous spell at his attackers. Worse things have been done in the name of self-defence.”
“Really?” I said, affronted. “Remember that when you come begging for my cock the next time.”
Amelia snorted. “Stop with the pulling child act, Harry Potter. You know exactly well how true my words are. And I acknowledge I’m a hypocrite for engaging with you, but it isn’t like you’re getting nothing out of it. Apart from my body, you get the support of the DMLE Director. Or…” she drawled, “you would have gotten it. Now, we have a wager, and after we’re done with it, I’ll show you your rightful place. Though if you want, we can forgo that and you can accept your defeat right away.”
That rankled. For all the terrible suffering she had to endure and all the bad faith that James Potter dealt her, it didn’t make it any less true that Amelia was a control-freak, and just like Susan, maybe James had understood that as well? Was that why he had given her up for the muggleborn Lily Evans?
“What did Susan say?” I asked her.
Amelia cackled. “She did what she always does. Whine. Like a little bitch. She claimed you could change, and she’d charge you directly about it. As if you could restrain your cock from drilling into every pussy that gets your attention.” She let out a wicked laugh again. “Just how stupid does she think I am if she expects me to go all gooey over this sentimental tripe? I told her there was no way to be certain she could hold your interest until next summer, forget the rest of your life. I told her that your responsibility to find wives for the other Houses under your control gives you carte blanche to go sticking your cock into every pussy on the street, and there's nothing Susan would be able to do about it. I asked her if she was willing to stay the pureblood trophy wife for the rest of her life, waiting for her husband to come home, only to find the juices of some whore sticking to his cock when she tried to service him at night.”
I winced at her bluntness. “And?”
“And what? Little girl didn’t like the truths I was throwing at her, and whined as always. She claimed that the mantle had always snatched away her happiness or some such shit. That she wouldn’t let it take you away from her as well. Take you away ! Hah! She hadn’t even said two words to you before this summer, and she despised you until you played that little stunt with Malfoy and the muggleborn. I know her. She’s a jealous bitch that would utterly hate to see her man go to anyone else.”
Pot, meet kettle. I didn’t say.
“I told her she’s just a small fish in a large ocean,” said Amelia, “that the competition is above and beyond what she can digest. That alone should have been enough, but guess miracles happen, after all.”
She gave me a nasty smirk.
“She had the gall to pull rank over me. She reminded me that she was the Lady Bones while I was a mere Regent. That said I was the Regent Bones, and she was the Lady, and I had no right to keep her from getting what she wanted. I’d have slapped her pretty little face, but I had to reward her for initiative, didn’t I? I’m her guardian, after all. Plus, she put up quite a lot of thought in her little speech.”
I cocked my head.
Amelia laughed again. “She claimed that as Regent, it was my duty to prepare her for every trial the Lady may face. And she calls this — changing a casanova into a proper, one-woman man, a trial. Could she be any more pathetic? And she claims that her ineptitude and inexperience in matters of seduction are my shortcomings, as if I was a pimp, prepping her to become a Knockturn Alley whore, and not a Regent educating the Lady of the House.”
“You said no, then.”
“I said yes,” Amelia barked out a laugh. “Yes! A hundred times, yes! My dear Susie, my little poppet has finally learned to bark!” She cackled again. “Such initiative, such growth needs to be rewarded. This is the first time she’s acted like she should. Say, Darling, you wouldn’t mind postponing our little wager by a day or two, do you? You need all the rest you need for an ideal performance.”
Okay, now she was just being mean. “Why? What do you plan to do?”
She let out another of her characteristic wicked laughs. “I have my job cut out for me. The Lady wants me to teach her, and teach her I will.” A poisonous smile spread across her face. “Bitch thinks she can pull rank over me? I’m the one in control. I’m running this show, the game master. I am Amelia fucking Bones. No one ever pulls rank on me, not even the Minister of Magic. ”
She stood her tallest and faced me. “But it’s fine. She wants to play? We’ll play. We’ll play rough. She thinks she’s cute and pretty? She’s a poor wizard’s version of me, a consolation prize when one cannot get the real thing.” She glared at me. “You really shouldn’t have started this, Harry. I understand wanting the power of the House of Bones, but talking about fucking Susan like she’s more than me somehow? Like I’m an afterthought? That’s an outrage.”
I was beginning to realise that maybe, just maybe, things would have been better if I hadn’t tried to impress Amelia in the bath after all. Part of me wondered if I could use Meta-luck to undo all of this. Another part of me that sounded suspiciously like Hestia pointed out that such a divergence was probably because of the Domino effect perk I had gained, and by fucking with Reality and Destiny, I had unwittingly created my own demons.
Maybe I had.
“She wants me to teach her, so teach her I shall. An unforgettable lesson. I’ll show her the fucking truth. The truth that I was her superior. I’ll make sure she knows that I have the bigger tits, a better arse, a prettier face, better hair. I have it all, and she has nothing. I’ll show her how she’s nothing but a downer. She mothers her little Hufflepuffs around like she’s a veteran when she’s nothing more than a sheltered kneazle. She talks shit about people, when in fact, she’s worse than the ones she makes fun of. She’s a dumb little know-it-all who deserves to be treated like the pathetic little cunt that she is. The Lady of Bones must be enigmatic, larger than life. Yet she dresses like a slob, acts all sarcastic and snarky. And you say you want to fuck her? Don’t lie to yourself! You want a real woman! A hot fucking woman with tits and arse, not a chubby little fucking bitch.”
“Don’t you think you’re being a little too harsh on her?” I asked. “She’s your niece after all.”
“She doesn’t deserve any mercy now, Harry darling. Not after she all but declared me her rival. I am almost certain she knows we’ve been intimate and today was her chance to get out ahead. If she wants to act like an adult, she’ll have to play adult games. The game of seduction and sex. She thinks you’ll choose her over this body?”
She took a step closer and entwined her arms around my neck, and brought her lips closer. “I’ll be frank with you, Darling. You’re a mystery to me. Boy-Who-Lived or not, your power is strange. Your skill at casting, your reflexes and your precision, they are all strange. And most of all, that stamina you boast, it's the strangest of all. Almost enough to be called… inhuman. Makes me wonder what kind of rituals you did to become this Adonis! ”
Her eyes glinted. “But it doesn’t matter. It would be hypocritical of me to judge you for enhancing yourself. After all, I’m a woman in my prime, with twenty years to shape my body into this. It’s only natural that you’d use everything you have at hand. And honey, you did land some good hits on me in the past, I’ll give you that much, but this is it. After I am done teaching Susan a lesson for life, we’ll execute our wager. It will be an epic climax,” she laughed at her own wordplay. “We will fuck, and I will break you. I will conquer you, and when I do…” she smiled. “I will own you.”
She threw her head up. “Are you seeing this, James?” She yelled out loud. “Your son is paying for your deeds. Just like you, he tried to play with me. But as they say, fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. I’m not gonna be fooled by a Potter twice. I won’t wait for him to make me his wife. I will own him, dominate him and make him my toy. And then, I will be the Lady that Harry Potter worships. And this time, nobody will stop me. Least of all my fucking niece.”
Yup. Shit had really hit the fan. The Amelia Bones that the world knew and feared was gone. The repressed woman living the life of the Bones Regent and stuck in the solitude of her past was gone. The woman that had taken care of Susan all her life was gone. And in her stead, was a depraved slut that her father had bound away using the magic of the chastity binding. I had wanted to shatter her repressed urges for a world anchor, and instead, I had unleashed a hurricane. A newly evolved form, the final evolution, combining the sluttiness of her younger years, the diligence of the two decades, and the discipline and control she had acquired through her experience and maturity.
This… this would be a worthy conquest.
Narcissa had injected veela blood into her system, and I had the Defiant perk to fight against her mental coercion. And once she had given in, it was only a matter of time before my Pheromone perk, combined with her own sexual starvation, and her knowledge of my actions as Lord Conditional of Black, had prompted her to act in the way she did. But once that was done, even Narcissa was putty in my hands when it came to sex. Hermione’s werewolf nature gave her a stamina and a hunger for sex that was unmatched by normal witches and wizards, but against an Incubus, it stood no chance.
Amelia on the other hand? She was no succubus, but she had an iron will. An Occlumency so strong that it had allowed her to keep her mind and her sanity intact despite the impossible struggle she went through. And not just that, she thrived, and prepared her body to become the ultimate sexual art form imaginable. She was one of the most fearsome witches in the Wizarding world. A woman that held the entirety of the military in the palm of her hand, while staying as the Regent of a Noble House. By power, by skill and by experience, she was my superior. Sexually, her pussy was divine. Her arse was taut like a bow. Her breasts were succulent.
There was only one way out. I had to conquer Amelia, out-fuck her, and tame that hurricane. That way, I could have Susan, and have Amelia calm down and get the sensible and pragmatic DMLE Director back and push my plans to completion.
All this time, I was relying on my natural abilities and passive effects of my Incubus powers to get shit done. But with her, something else was needed. Part of me wanted to summon the fullest power of the Devil’s Charm, and use it against this sanctimonious bitch. Unlike the other perks, Devil’s Charm was an upgraded perk, crafted out of my own Pheromone perk — a manifestation of my Incubus nature, and Femme Fatale — a manifestation of Narcissa’s own nature and skill set. Unlike other perks, Devil’s Charm was dangerous. Just the passive effects could rival the effects of the Imperius curse on a certain level, but if I were to use it voluntarily then…
I shuddered at the idea. To my knowledge, I had used that perk only once, and even then, on a subconscious level. The results had been nothing short of terrifying. But if I were to use it voluntarily, unleash the Devil within me then…
No. I told myself. I couldn’t use it. I shouldn’t use it. No wager was worth it.
Besides, Amelia was an ordinary witch. Not a succubus. If I, an incubus that made Narcissa Malfoy scream my name over and over couldn’t outfuck her, then it was definitely my loss.
No matter how you sliced it.
Either way, the game that had started from the moment I entered this mansion was almost over now, and I couldn’t wait to end it.
Susan had once told me that Amelia Bones cared about two things more than anything else in her life — the House Protocol, and her sterling reputation. But as the day passed, it became incredibly clear that she was not above using either so long as she got to achieve her goals.
We had gotten back to the mansion and changed into proper clothing. It was supposed to be my last day here, and Amelia was hell-bent on playing the part of a proper host. Only this time around, she was milking the situation to its worth. And my trained eye saw every move she made.
Susan had described me as Amelia’s dirty secret. In normal conditions, she’d even be right. A woman scorned by her love, only to retreat into her job and the task of rearing a child and future Lady of a Noble House, only for her deepest carnal desires to be reawakened by the son of those who had scorned her in the first place. And now she’d fight to her utmost to keep the object of her desires close to her, while maintaining the facade of a sterile harridan to the rest of the world. Even if it meant killing her own niece’s dreams about the same individual.
It was practically a movie script.
Susan had that mostly correct. Except for one thing. She had not known about the tweaking in the chastity bind, and unless I was very wrong, ignorant of exactly how deep Amelia’s psychological issues ran. For someone so sharp, Susan had panicked like an amateur and used what she thought was her trump card against Amelia and came out lacking. And now, her aunt was milking the situation to its worth.
I sat at the table, munching a sandwich, watching as Amelia came down the stairs with her niece. Her top had a couple more buttons unbuttoned, and she wasn’t afraid to parade around her juicy cleavage and the delights within. She did nothing directly. It wasn’t like she was shoving them in my face or anything like that. No, she was just giving me a frank comparison between her perky, squeezable breasts and Susan’s comparably less generous bosom.
Just as promised, she was teaching Susan all about femininity and charms and seduction. I noticed the casual way she threw appraising comments about Susan’s looks and her body. Susan was no slouch, but Amelia had her beat as far as physical appearance was concerned. She had more stylish hair, a more gorgeous model-like face, bigger breasts, a rounder, juicier arse, longer legs, and now that she was no longer suppressing it, a more blatant, obvious sex appeal. And depending on your tastes, her older age and higher experience added to her appeal. It was true, Amelia’s body was indeed a work of art, sculpted out of the most immaculate flesh imaginable, carved with the finest features. If an artist wanted to design the ideal woman, she would no doubt look a hell lot like Amelia Bones.
When Susan bent over to pick a spoon, Amelia commented on her waist as the hem of her jeans lowered. She caught sight of Susan’s thong, hidden tastefully under the hem of her pants and cackled in derision, only to stand up and reveal her own exposed g-string, lifted over the hem of her own jeans. In her own twisted mind, Amelia had concluded that Susan needed to be at least better than the Regent herself, if she wanted to be a successful Lady. And given she wanted to learn how to appear more seductive, it was up to Amelia to demonstrate.
I was just the happy-go-lucky scapegoat that volunteered to help her out.
Nothing was sacred to Amelia. As we sat down for lunch, I complimented Susan on how endearingly cute she looked in her loose pants and half-shirt. Barely ten seconds later, Amelia had spilled fruit juice on her top, and instead of vanishing it, she had excused herself, only to come downstairs, wearing an almost indecent silk nightie. She was clearly nude under the thin material, judging by how her rack jiggled under it, held up by two thin shoulder straps that hung halfway between her knees and her crotch. During the entire lunch, she had caressed my cock, and when I had tried to stop her she had grabbed my wrist and pushed my fingers into her snatch, and crossed her legs, trapping them inside.
Yes. I am aware of the irony.
It was like watching a train wreck. You knew where this was headed and you knew how nasty it was going to be, but for some reason, you just couldn’t look away from it.
But the worst of it all came the next morning, when I walked down to the beach to see both of them lying down on towels in the sand, enjoying the afternoon sun.
Susan had come in wearing a green one-piece with an oval cut that exposed her insanely toned stomach along with her round and perky breasts, looking cute and sexy. And Amelia, oh God, Amelia had come in wearing another of her tiny bikinis, looking positively sinful. Her breasts were jutting out proudly, perkily, the bikini top stretching to the max to contain the mile-long cleavage between them. Her bikini bottoms were tiny, and they barely left anything to imagination.
“Ah, Harry,” Amelia called out with mock surprise, “I didn’t know you’d be here. Me and Susan were enjoying some private time with each other.”
The bitch. As if she hadn’t sent me a patronus inviting me to the beach ten minutes ago.
“I can leave if you want.”
“Oh no,” Amelia shook her head, her act fooling no one. “You are a guest here. Perhaps we can come to an arrangement? You offered me an oil massage yesterday, didn’t you?If it’s all the same, I’d like to take you up on that offer now.”
Of course she would.
Her own declaration must have flooded her with a rush of adrenaline, because her nipples sprang forth through the bikini, standing straight and hard as pebbles, and I was suddenly at a loss. Amelia was dressed to bring down the craftiest prey, even if it was a predator like myself. It was almost a shame that all of this was a setup to make Susan feel uncomfortable about herself instead of a spontaneous seduction.
My eyes lingered a little too long on her erect nipples and my breath caught. My cock started to respond as I forcibly removed my eyes from her chest, and made contact with her amused gaze. I turned to Susan and found her eyes scolding me.
Amelia flipped around and dug into the towel, waiting for me to start. I gave Susan a half-shrug and straddled her, undoing her bikini top. It would be interesting to see exactly how far she was willing to let me play with her body, given that Susan was watching.
Correction. Especially with Susan watching.
I began by dribbling warm massage oil from her shoulders, down her back,over her buttocks and down the backs of both legs. I then proceeded to smear the oil evenly over her body.
“You can remove the bottoms too,” she murmured. “It’s more convenient to work that way.”
I heartily agreed.
Having spread the oil, I began to massage her, starting at her hands and arms, then shoulders, then moving slowly down her body. I did her buttocks, working the side of my hand deep into the crack of her arse.
“Oh, you have such strong hands, Harry,” said Amelia, obviously enjoying the experience. “Don’t forget to do my butt.”
As if to emphasise her point, she raised her arse upwards, giving me a closer look. I squirted more oil into the cleft between her arse-cheeks, and vigorously worked it into her skin, making sure to shake them a bit as I slathered them.
Yes, we were about to have a wager that would be a deciding point in our lives, but that didn’t mean I had to tone down my performance. After all, Susan was watching. She needed to see for herself exactly how I played the female anatomy like a harp, needed to realise that I was going to do the same to her.
Besides, if Amelia thought that that little performance in her office was all I was capable of, she was up for a nasty surprise.
“Ah, so forceful!” Amelia giggled. “See how I’m enjoying this while he works his magic, Susan? You need to learn to draw the pleasure out. There’s nothing more annoying than a woman who can’t even last ten seconds.”
Susan was imitating a tomato.
Deciding an intervention was necessary, I mauled her arse-cheeks one final time and —
SLAP!
“Oh! Yes!” Amelia moaned, arching backward at the sharp pain, flooding her body with pleasure. “Just like that.”
SLAP!
“Yes!”
SLAP !
“Yes! Oh, Yes! Spank me more, Harry!”
SLAP! My palm rang against her arse-cheeks.
SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!
“Are you watching, Susan?” Amelia cooed. “This is how a man treats a woman! No one wants a little girl that’ll cuddle and smooch but run away with her tail between her legs when it comes to the real thing. Men want the real thing, you understand, Susie? They want the naughty, the filthy —”
Her arse squeezed my hand in them.
“Dirty.”
She raised her head and chest upward, arching her back, further trapping my hand.
“Sex.”
She turned towards me and smirked. “Think you’ve massaged my butt nicely, Harry? I wouldn’t mind if you did a thorough check.”
My cock throbbed.
I pulled my oily fingers out of her arse, much to her disappointment, and worked my way down to her legs, spending extra time on her upper thighs in her pussy area, but not touching it. I then went down to her ankles, massaging the soles of her feet and toes.
Amelia moaned.
I moved upwards this time, massaging the inside of her upper thigh and started to rub her pussy with the edge of my hand. I worked the creases on both sides of her clit, and occasionally glided across it, teasing her slit and clit. Amelia was breathing heavily, as I avoided her wet pussy, which had turned pink and pooched out significantly. Part of me wanted to make her cum and end Susan’s impromptu lesson, but I ruthlessly suppressed it. For all of Amelia’s ruthlessness and her need to teach Susan an object lesson, I was all for giving Susan a first-row seat to what I did to my women.
“You’re such a tease, Harry,” Amelia purred. “Didn’t anyone tell you it’s bad manners to get a woman all pent-up and ready to cum and then leave her hanging?”
I chuckled, and poured a generous amount of oil upon her shaved pussy.
The effect was immediate. Amelia’s body jerked.
“Oh my! Merlin, that feels sooo good!”
“Wait until I rub it in,” I said.
What? I wanted to win the wager and make Amelia my bitch. But that didn’t mean I wasn’t at all enjoying the frustration she was putting Susan through.
I should probably try to be a nicer person.
Amelia spread her legs, revealing her folds. Her bare pussy became even more engorged and red, her clit peeking out of its folds, and tingling from the oil.
“Yes…” She hissed. “Do me, Harry. I’m not Susan. I’m not gonna squirt just with your hands on my pussy.”
Susan choked.
“Turn around,” I said.
She couldn’t have been happier to accommodate me. Amelia flipped around, and lay down on her back, her perfectly perky breasts and swollen nipples standing ramrod straight without the slightest sag. No more hiding, no more silly excuses, she had revealed herself to me, naked as the day she was born, with Susan gawking at us as she tried to grasp the situation that had gotten hilariously out of her control.
“You don’t mind doing my breasts, do you?” asked Amelia.
“No,” I replied with a smile. “I don’t mind. I don’t mind at all.”
“Auntie, don’t you think you’re being a little —”
Amelia turned to face her with a curled eyebrow. “A little what?”
Susan looked like she was having trouble finding the proper description. “Um, more indecent?”
Amelia grinned at her victoriously. “I understand it might look like that to you, no doubt because of your inexperience, Susan, but this is actually perfectly acceptable behaviour. After all, Harry is a family friend, and had things gone differently, he’d have grown up in this mansion. And even if it wasn’t, this is a perfectly common thing in oil massages. Why, even the muggles have nudity beaches, don’t they, Harry?”
“Ah, yes. Yes, they do.”
“See?” Amelia grinned. “Not everyone is lucky to have an aunt that is this flexible, I mean, this willing to go to extenuating degrees to teach them. Come closer, pay attention to how a woman behaves when a man seduces her.”
“But — but Auntie. Harry’s my age. You’re really going to let him touch your breasts like that?”
“Tosh, Susan!” Amelia admonished. “We went over this already. These,” she grabbed her massive udders, “are just breasts. Maybe the most perky and delicious breasts Harry will ever feel, but breasts nonetheless. It’s completely normal and natural, and I will not be shamed for my age. If nudity makes you uncomfortable, you’ll just have to learn to get over it, or walk away, because I am not going to shame myself just because you’re too much of a prude to accept it.”
I choked the laugh threatening to escape my throat.
“But Auntie!”
No buts,” Amelia snapped. “Tell me, do you understand? Or do I need to send you back to the manor? This is why I said you weren’t ready. Kids, these days! Just because they sprout breasts, they think they know what it’s like to be a woman.”
She gave Susan a withering look. “Tell me Susan, do you understand?”
Susan looked like she wanted to cry, but sighed in resignation. “Yes, Auntie. I understand.”
It took me everything not to snicker.
“Learn from this experience, Susie, or else you’ll forever stay with the seduction instincts of a troll.”
Susan looked like she was about to say something, but she choked her words and stayed down, lying on her front, watching me feeling her aunt with acute disbelief.
Amelia turned towards me, victory shining in her eyes. “I apologise, Harry. I’m still trying to teach Susan many things. I’ll not interrupt your massage any longer. Do continue. And remember, extra attention on my breasts. I don’t want to end up getting sunburnt.”
I grabbed the bottle of oil and erratically squirted it upon her delicious rack, noticing the mortified look on Susan’s face. The oil formed a small pool in the deep crevasse between her tits and stayed there in a long, transparent line.
“Make sure you get underneath too,” She requested, lifting her heavy breasts further up towards her face, allowing me access to the underside of her breasts. I glanced at Susan again, at her incredulous expression, like she was trying and failing to say something, or at least try and stop me. Not breaking eye contact with her, I squirted more oil beneath Amelia’s breasts.
“That should be enough for now,” said Amelia, allowing her breasts to slide back into position. “We might need a second layer later though. Unless you mind?”
“Oh I don’t mind at all,” I said, playing along.
“Such a gentleman,” Amelia murmured, closing her eyes. “Susan claimed that you are intimately familiar with Hannah? And her mum as well?”
I glanced at Susan, annoyed that she had advertised my sexual conquests to her aunt. She withered under my glare. A rush of vindictiveness surged within me, and I decided to teach Susan a lesson.
“I did. Cynthia’s a lonely woman, you know. Her husband left her a lonely widow, while his brother cheated the Abbott fortune away from her. I promised her I’d help her get it all back.”
Amelia opened a single eyebrow. “You did, didn’t you? Was this before or after you lay with her?”
I scoffed. Who did she think she was talking to? “I merely helped Cynthia feel the pleasures of the flesh she had forgotten. My desire to help her claim the fortune back had nothing to do with it. Even Hannah understood how lonely her mum was, and how she needed to reacquaint herself with her desires.”
“So true…” Amelia moaned, playing along. “Much like me.”
I stretched my hands out, a master musician about to play the performance of his life, making sure my hands were ready. I lowered my hands on her melons and started slowly smearing in the oil. First, I cupped her right breast and spread the oil over the nipple with my palm, and quickly progressed to methodically kneading and slathering her mammaries. Her tits were wet with the sheer amount of oil and my hands glided over them accompanied by slick sounds as the excess oil splashed around.
“Don’t forget the sides.”
“Of course,” I promised. “Say, Amelia. About those desires of yours.”
“Oh yes,” Amelia replied with a soft groan. “Young girls don’t understand this, but I’m not just an aunt, Harry. I’m a woman. A sexually charged woman in her prime.” She moaned as I ran my hand snugly against the underside of her breasts with thumbs resting between her cleavage, slowly cupping my fingers around the sides.
“I have needs too,” she admitted. “Needs that haven’t been fulfilled in many, many, Oh!”
She arched as I squeezed her melons right then.
“Young girls don’t understand this,” Amelia went on. “They think that just because I’m an adult, my work is my life. They do not understand that as I am now, I am in my peak form. Children cannot fathom the kind of arousal that courses through this body. They do not understand what it feels to have a nice, hard, cock, pushing through these folds. They do not understand the joy of having a man beneath me, with my pussy walls squeezing their thick—”
She glanced at Susan, and raised her hand upwards. With me straddling above her, she was able to reach my pants quite easily.
“Hard—”
Her fingers undid the strings of my shorts, unleashing the monster within.
“Cock.”
I didn’t care any longer. I couldn’t care any longer. I clenched her melons, and shoved my cock into the folds of her moist pussy.
“Fuck!” screamed Amelia, as her walls slowly unclenched around my intrusion. And then she turned to Susan. “Are you still watching, Susie?”
A single tear fell down Susan’s cheek as she got up. “No. And I don’t need to watch it anymore. I think I’ve learnt my lesson, Auntie.”
And then a predatory smirk formed on her aunt’s face, as Amelia Bones shed all her facade. “Then, run away, little girl. And let the adults have some fun.”
We watched Susan run away in tears.
“Was that really necessary?” I asked.
Amelia looked at me, and exhaled, as I let go of her breasts. “If she couldn’t bear it, maybe she shouldn’t have demanded it in the first place. One must be careful what one asks for. Isn’t that right, Harry?”
I was not amused.
Notes:
If you want to support me, find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Next Update on 27th August.
Chapter 65: Honest Conversations
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 2 - HOUSE OF BONES
The rest of the day passed rather quickly. Susan avoided me like the plague, which wasn’t surprising. After the show Amelia and I had put on for her, I wouldn’t be surprised if she threw away all her plans about me and decided to stop talking or even outright ignoring me. A part of me also pointed out that Susan had borne through the entire show, only deciding to call it quits when I had shoved my cock into Amelia’s pussy. Maybe it was just a coincidence, maybe it was a culmination of all of Amelia’s taunts, or maybe, she just didn’t have the stomach to digest it anymore, but I had a suspicion that maybe Amelia was right. Maybe Susan wasn’t exactly as comfortable with me bedding other women as she liked to pretend. It was why her first question hadn’t been about me fucking other girls, but if it was even possible for me to stay a one-woman man.
Those thoughts kept my mind busy all day. Amelia might have skipped office, but she was back in her work avatar the second we had re-entered the mansion. She had spent the rest of the day cooped up in her office, perusing through the files I had given her, and unless I was wrong, viewing the memories in her pensieve. At one point, she had even called me to her office, not to fuck or chat, but to clarify certain points in the file. She had arched a brow at the way I answered the questions. Again, not surprising, since that level of intimate knowledge of the subject only came from detailed study and first-hand experience.
Both of which were not possible for a student about to attend his fourth-year at Hogwarts. Noble Lord or not.
So when I appeared on the patio and joined her outside in the afternoon, it wasn’t the seductress that I saw, it was just… Amelia.
“Hey,” she asked, looking back at me as she took out a bottle of firewhiskey from the mini bar. “You doing okay?”
I nodded and sat down at the patio table. She uncorked the bottle, and summoned two glasses, pouring the rich, caramel liquid into each. The firewhiskey jostled around in them as she pushed one of them towards me.
I raised a brow. “What happened to your No underage drinking rule?”
Amelia snorted. “I’m many things, but a hypocrite is not one of them. If you’re old enough to fuck, you’re old enough to hold your firewhiskey. Unless you’d have some water?”
I grabbed the glass and held it gingerly, taking a tiny sip. Even in her work uniform, she looked absolutely stunning.
“How are we gonna do this?”
“What?” She asked, confused.
“This. The wager. Susan challenged you, and you taught her a lesson she’ll likely not forget in her entire life. All that’s left is the wager.”
“Oh,” she said, straightening up. “Well, Harry, I think you know how it ends.”
I nodded. I knew what the end would entail. I just… didn’t want it to end that way.
“Tonight is your last night as a welcome guest in this manor. Depending on how the night turns out, you’re either going to leave a free man, with my permission to court Susan, or stay back as my toy.”
“Does it have to get that far?” I asked. “Is there no other way?”
“Afraid not, Harry,” said Amelia, a small smile forming on her lips. “Like I said, you must be careful what you wish for. You had me, the DMLE Director and a Bones woman. I was ready to be your slave in bed. I was willing to be your ally, your partner in whatever discord you wish to sow in this country. I was even willing to lend all my resources and make the DMLE your bitch. All I wanted was you. You’d dominate me and I’d willingly be dominated. And it would have stayed that way, but then you opened your greedy little mouth.”
“Susan.” I said.
“Susan,” she repeated. “You wanted Susan, despite having me. As if I was an afterthought. I had thought that after all these years, at least you’d…. But no, you didn’t.” she let out a cold, mirthless laugh. “Not surprising. You are James Potter’s son. He had me, had this body all to himself, but he wanted more. I’d have understood if he went for something better. But he didn’t. Instead he went for the average Lily Evans. Just like you went for the average after having me. And that, in my mind, is unforgivable.”
I smiled. “So long as we’re being honest with each other, can I ask you something?”
She shrugged. “I’m not Albus Dumbledore. Speaking the truth does not scare me.”
I took note of that particular sentiment. “When we first met, you said that you looked into me. You claimed that you knew I was fucking my secretary, and Hermione, and Susan told you that I had fucked Hannah and her mum.”
“And what of it?”
“You knew that I was fucking all of them. Hell, you called me a serial womaniser. And yet, you slept with me. We made out in the bath, in your office and in the sea. Just what is it about me choosing to go after Susan that triggered you so much that the other girls and women did not?”
“Is this your attempt to cancel the wager?” She demanded softly. “Because if it is, I can cancel it right away. I’d rather not have a wager at all than someone who’s already lost the bet in his mind.”
I smiled. “We’ll have the wager alright. And we’ll fuck. And one of us will win. That remains unchanged. That I swear.”
Her lips twisted in glee at my promise. “Well, that already makes you better than your father in my book, Harry.”
“Will you answer the question then?”
“Only if I can be brutally honest.”
I nodded.
Amelia took a sip of her own glass. “I knew James. Better than James knew himself. James didn’t really like girls like Lily. I knew him, I knew what he liked. He didn’t like girls that dressed down, played down their looks. He liked girly girls. He’d rather have a girl dressed in pink than in black. And most importantly, he didn’t want a younger girl at all. A real woman. Yes, Lily was witty and sarcastic but she wasn’t wife material. Maybe she was for other guys, but not for James. I had watched Uncle Fleamont and Auntie Euphemia, and I knew James was like Uncle. He wanted a strong woman. One that could call the shots in the relationship. I think that’s part of the reason we worked so well. I was older, with greater experience at Hogwarts and life in general. I was the one that he came to with his queries. Lily? Lily was this obstinate muggleborn that wanted to ignore the inter-house politics and stay friends with Severus Snape, uncaring that her friendship probably cost him Merlin-knew how many torture sessions by older Slytherins. Lily was the kind of girl who’d never do any housework and instead go for her own desires, leaving her husband to pick up the slack. I suppose it was domination in a way, which is why their marriage sustained for whatever period of time it did. But she was all wrong. James needed a wife who’d be a mother in the day and a whore at night.”
She took another sip. “Lily was a dog.” Before I could react to that statement, she grabbed my other hand. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m not being a bitch. It’s just that… I never understood what he saw in her. James had good taste, but clearly, he had a blind spot for her. I think that his hatred for Slytherin had somehow twisted Lily and Snape’s relationship as something valuable in his eyes. Maybe he thought that if he could shatter their relationship, and claim Lily for himself, he’d win. Lily herself wasn’t the prize. Her relationship with Snape was. I mean, nothing else made sense to me. She had red hair, but like a crow’s nest. Her face was plain, like, a blank. I’d have trouble describing her because she was boring looking. Her body wasn’t up to snuff. It was just like her. A reflection of her lack of care. She was even a bit of a fatty. I mean, James was a fucking Chaser in the Gryffindor Quidditch team. He could have easily played professionally if he wanted. I know for a fact that both Puddlemere and Wimborne were scouting him from sixth year onwards. He could have joined the DMLE and become a kickass hit-wizard. With his looks, with his charisma, and with that Potter talent in and out of the bedroom, he could have had his pick of the litter. I wouldn’t even have minded. It would be insulting to think that he needed someone else after he had had me, but I suppose men are like that. They always want variety. And I understood that. But he didn’t want variety. He wanted Evans to supplant me. Like I was… less.”
And just like that, things began to make sense to me. Amelia’s initial reaction, and her sudden shift in demeanour after I had boasted about going after Susan after bedding her, was a reflection of what James had done. Just like James had chosen Lily, I had, in my stupidity, tried to make Susan look more valuable than Amelia herself. Her own dysfunctional relationship with her niece had only added fuel to the fire. And the results had been… explosive.
“When we met for the first time, I thought I was seeing James. When we agreed to work together, I had made up my mind that I would have you destroy that contract that twisted my life and made me live all this while suppressing my desires. I’m certain you probably would have too. But then we were in the bath, analysing each other, and you said things to me… I — I cannot tell you how deeply those truths resonated within me. I lost all my senses to think clearly. All this time, you were Harry James Potter, the boy that would undo the contract for me. But there in the bath, you suddenly became James. In my twisted head, it was so easy to think that James had returned to me, and was offering me the chance to live the life that he denied me in the past. How else would you be able to understand me like James did? Right then, in that moment, I knew we were on a collision course. Like James, you were a womaniser. Like James, you were cocky. Like James, you wanted the world to obey your whims. Like James, you were contracted to breed me, and make me your slut. Right that moment, I knew that this was Fate’s work. Like, look at you. You’ve got an impressive cock that can slay any woman, married or otherwise. That stamina you boast will not be quenched by those schoolgirls either. The werewolf could match your stamina, but why settle for someone subpar when you could have the perfect female form in your arms? I knew, right then, as you fucked me in my office, that we were made for each other. This was James giving me back. I deserve you. People like Lily, or Susan, or the countless fucked pussies you leave behind in your wake, they don’t matter. People like us… we’re the ones that get to have the real fun. People like us get to fuck. The school-sluts might give you a little thrill here and there, but they won’t give you that deep, earth-shattering orgasm you really need. The pleasure I need.”
She took another sip of the glass.
Part of me wanted to say no. It wanted me to tell her that her perspective was flawed. People should have the right to be with whoever they want to be with. But if I did, I’d be the biggest hypocrite of them all. In an ideal world, Harry Potter would have settled with Hermione Granger, her own vow to be with him and her unconditional love would have been enough to spend a lifetime with. Harry would have married one woman, and stayed faithful to her and the world would be all the lesser for it.
But I wasn’t Harry Potter.
I was an incubus. An Outlander.
I had changed Hermione from a werewolf to an utter submissive beast in bed. I had changed Hestia Jones from an Order spy into someone that had willingly sworn an unbreakable vow to be forever loyal to me and be on my side. Narcissa Malfoy was the mother of my nemesis at school and I had taken her away from her son and husband, and made her choose me over them. I had changed Hannah and her mum into my sex-slaves and I had transformed Penelope Clearwater from a stubborn, high-strung muggleborn to a masochist that revelled in pain and humiliation. Come to think of it, Ginny Weasley and Tracey Davis were the ones I had affected the least.
All because I wanted power. Because I wanted to play god.
And as much as I wanted to deny, but seeing Amelia be a raging cunt to Susan made me stiff as a brick. I don’t know if I ever felt harder. Amelia just being there, casually asserting her dominance over her, effortlessly humiliating them… it made my cock throb.
Come to think of it, wasn’t that also why I was so fond of Narcissa? And why the Hestia Jones of old was far more attractive than the one that had pledged loyalty to me?
I had to face the truth. I loved dominating others. And my best women were those that dominated other women.
Amelia was right. People like us got to have real fun. Everyone else, they just stayed side characters. People like Amelia and I were practically made for each other.
And given how there was an actual contract mandating that, I could help but feel the subtle hand of Destiny in it.
“We’re starving animals, Harry,” Amelia whispered, licking her lips. “And we will feast. Tonight. I will show you exactly what a motivated witch is fully capable of. And after that, I will own you.”
I smiled. If only she knew what I knew. But perhaps… I wondered. Perhaps I should tell her? She had been nothing but honest with me. Maybe it was time to return a little of that trust back?
It would only make the victory that much sweeter.
“You’re right,” I said. “We’re on a collision course. And we will feast. Tonight. But here’s where you are wrong.”
I smiled. “After tonight, it will be me that owns you. Not otherwise.”
She held my gaze, neither of our eyes blinking.
“You have the confidence of a god, Harry,” she murmured. “I adore you. Your power is beyond anyone I’ve ever known, except for perhaps, Albus Dumbledore and the Dark Lord. Your skill at spellcasting is wondrous. And I don't even want to comment on the way you understand things that you are not supposed to know, much less understand at this age. Your cock is massive, and your stamina is unreal. You are indeed an enigma to me, Harry, and I will have fun unwrapping your mystery after I’ve conquered you.”
I laughed. “You have no idea how your words amuse me, Amelia. But since we’re being brutally honest with each other, perhaps it’s time for me to share a secret or two with you. If nothing else, I don’t want you to accuse me of unfairness later.”
Her eyes brightened. “Oh? Do tell.”
“You are right, you know. My cock can slay any woman, and my stamina will leave me with blue-balls while women lie groaning at my feet, unable to keep up with me. People like you and me are the ones that really get to fuck, but are unable to, because the rest of the world simply isn’t able to keep up. You, because of your twenty-years of diligent effort, patience and willpower. And me, because I am an Incubus — persuasion, lust, sex — that’s my playground.”
“Incubus…” Amelia breathed. “You’re a — but that means —”
“I was not born with these powers if that’s what you’re asking. Or if I did, I never did end up using them. But that evening, with a hundred dementors surrounding me, I tried to cast the patronus and failed, and I… I died. Or at least, I think I did. Call it my Boy-Who-Lived powers, or call it Fate, but the guy that was reborn from it, this Me, was reborn an Incubus.”
“I see,” said Amelia, taking a sip. “And you think that I’ll be intimidated and walk away from the wager because of that. Incubus powers or otherwise, you’re only sixteen, Harry. Don’t forget that.”
“You misunderstand me,” I said, smiling, as I took another sip. “I didn’t share that secret to intimidate you, Amelia. This is me levelling the playground. I thought the Hufflepuff in you would appreciate that.”
She furrowed her temples. “You —”
I took one final sip. “You’re right. We are starving animals. And tonight, you will show me what you’ve got. As will I. But not with my Incubus powers. Tonight, when we feast, I will dominate you without them. It will be just me. And when you’re writhing on your bed, moaning my name, after surrendering yourself to me, I will make you beg for it. Beg me to give you an orgasm like you’ve never experienced. That is when I will show you what I am truly capable of. I will use my power, after the wager, and give you everything you’ve missed in the last twenty years.”
“I’ll be waiting, Harry,” said Amelia, a genuine smile floating on her lips. “I definitely will.”
The time had come.
Despite what I had planned, despite all the excitement that was about to happen between me and Amelia, I couldn’t help but feel a little tense. I had spent the afternoon lounging on top of one of the towers, getting a birds’ eye view of the entire place. There was something soothing about standing at a great height, looking at things beneath moving like clockwork. A lot of people found the experience nauseating, but I enjoyed it.
I wonder if that means I can gain an aerial form for my animagus transformation.
Smiling wistfully at the idea, I had returned to the mansion sometime after sundown. It was time to get ready for battle. I hopped in the shower, cleaned myself, got dressed and prepared myself for the encounter ahead. Finally ready, I took a deep breath and made my way downstairs.
As I entered the dining room, I noticed Amelia sitting there. She had cleaned up, and made herself look good, just like myself. I saw the thin shiny material of the robe struggling to contain her jutting rack, each of her ripe melons forcing the material outward. She had the robe synched tight, but the size of her breasts was testing the limits, a hint of her cavernous cleavage forcefully exposed. For a second, I wondered if she was naked under the robe.
Susan was still conspicuously absent.
“What’s for dinner?” I asked.
“Spaghetti bolognese,” Amelia said, tucking a single hair that had fallen over her face. She flicked her wand, and the cutlery began to arrange themselves for the both of us.
“Where’s Susan?”
“She won’t be joining us,” she commented off-handedly. “But I had her dinner delivered to her room earlier.”
“You can’t blame her,” I said. “You did do a number on her.”
“Hardly,” she drawled. “I only did what she asked of me. Not my fault she couldn’t handle it.” She eyed me curiously. “Why do you ask?”
“I’m just… wondering, how all this is gonna affect your relationship.”
She dismissed my concerns with a wave of her hand. “Do not fret. Susan had a sheltered life. This is the first time she’s really tested some uncharted waters and burned herself. She’ll be fine. Besides…” she smiled knowingly. “There is still one more lesson I need to impart to her.”
“Don’t you think she’s already had enough?”
“Just because she couldn’t digest the lesson, doesn’t mean I should stop it midway, Harry. That’s not how life works. She started it, so she has to bear through it until she truly understands the consequences of her actions.”
“The consequences could also strangle your relationship for good,” I pointed out.
Amelia paused at that, and frowned at me. “You genuinely care for her, don’t you?”
Of all the things she had said to me, that statement caught me off-guard. Care? For Susan? What kind of fucked-up conclusion was that? Susan Bones was practically a stranger to me. Granted, the sort of stranger that had fucked up her family life and one she had cuddled and wanted to marry, even if it meant going against her own aunt, but a stranger nonetheless. She was a spitfire and had spunk, I’d give her that, but exposure to my Devil’s Charm turned them all into willing submissives that wanted nothing more than to be treated as my personal cumslut. Amelia was no different. Narcissa had veela blood injected in her bloodstream, and she was my lover. Hestia was my secretary and she was a hundred percent loyal to me, courtesy of her own unforgivable vow. Hermione thought I was the Harry Potter she fell in love with and dedicated all her life to. The rest of the world might think of me as the Boy-Who-Lived and the Potter heir but to me, this was just a fictional story and fictional characters and all of this, this reincarnation and incubus bullshit, it was all one giant piece of black comedy.
Hell, fucking other women gave me boosts on Meta-Luck which I could use to avert destiny itself. And Amelia thought I cared for Susan? That was ludicrous.
So why couldn’t I laugh?
“I — what are you saying?”
Amelia was not done throwing curve balls. “I am not blind, Harry. I’ve seen the way you look at her. Not as an object of your desires, but as someone you care for. Even with our little wager going on, you’ve constantly tried to keep her safe from my wrath. And I know it’s not simply a matter of getting into her pants.”
Something about her words rankled me.
Me? Caring? For Susan Bones? It made no sense at all.
This world was fake. Magic was fake. All my powers, all my perks, Meta-Luck, all of it was fake. A twisted fabrication crafted out of a fantastical story at the whims of some Greater Power. One that had thrown me into this twisted reality and given me the illusion of power. I was the most famous and perhaps the most powerful student at Hogwarts. Nothing was out of my reach, and no individual was ignorant of my status. And the best part: I barely had to work to get it.
I remembered how scared I was when I had first arrived in this world. I had to be extra careful to make sure Ron wasn’t suspicious of me. Ginny was a surprise, but I was extra sure to avoid Dumbledore’s prying eyes, but all in all, it was a lot easier than I had dared to hope.
The Potter fortune and the legendary reputation of the Boy-Who-Lived only made things easier for me. Almost every student had been brought up hearing stories of my supposed heroics and skill, and when they saw a confident Harry Potter, acting every bit the Lord he was, seeing me play with trash like Draco Malfoy and his goons, it had made all their wildest dreams real. A controlled display of skill tempered with the right combination of humility had taken me farther than what the real Harry Potter could have ever imagined. A little good action here, a little ruthlessness there, and a little show of fortune in the right environment had nearly almost everyone eating out of my hand. My knowledge of canon events, my incubus powers, my ever-growing magical affinities and my skill at finances, it was enough to have almost everyone eating out of my hands.
So why….
Why did I feel disturbed by her statement? Why did that make me feel so nervous? I already had Devil’s Charm ready. I had explored the potential possibilities of that perk, and I knew that Amelia would be in for a surprise when our wager began. And then, she’d be my bitch and I’d have Susan next. Everything was going exactly as I planned. Heck, everything was turning out better than I hoped. This was what I wanted, after all.
Wasn’t it?
Memories of the last two months flooded to me. Me casting a spectral hippogriff as my patronus. Me holding Hermione right after she confessed to committing herself to me back in our first year. Me getting angry at Hestia’s words, and the growing annoyance at the way Penelope was treated. These people were fictional, so why, why did it feel like somewhere along the line, I was beginning to care for them?
This was worrying.
This was worrying me a lot.
I might not be able to remember names, but I still had memories of my old life. The me that was lustful, self-centred and arrogant. The competitive side of me that helped me in my meteoric rise, the one that made me resent my brother for catering to my every demand. The one that helped me so often drive down the football field and get the winning score, or made me twist and manipulate people so that I could land the hottest chicks at college in my bed. The me that would do anything, screw over anybody, ruin other people’s lives, just to get what I wanted, even if it was on a whim. To interject myself into things I had no business interjecting into. The part of me that relishes when I fuck girls knowing that I’d cast them aside, only to serve as my stepping stones on the path to magical godhood. The part of me that didn’t care about consequences, and only wanted what I wanted, no matter who got hurt.
That was who I thought I was.
Then why was I changing? What was it that was making me change?
Just earlier in the morning, I had shared my little secret. My incubus nature with Amelia. Yes, it made her trust me more and shared a deeper part of her psyche in return, which made it much easier to understand her. And as they say, understanding your opponent is the first step to victory. Maybe I was subconsciously channelling Hestia’s perk, telling her exactly what needed saying, while keeping the more relevant parts of it to myself. I could have sold myself the story.
But it would be a lie.
“Harry?”
“Uh,” I stammered, “You’re just seeing things.”
“Am I?” She taunted me. “Is that why she still has her virginity intact? Even though she’s been alone with you twice now, one of which was in the middle of the night?”
‘You’re spying on me!” I accused.
“Hardly,” she drawled. “You forget this is the Bones mansion, Harry. This is my domain. The elves answer to my command. I have complete control over the wards. Imagine my surprise when Susan walks into your room in the middle of the night, only to leave several hours later.”
I stilled. “You, uh, knew—”
She threw her head back and laughed. “You’re good, Harry. Very good. Especially for someone of your age. I was initially quite annoyed, but then I realised that Susan had not broken the protocol, and I realised what you did. That she immediately tried to get closer using that excuse to swim shifted the blame further upon her.”
“She, err, wanted to cuddle.”
“She wanted to do more than cuddle, and I believe you know that very well. Again, I will thank you for exercising restraint. I do not believe she’d have said no if you had made a move. Things would have turned… difficult.”
“And that makes you think that I care about her?” My lips twisted into a cunning smirk. “Maybe I just want the Bones fortune all to myself.”
Amelia scoffed. “I wasn’t born yesterday, Harry. The Potters are one of the richest families in Wizarding Britain, and with the addition of the Black fortune, it will probably top that list. The Bones are an old Noble family but fortune wise, we are hardly in the same league.”
Good point. I took an offensive approach. And no, it wasn’t because I wanted to change the topic. Absolutely not.
“And you’ve been divesting away family funds to support the DMLE. Not exactly the best financial decision for the Bones Regent.”
Her lips frowned. “Are you trying to make me mad again, Harry?”
I snorted. “Don’t get your panties in a twist, Amelia.”
Her lips twisted in a smirk. “That’s assuming I‘m wearing any.”
I opened my mouth and then closed it. Then I said, “I walked into that one.”
“You did. And stop avoiding my question.”
I took a mouthful of spaghetti, chewing it, giving me some time to frame my response. “Is it really that difficult to believe that I can simply be a decent human being while being a womaniser?”
“Not at all,” She commented. “I just find it interesting that apart from being a womaniser, you also end up adding your conquests into your life in all sorts of significant ways.” She raised a finger to stop me from even trying to refute that. “Hermione Granger, apparently your best friend, got turned into a werewolf. I’d understand helping her by paying for her rent and maybe even arrange for her private education, thanks to the immense fortune you have. But you let her stay in that house and treat her like an equal. No, like a lover.”
“Let me guess, Tonks told on me?”
Amelia shook her head. “I inquired. One of my better ideas, I’d say. The Boy-Who-Lived taking over the Potter fortune and getting an enchanted apartment via Gringotts and living by himself? I couldn’t have gotten a better chance to inspect you.”
I stayed silent.
“Hestia Jones. Halfblood. Nymphadora’s trusted friend. Very talented. Lots of spunk. You hired her, and from your interaction at the DMLE, you allow her significant leeway to do things her way, and maybe even dictate your own public actions.”
“She’s better at public perception than I am,” I shot back. “I’d be a fool not to rely on her guidance.”
It was a narrow and half-hearted excuse, but the only one that came to mind.
Amelia shrugged and moved on. “The public event with Draco Malfoy. You went out of your way to antagonise the Malfoy heir. Granted, that was because you were arranging for the Black Lordship, but the primary reason was Mr. Crabbe’s physical violence on Miss Clearwater.”
“Really now?” I drawled. “It just worked out that way. I needed someone of a certain position. Penelope was convenient and fitted the bill.”
“Is that why you hired her later?”
“Part of the job. And her resume is rather impressive.”
“Must be,” she commented. “For you to pay her two hundred galleons per month.”
I said nothing this time around.
“And the list goes long. Tracey Davis. Halfblood. And three more recommendations made by Miss Clearwater. All of them halfbloods and muggleborns. Working for your firm at salaries that would make a pureblood froth in jealousy.”
Oh, this one was easy. “They’re skilled at their jobs. Finding skilled labour isn’t easy, you know.”
“May not be in the muggle world,” Amelia simpered. “But definitely yes in our world. I can randomly throw a pebble in Diagon Alley and it’d hit some talented halfblood or muggle born.”
Damn it.
She took a mouthful of spaghetti and closed her eyes in enjoyment. The bitch. “Hannah Abbott. Cynthia Abbott. I understand bedding them. Halfblood daughter to a well-known pureblood family. Suffering from the whims of her uncle Gideon Abbott. From Susan’s words, both of them practically jumped in your arms. And you are now Cynthia Abbott’s loyal customer.”
“She cooks good food, and it’s better than muggle takeaways. Becoming her customer cost me precious little.”
“Oh. Then it must be your love for her cooking that you’re working to get them their fortune and status back.”
I gritted my teeth. She was pissing me off now.
“What’s your point?”
“My point is that for someone that religiously adheres to the image of a serial womaniser, you’re too quick to care about your conquests. Do you know why you do that?”
‘I’m a great believer in the benevolence of human nature, obviously.”
She smirked. I was getting angry now.
“It is because that is the only way you will allow yourself to be, and I know why.”
“All right. Why?”
“Because you’re ruled by guilt.”
I laughed.A little too quickly. “Okay, this I have to hear. What guilt?”
“Guilt of taking what you want from our world, Harry Potter. Over the last three years, you have played the role of the unsung hero, the one that did what he needed to do to keep himself and others safe. Facing a possessed professor, fighting a memory of Tom Riddle controlling a thousand-year-old basilisk. Facing a man that supposedly betrayed your parents only to defend him against a hundred dementors with a spell you weren’t sure you could even cast. Need I go on?”
I shook my head.
“And then, you got transformed into an incubus. I do not know how or why, but you did. An incubus needs to have sex with as many people as he can, for that is the sole way for him to grow strong. The lack of sex weakens him, and I’m sure you realised that you had become an existence that was fundamentally the reverse of what you were. A creature that takes. A creature that claws into the hearts and minds of another and twists and manipulates them, either by words, or actions, or supernatural arousal, until they are in bed, screaming his name in ecstasy. You took over the mantle of Lord Potter, and gained access to the fortune you had. You knew that the Dark Lord would be back and you realised that growing stronger through sex was the best way ahead. And somewhere along the way, you became afraid.”
“Afraid? Of what?”
“Of your own power? Of what you were becoming? That you were perhaps looking too deep into the abyss and the abyss was now beginning to stare back at you?”
I stayed silent.
“You came to be ruled by fear. Not fear of the Dark Lord, but fear of what you could be if you ever let yourself stray from the right-hand path,” said Amelia. “Of the power you could use. You’ve thought about what it might be to bend the world to your will. The things you could have. The people. Some part of you has considered it and found joy in the idea of using your abilities to take what you wish. And you are afraid of that joy.”
I wanted to deny her words. But I couldn’t. Everything she was describing was right, but so wrong. She didn’t know jackshit about my reincarnation or my powers as an Outlander. She knew nothing of Meta-Luck, or the power to acquire perks by fucking others. And yet at the same time, the conclusions she was drawing oddly fitted the bill.
It was like following a wrong formula only to arrive at the correct answer.
“And that is why you’ve added bindings upon yourself. The women you bed, you are taking care of them. As if, it is now your responsibility to ensure that they get their rightful return for their aid. Sometimes it is through providing shelter. Others, through employment. Even your attempt at acquiring the Black fortune isn’t fueled by personal greed, but fear of what that fortune might be worth in the wrong hands.”
I let out an empty laugh. “You’re pulling all the stops at trying to make me look like a hero, aren’t you? Like I’m some kind of Dark Knight.”
She smiled. “Dark Knight. That’s an interesting and oddly apt metaphor. After all, many of your actions of your previous years describe a White Knight complex. Maybe I am wrong, maybe you’re exactly the kind of greedy arsehole you claim to be, but isn’t it interesting that for someone who acts in pure self-interest, you’ve spent the last thirty minutes trying too hard to convince me of it?”
That shut me up.
I pushed the chair backwards and gobbled down an entire glass of water. Then I looked at her. “You’ve made your point. So what do you want?”
She smiled. Again, it was genuine. “I just wanted to acknowledge that you, Harry Potter, are a good person. And should you, by whatever miracle, emerge as a winner in our little wager, you have my permission to court my niece.”
I opened my mouth, and then closed it. And then repeated the action several times. While staring at her blankly.
Amelia’s lips quivered in amusement. “Now finish eating. You’re gonna need a lot of energy after this.”
Notes:
If you want to support me, find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Next Update is on 1st September.
Chapter 66: Showdown Part 1
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 2 - HOUSE OF BONES
After dinner, we went to Amelia’s room.
Not her office, but her room. The master bedroom.
For a few seconds, both of us just stood there, bathed in silence, appraising each other. Each of us was waiting for the other to take action. And the silence was deafening. My heart began beating, and sweat formed on my brow. Not for the first time, I despaired over my lack of Occlumency technique.
“You ready?” She asked.
“Born ready,” I said, trying to be cool.
“You’re not gonna wimp out and be done in ten minutes, are you?” She asked. “Because after all this, if I find that your performance the other night was a fluke, I’m gonna kill you.”
I smiled. “Please. Keep judging me from the other night’s performance. It will make my victory that much sweeter.”
“Good,” she smiled slightly. She turned around and entered the room, sashaying her arse, making sure it held my attention. She flicked her wand in complicated wand movements, and the temperature in the room decreased slightly. She silently summoned a set of potion vials and placed it on the table next to her Queen-sized bed.
“Potency potions,” she explained. “Enough to keep you pushing beyond your limits.”
“You’re taking them beforehand?” I taunted her. “It’s nice to see you realising the truth so quickly. Makes things so much simpler.”
Amelia snorted. “They are for you. Incubus you may be, but you’re only a fledgling. I don’t want you to complain about rigged odds later.”
“This is it, Harry,” she continued. “Your last chance to puss out and walk away. I’ve already considered you good enough to pursue a relationship with Susan, on condition that Susan wants the same. I’m not without magnanimity. If you give up this wager, I’ll even acquiesce to you marrying Susan, upon condition that we continue our dalliance behind closed doors. My little niece has understood that no matter how much she whines, no matter if she plays the Lady card, she’ll never be able to satisfy you like I can. I have already won. All that remains is for you to swallow your pride, accept defeat and we can move on.”
She put her hands on her waist and flexed her hips at me.
“But, if you really have the nerve, if you think you have what it takes, if you have the balls to fuck me into submission, then get ready. And if you do this, you shall see me as my true, unleashed self. I have waited twenty years for this. I have toiled, given it my blood, sweat and tears, prepared this body for that epic climax when the gods would finally look upon me. Twenty years of Occlumency, twenty years of patience and hard work, added to my natural power and gorgeousness. I might have been betrothed to James, but in matters of the bedroom, he was my inferior. You won’t face Susan’s aunt, Harry, but the sexual being that I am beneath this exterior. And if you turn out to be incompetent, well, that’s too bad.”
I have to admit, seeing her trash talk was getting me all rigid.
So I did the only thing appropriate for the situation. I laughed.
“The question is, Amelia, if you’re ready for me. You might think you’re the Queen bee, the top bitch, but you’re about to see something that you’ve never seen before. You’re about to deal with something you’ve never experienced. Are you ready for that?”
And then I stepped forward, arrogantly pushing myself into her personal space.
“In fact, let’s just finish this quickly. I need some night’s sleep too. Need to meet Susan tomorrow morning before I leave. She’ll be glad that her aunt has accepted me as her future son-in-law.”
“Oh I’m sure you won’t have to wait for morning to meet her.”
I curled an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
Amelia didn’t reply. Instead, she just flicked her wand, and the door shut behind me. She offered me a vial, while taking the other herself. Both of us drank it in a single gulp, our eyes never leaving each other.
All that was left was me, her and the bed.
Part of me expected that we would just rip off our clothes, jump into each other's arms and furiously make out, barely able to contain our passion. But now that we were here, the energy in the room was tense, and neither of us wanted to make the first move. Plus, we were both too controlled to do what we both really wanted to do and just get down to business, to get it on hard and nasty. We were circling each other like animals in the jungle. I think both of us wanted to conquer the other before we hit the bed.
Amelia sauntered forward arrogantly, her expression almost a condescending sneer. She flicked her wand at herself, and her robe undid itself and fell down to the floor. Everything, from her outer robe to her bra and the strapped g-string riding her womanly hips. She stood there, utterly, wholesomely nude, before doing a quick swivel, exposing her backside to me. I had taped that arse before, but something about it felt fresh and new. Each cheek jutted out like a shelf, round and smooth and juicy. Her arse was like a ripe fruit, aged to perfection. She spun around and put her hands on her hips again.
“Well?” she teased. “What do you think?”
“You are… gorgeous. Just absolutely gorgeous.”
“Well, go on. Get started already. I’m not here to listen to you talk.”
“Oh aren’t you?” I challenged. “I think that’s exactly what you want me to do. You want me to drool over you. I bet you love hearing guys at the DMLE whisper to each other about how hot you are, don’t you? After being the big bad Hit-witch for so long, sitting on the Director’s chair and having those young, freshly out of Hogwarts trainees bending backwards to do your bidding, you love that thrill. Maybe you even have elves repeat all the filthy things they whisper about you in the back.”
“Yes, I do.” Amelia said breathily, as her eyes flashed with raw desire. “I love how hot I am. I love being sexy. My father and the Potters might have robbed me of my ability to pleasure myself physically, but it did nothing to stop me from taking mental pleasure.”
Her voice felt like warm cocoa on a winter night.
“I shaped my body over the years. I made it perfect. I loved walking into my office, knowing that all those males would stare at me. That they’d go home and look at their miserable ugly wives and compare them with the hot and sizzling DMLE Director who was at least a decade older than them, and yet, boasted a body their women couldn’t boast in ten lifetimes.”
As she spoke those words, my eyes took in her voluptuous figure. The artful, succulent curves. The round arse. I admired their firmness, the way they created a smooth cleavage in front and back. They were, quite simply, perfect. On her slim, lean frame, each massive udder looked all the more huge. Her flesh was silky with a golden tan, her nipples hard as a rock, aching for pleasure. Her entire body was calling out to me, begging to be touched, to worship it, to pleasure it. Her flat stomach looked so tight and sexy, and even her belly button was hot to me. It was like looking in a sports car with all the best features.
I just had to get in her first.
“You’re right in one thing though, Amelia,” I said, marvelling her exquisite form. “I’ve never had a body as gorgeous as yours. I know we fucked earlier and did all that but…”
“But?”
“Maybe it’s the wager. But seeing you be this confident, this… dominant, it’s arousing. Titillating. Sexy. Not even Narcissa Malfoy comes remotely close, and she injects veela blood into herself.”
And then I stopped short, and looked directly into her eyes. Amelia smirked at me in victory. I looked back at the vial standing innocently on the table.
“You spiked it with veritaserum.”
“Yes,” she said simply.
“And you never cared about the potency potions. All that taunting about giving up and your magnanimity was just a clever distraction, to get me to drink it.”
“Yes on all counts,” she agreed. “It was quite convenient that you are so easy to rouse. A casual dig about your masculinity and you fall backwards to prove me wrong. A word to the wise, Harry. You must learn to control your emotions.”
“That’s sage advice and everything,” I said, frowning. “But isn’t it illegal to spike someone with veritaserum without their consent?”
Don’t be a baby, Harry. A single drop diluted by ten pints of potency potion. It’s absolutely safe on all counts, except for the slight loosening of the tongue.”
“Oh, well that kind of makes it all fine, except for one thing. Why did you put veritaserum in the potion?” I demanded with utter consternation.
Amelia laughed. “Had to be sure, Harry. We’re under a wager, and I absolutely need to know if you were fibbing about your incubus nature, and more importantly, to keep you from lying even when you are defeated and unable to go on.” She smirked. “But my word, Harry. Narcissa Malfoy of all people. Guess she bedded you in return for letting her son go. To think you’d be so cruel to use her own desires against her husband. What a terrible man you are!”
I stiffened. “Against her husband?”
“Come on Harry,” she sang,”give me a little credit. You cannot expect me to believe that you gained all that insider information through detective agencies. You had to have someone on the inside. Two plus two is four.”
I blinked, but didn’t say anything.
She smirked. “I want you to promise me something, Harry. Promise me that you will use your full prowess. Bring out the incubus within you. Show me everything you’re capable of.”
“Amelia…” I croaked. “Do you want to lose? I’m just trying to make this a fair fight.”
Her expression faltered. “That’s sweet of you, Harry. But it doesn’t work that way. This wager is me proving that I am more than enough for you. I can’t prove that if you’re playing with one hand tied.”
“Amelia..” I tried for one final time. “You don’t know what you’re asking. To this date, I’ve only used my power once, and it wasn’t nice. Trust me, you don’t want me to use it.”
She grinned. “Now I absolutely have to test myself against it. Bring it on. Promise me Harry, that you will use your fullest power.”
“Amelia—”
“Promise. Me.”
I sighed. “Fine. I promise. I will use my power. But when shit hits the fan, don’t tell me I told you so.”
“Sure,” she drawled. “Now stop dawdling and let me inspect the goods.”
I did a semi-circular flick with my own wand, and murmured the banishing charm. It wasn’t as sleek or attractive like her wordless spell backed by minimal wand movements had been and only removed my outer clothes, leaving me in my boxers. But I wasn’t there to compare my spell repertoire or efficiency with her. She was the DMLE Director, with decades of experience under the belt in that field. I was there to show her my experience in an entirely different set of parameters.
Activating Devil’s Charm
I yanked down my boxers, and stood out of it. And from within, now released, bouncing around before coming to a stop, pointing directly at her, was my throbbing, hard-as-concrete cock. It jutted out straight from my body, pulsing with desire, standing proud. It was the first of the three effects of the perk.
It almost felt like a lifetime ago when I had done this subconsciously. It was when I had fucked Hestia for the first time in bed. The transformation it had triggered back then was surprising as fuck, and truth be told, I hadn’t quite registered it back then. In a single fuck-session, Hestia had changed from a dominating bitch to someone willing to ensnare her best friend if it meant she’d get more of my cock. I had thought that she was just that much starved for a good cock, but it couldn’t have been farther than the truth.
It wasn’t her.
It was me. Or rather, my Devil’s Charm.
I thought back to when I had first gained that epiphany. Bloody buggering hell. I had subconsciously altered Hestia’s mind and her emotions in the way only a very sinister psychic dark curse could. And I had done it by fucking her.
At least, that was the theory. Using it against Amelia Bones, a woman with highly developed Occlumency, would be a true test of this. It was time to see what the Devil’s Charm, a perk forged of Pheromone and Femme Fatale could unleash when used at full power.
Her eyes went down to my crotch automatically. I could see her running her eyes up and down the length of my shaft, admiring it, lusting for it.
“Wow,” she marvelled, licking her lips. “I am very disappointed you didn’t show this cock to me back when we fucked, young man.”
I smirked at her attempt at chastisement. “You know what they say. Good things come to those who wait.”
“I’ve had it so many times, but Merlin, it looks so big, so smooth. And your balls…” She licked her lips again. “Merlin, even the head feels larger. Fuck! It looks so powerful!”
“Guess you’re not that sad that James Potter passed you over.”
“Uh, no, not at all,” she said, as if stuck in a trance. “My two-decade long wait was so worth it. If just for this.”
“You can touch it, if you want,” I said. Amelia rolled her eyes at me, annoyed that I thought she needed my permission. She took a step forward, and ran a finger across the top of my dick. I shivered as I felt her finger run down my length, playing gently with it, before the rest of her fingers coiled around my weapon, squeezing it.
She leaned forward, and before I could react, stuck out her tongue and attacked my neck. The sheer rawness sent a jolt of electricity coursing through me. Amelia ran her tongue up my cheek and then with a flourish, finished her lick by flicking her tongue at the corner of my mouth, before moving back slightly, our lusty breath hitting each other’s face.
I looked at her eyes, her right hand now jacking my cock vigorously. The tension between us overtook everything else. We dove towards each other, our mouths colliding roughly in a savage, open mouthed-kiss. Our lips fused in a perfect seal, our tongues waging war in each other’s mouths. Her smooth lips slid against mine, her lipstick smearing onto me, as we ravenously attacked each other.
It was pure insanity. Pure savagery. We were fighting for control, our hollowed cheeks deepening the kiss further than physically possible. We explored each and every crevice of each other’s mouth, our spit mingling and making the kiss wetter. Our lips smacked as we Frenched. Amelia pressed herself into me, her breasts against my hard chest, grabbing my neck with her left hand as she tried to jam her tongue down my throat.
I cupped her arse-cheeks and dug my fingers into her firm flesh. My fingers then slid back up, travelling along her velvety skin to her bare breasts. And then before I could maul them, she stepped away.
“Okay,” she breathed, meeting my eyes. “This was a nice surprise. Shall we move to the bed?”
I slid my bare arse up the bed, against the headboard, my lean body exposed, and my jutting cock pointing towards the heavens. Amelia sat at the edge of the bed, eyeing me lustfully. Her hands ran up her body, digging her fingers into her fleshy jugs, squeezing them firmly, flicking her fingers over her throbbing nipples. She slid them further down her belly and over her cunt. Then wordlessly, she got her knees on the bed and pulled me by the ankles by a few inches, crawled over and lowered her face, her lips hovering above my shaft. She let some spit drip from her mouth, landing on the tip of my cock, and began to jack me with her right hand.
Then she met my eyes.
“You think I’m afraid of this?” She whispered, her eyes staring daggers at me. “You think I’m afraid of your big cock? You think that just because it’s massive and pulsing, I don’t have what it takes to destroy you? Understand this, Potter. I’m about to suck you dry. I’m gonna drain those fat balls of yours. And when I’m done with you, you’ll beg me for relief. And then you’ll be mine. You’ll know that I am your better and you will worship me as your goddess. I don’t care that you have a house. I don’t care for your whores. You will make yourself my ward, and live here with me. Even when you go to Hogwarts, you’ll return home every Saturday, your balls loaded with a week’s worth of cum, your cock throbbing with anticipation for my pussy, because trust me, Harry Potter, after this, after tonight, no one will be able to sate you. Whether you win or lose this wager, I am going to ruin you for every single woman out there. The bitches can scream and cum right and left over your cock. You can have one, or two, or maybe even fuck a gang of witches, but it’ll never be enough. For they won’t be me.”
She moved her face closer, pursed her lips, and gave the tip a big, juicy kiss. Her hot spit began coating my shaft, as she began to bob on my meat, with more and more of it entering her tight, clasping throat. She was slobbering all over it, my shaft covered with her drool, her spit pooling around my balls. After taking in the whole cock and gagging on it for several moments, she finally pulled back to regain her breath.
“Wow,” I said, unable to help myself. “Not even Hestia was able to get the entire thing in one go, and she’s the best cocksucker I’ve ever had.”
“Well, you haven’t had me before. At least, not with me trying.”
Saying that, she attacked my balls, her tongue running circles around them, coating them with spit, massaging them with a divine firmness. She swapped balls, taking the other in her mouth,playing with it hungrily.
“Yes!” I moaned. “That’s it! Suck my balls. Run your tongue across my sack. Feel how swollen they are? That’s all you’re gonna be doing after tonight. That’s all your mouth is gonna be worth after this. To suck my cock. To grease my balls. To lie in bed as I take you in every hole and send you screaming to oblivion. That’s your destiny!”
“Oh yeah?” She asked, pulling her mouth off with a pop. “All this cum will be mine, you say?” She coiled her fingers again and jacked me furiously. “You want to hose me down with it? Fuck me as I rub your filthy, nasty, delicious cum all over my body?”
“Ugh! Yes!” I claimed. “For all your big talk, your first reaction was to be my submissive. To shake that arse as you stood over your table, asking that I fuck you over it. Face it, Amelia! For all your talk of dominating me, you want to be my submissive. One of my conquests. You want to end on your knees, waiting for me to return from Hogwarts, so that I can fuck you and leave you with your face splattered with my cum. You want my cock to screw deep into that arse.”
Her eyes flashed with lust.
“Yes! I will have you bugger my arse. I will have you spear that gigantic dick into my arse. I’ll make you drill my cunt with your cock all the way till the root, and I’m going to suck my juices off your cock like a nasty whore. That load of cum in your balls that you’re so proud of? I’ll swallow it in one go. That’s how nasty I am. How does it feel, knowing that your most potent weapon is merely a snack for me? Trust me, when I’m done, I’ll leave you a drained shell of a man, and then let you go.”
Her lips twisted predatorily. “Watch what’s next, Potter. You won’t be able to get it up for any woman after this. Only me, Amelia fucking Bones, will be able to get you stiff. Only I’ll get your blood boiling. Only I’ll be able to give you what you need. I’ll fuck you into this bed and leave you groaning. I’ll see your scream in frustration and curse yourself for taking the wager. You will walk back to my mansion and beg me to make you cum. And when that happens, I will own you.”
And then she plunged herself upon my cock. She was relentless. Her throat kept squeezing me, her hand massaging my nuts. Every move she made was trying to coax the cum out of my balls. I reached down and forced her head firmly downward, gripping her hair tightly. I don’t know exactly what she was doing or how she was doing it, but I just couldn’t hold it back anymore.
“Fuck!” I groaned, as my cock throbbed powerfully. Unable to control myself, I grabbed her head tightly. Amelia immediately pulled back, leaving only the tip of my cock in her mouth, as a thick wad of cum shot into her sucking lips. I arched my back as I came, jet after jet of cum filling her mouth. I saw her gulp, swallowing my load, not even losing a drop, like a good whore, gulping down while her hands kept squeezing my cock, forcing every drop of cum into her mouth.
“Look at you,” she sneered disdainfully. “I thought you had potential. But one blowjob, and you’re cuming like a fountain..” She wandlessly summoned her bra from the floor, and began putting the cups back in place. “Maybe those pathetic little sluts are all you’re good for. If not for the contract, I’d not touch you ever again.”
Her viciousness got me throbbing. Her saying that she had lost all respect for me as a loverpissed me off, especially because I hadn’t even gotten started in the first place. I wasn’t broken, or beaten, and far from done.
My tanks might have been emptied just now, but they’d be back to full soon enough.
But the worst part was that she had attacked my pride. My skill as a sexual being. Quite naturally, I saw red.
Before she could clasp her bra shut, I sat up straight, wrapped my arms around her and grabbed the bra from her hands. Roughly, I threw her down beside me, snatching the bra and throwing it on the floor, her massive udders jiggling at my actions. Before Amelia could even react, I was on top. I saw the way her eyes flashed with lust, as I grabbed her melons and dug into her luscious flesh.
“Not so quickly, Amelia,” I hissed. “First blood goes to you, but the battle is far from over.”
I brought my mouth down and sucked the rubbery nipple on her right.
“Oh, yes!” She moaned, her fingers playing with my hair. “Haven’t you heard, darling? She, who strikes first, wins?”
Goddamnit. I needed to teach this sexy bitch a lesson.
I lifted my head slightly, and met her eyes. And then I went down and bit her nipple.
Amelia screamed in pain and ecstasy, as I twisted the other nipple with my hand, going straight to the offensive. I mauled her breasts over and over again, not getting enough of them. They were so incredible, so big and so soft. I couldn’t stop. I didn’t want to stop. I lifted my face to take one look at her, and found her staring at me with molten desire in her eyes. Then, pausing only for a moment, I dove down face first, shoving my face into her cleavage.
I cupped her massive rack, getting as much as her soft flesh into my hands, pressing them together. I was swimming in softness, with her breasts on either side of my face. Her hard nipples scraped against my cheek, her sexy perfume and the light sheen of sweat overwhelming my nostrils as I rubbed my face into her cleavage. I turned to the left and began sucking her right nipple, squeezing it with my lips as tightly as I could. I heard her purring as she massaged my hair lovingly.
“Mmmm…” She moaned, “I could let you do this to me all day, everyday. “You really know how to suck nipples, darling. But there are other parts of me that demand attention. Other parts of me that could do with that fastidious worship.”
She spread her firm legs, and pushed me down, and I found my face inches above her bare cunt.
“Look at that sleek, taut cunt, Harry. This is what’s needed to pleasure your cock. Not the plump, nice, little pussies of married women. Not the tight, clampy slits of virgin schoolgirls. This is what you want. So kiss it. Use your tongue. Show me you know how to give pleasure while you’re at it.”
In one smooth motion, I dove down and attached my lips to her small, tight, dripping cunt. I pushed my tongue in and gave it a long, hot lick and pulled back.
“Fuck!” said Amelia. “Go on, darling. Don’t be afraid. Eat it.”
So I did. Her juices were like ambrosia. Flavorful, hot and absolutely incredible. The taste sent a jolt through my cock as it rubbed against the bed. I pushed my face into her hot cunt, my tongue lapping at her copious juices, giving her fevered licks.
“Yes!” She hissed, scratching my scalp. “Yes! Eat that cunt! Eat it! Go deeper!”
It was driving her nuts.
“Don’t tease me, Harry,” she pleaded. “It’s been two decades since I’ve had that cunt eaten. Suck it! Oh fuck! Yes, I’m so! Oh! I’m so close! Keep going… keep going!”
She was right on edge, right about to cum and right then, I took my lips away from her.
“Oh you fucking little prick!” She gasped. “Keep going! Don’t stop! Don’t fucking tease me like this.”
“Oh? Unbearable, is it?” I taunted, but Amelia reached down and just grabbed my head and pushed me against her cunt again.
“That’s it! LICK! LICK MY CUNT! USE YOUR TONGUE! Yes! Oh yes! I’m gonna cum! I’m gonna cum! I’m GONNA CUM! FUCK! YES!” She kept on moaning. “Get on it! Make me cum, Harry! Lick my fucking cunt!”
I looked up, met her eyes.
“Remember. You asked for this.”
And then I hissed.
“FUCKKK!!” Amelia howled and arched like a crazed madwoman, like she was being broken in half. Her thighs slammed against my head so tightly, that had I been a normal person, I’d have gotten disoriented. Amelia spasmed, her hands all over the bed, her mouth open and screaming like a thousand ants had bitten her in her pussy all at once. She threw her head back and kept raining her fists upon the bed, howling at the top of her lungs as her orgasm hit her. Her cunt quivered and suddenly, my mouth was inundated with a hot stream of her cum. It kept squirting into my open mouth, wave after wave of it filling through, leaking past my lips, and falling on the bedspread. I gulped it all down, the insides of my mouth was now awash with her hot sex-juice, coating my cheeks, my teeth, and infusing her flavour onto my tongue. And I couldn’t describe it as anything but like an aphrodisiac.
My cock throbbed.
Her thighs were trapping my head, holding it in place as she rode out her orgasm. Her arse was bouncing off the bed as she kept flexing her cunt, trying to squirt out all her cum out of her sweet, divine cunt. Finally her body relaxed and her arse fell to the bed as her orgasm dissipated, her squirting reduced to a mere dripping. She spread her legs and allowed me to escape. I pulled away to catch my breath, her juices dripping off from my mouth.
“Uh! Uh! Uh!” she groaned, still gasping. “That — that was something. Wasn’t it? I — I — oh fuck! I almost forgot. You’re a Parsel— uh! — Parselmouth!” Her legs kept shaking as she laid bare before me, her breasts moving up and down with her heavy breaths, a sheen of sweat covering her entire naked form. And then, she flipped her body around, lying on her breasts, and spread her legs again, lewdly displaying her pussy and arsehole to me.
I grabbed her arse, and drove my hips into her, trying to enter her pussy, but it didn’t want to give. I didn’t know if this was some kind of self-reinforcement magic, but her pussy was just not giving in. I pushed harder, trying to drive the throbbing tip into her cunt. Her puffy lips spread slightly around the tip, but it was still not allowing entrance. I might as well shove a beater’s bat through a pinhole.
“C’mon Harry!” She cackled. “Do it! Fuck me! Tear that mature pussy. Show it no mercy! Give me everything you’ve got! Unless, you’re afraid your cock might break?”
My blood boiled, and I scowled. She wanted the beast. Fine! She’d get it.
I reared back and drove into her as hard as I could, with no mercy or regard for any discomfort. And finally, the lips yielded and wrapped around my full, mushroom tip.
“Ugh!” she moaned.
Now that the hard part was over, I reared back and drove into her a third time, and this time, it was super effective. I was able to drive at least half of my cock into her eager, grasping cunt.
Amelia spasmed.
By God, it was unbelievably tight. Like I was trying to drill into a forty-year-old virgin pussy. Her cunt squeezed my cock from every angle. It was smothering me in pleasure, doing things to me that I couldn’t put in words. It was like quicksand, wet and velvety, and pulling me deeper with every move. Her cunt wanted more, and I was happy to oblige.
I pushed deeper, and by now, it was almost all the way in. Amelia squealed, as I grit my teeth and reared back one final time, and then pushed the entire thing into her pussy.
“FUCK!” Amelia screamed, feeling her cunt filled to the brim with my dick. I could feel her cervix at the spongy tip of my cock. A shiver ran down my spine as I clenched my arse, to prevent myself from cumming inside her right away. This was to be a marathon, and the race had only just begun.
“Just stay right there, baby!” Amelia groaned. “Give me a moment to adjust. My pussy hasn’t had something that thick ever.”
Her eyes were closed, and for a moment, I wondered if it was already over. Had my cock been too much for her? I remembered how the last time we had fucked in her office, Amelia had asked me not to fuck her that hard every day. Was that her limit? Had Devil’s Charm already ended the game before Amelia even had a chance?
I never noticed how Amelia pushed one hand back until she reached for my neck. And then, she gripped it hard and pulled me forward, until I was lying over her, my cock fully lodged up into her pussy. She twisted her neck and kissed me in the mouth, our lips tasting the violent mix of our individual juices, our tongues mashing again. My cock tingled in her pussy as Amelia slipped her body around like an eel, and before I knew it, she was straddling me, her pussy clenching my cock as she stared down at me and smiled arrogantly.
I grabbed her hip. “Why the act?”
“I was letting you have your fun, darling. But make no mistake, it is I that only ever is on top.” She said, looking down at me wickedly, her humongous breasts hanging down above my face. She looked down at her abdomen, where both of us were conjoined, her juices leaking down upon my cock. “I’ll say this, you’re impressive. That cock, and that parselmouth ability of yours is formidable, and that is why, I can’t risk you going anywhere. Harry. I’ll take permanent ownership of your cock, starting tonight. Say hello to your new mistress.”
And then the barrage began.
Notes:
If you want to support me, find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Next Update is on 10th September.
Chapter 67: Showdown Part 2
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 2 - HOUSE OF BONES
Amelia ground into the base of my dick, swivelling her tight cunt around me, before she lifted herself smoothly, my cock appearing from her overstuffed cunt, coated in her juices. She rose up to the tip, let her arse hang in the air for just a moment, before she drove herself into me. Her arse smacked into my thighs as she drove herself down the full length of my meat.
Smack!
I groaned, the feeling of her squeezing cunt sliding down my cock was an inexplicable pleasure. But Amelia didn’t care for me. She just picked on speed.
Smack!
Smack!
Smack! Smack! Smack!
Amelia was bouncing on my turgid, pulsing weapon. She was holding the headboard as leverage as she drove herself into me firmly, her body slamming into mine as she fucked me. Her breasts bounced and jiggled with each motion, her nipples dancing in the air. And she just kept driving into me, again and again, relentless.
“You like that?” She panted. You like that, you sick fuck? You see how impotent you are against this tight cunt?” Her hands left the headboard and she gripped my shoulders and loomed over me, her cunt squelching down my cock at an agonisingly slow rate. “Look at you! Lying down like that! A fucking pussy! Just taking it as I fuck you. This is your reality now, Potter. Your father left me for that bitch, and now this bitch will own his son. You’ll be my fuckstick. Admit it! Harry Potter! Fucking admit it!”
I scowled at her screams. Her behaviour reminded me of Narcissa. That crazed, sex-starved bitch suffered from a massive inferiority complex. It was why despite having a buxom figure and breasts to die for, she had chosen to inject herself with veela blood. Marrying Lucius had given her nothing but sexual starvation, and none of the fuckers at Twilfitt and Tattings had been remotely good enough for her.
And then she found me. The one person that could save her from her prolonged suffering and grant her the pleasure, the validation and the vindication she sought all her life.
It was why she was having me kill her husband, and unless I was very wrong, it would end up with me gaining a hundred percent anchorage from her.
Amelia was the exact opposite. She had used Occlumency to develop a superiority complex as a way to cut out the agony. She had convinced herself that no man out there was good enough for her, and had moulded her body to become the epitome of sexual appeal. Unlike Narcissa who found zero validation from Lucius, Amelia had been bound away by the power of magical contracts. And she had grown despite it, becoming the most powerful woman in the country. Unlike Narcissa who was vindicated by my acceptance, Amelia would need to be tamed by me dominating her in bed.
I would literally need to fuck the superiority out of her.
I reached up and grabbed her boobs, and squeezed them firmly, before slapping them tight, seeing them jiggle around. Amelia flinched at the sudden hit but said nothing.
“Admit what?” I asked. “That you’re already at your wit’s end? That you’ve already offered everything this body can offer, and come out pulling the short end of the stick?”
I smirked at her, pleased at the growing scowl on her face. “Give up, Amelia. If that’s your best, just give up. I’ll date Susan and marry her. You can stay as the Potter Regent. Who knows? Maybe I’ll give you a mercy fuck if you’re beg hard enough.”
Just as expected, her eyes flashed with anger, and she somehow began to ride me faster, slamming herself into me roughly. Neither of us wanted to admit how good the sex was, or how good the other was at pleasuring them. That would be considered a loss, as if admitting to the pleasure was admittance that the other was doing a better job at sex than they were. We were both trying to stay in control. Had this been any other fuck, we’d have been moaning like crazy. Instead, we were insulting the other and doing our best to not cum, hoping to break the other’s resolve first.
And what a resolve it was. I was never into boasting, but at that moment, I wanted to proclaim how outfucking her would send her world anchor shooting sky-high, granting me at least one major perk in the process. She was no veela, but she had given me the most mind-blowing, earth-shattering sex I had ever had, and how every other woman I had bedded in my life paled before her. She had set the bar so fucking high that I doubted any other woman would rise up to the challenge. This bitch was threatening to make sex with others a taxing activity, one doing purely for sustenance, and keeping my existing anchors up and gaining new ones. It was possible that Amelia’s body would become the sole definition for my pleasure.
“Tell me!” She panted. “Tell me I’m the best you ever had! Tell me that no woman can stand up to me!”
I gritted my teeth.
“Tell me that no one deserves to be your wife! Be your Lady Potter!”
She was speaking the truth. Not even Narcissa came remotely close to this. We were in agreement. If there was to be a Lady Potter, Amelia Bones was on the top of the list.
But I didn’t say it out loud.
Why? Because this nifty little perk called Defiant.
A perk that was a manifestation of my rebelliousness. Of my mental fortitude. Of my ego that made me stand against the abyss and yell no. It was made of the determination that kept me laughing and laughing spitefully, while those shadows severed my arms and legs and flung me into a mud coffin, and were burying me alive. I was dying, but even then I did not stop laughing, just to see the frustration on their faces. They might have torn me in half, might have buried me alive, but I am damn sure that they didn’t get any satisfaction from that act. Even to their final days, they’d be haunted by the sounds of my laughter from within the grave.
The Defiant perk did not grant me any skill or affinity towards any magic. It did not grant me Occlumency defences or strengthened my magic. It only reinforced my ego, and gave me the power to withstand mental coercion, especially when it was magically reinforced. It wouldn’t do jackshit against someone perusing through my mind through Legilimency, but it offered an excellent wall of support against compulsion or the Imperius curse.
And what was veritaserum, if not psychic compulsion to speak the truth?
I grabbed her neck with my right hand and pulled her down at me. Before she could fight back, my other hand went around her neck and gripped her hair, and I yanked her downward, flipping until I was above her, keeping my dick still within her as I fucked her. She grabbed my hips and attempted to push me to the side, but the passive power of the Natural Demon was a little too much for her to overcome. That didn’t stop her from wrestling for control, pushing and pulling and trying to use my own strength against me. And then I grabbed her wrists and shoved them above her head, holding them tightly in my grasp.
Smack!
Her face practically vibrated by the force of my slap on her right cheek. I swept my hand back and smacked her on the other cheek, and then again, and again and again. My slaps left tinges of crimson on her skin, while she stared daggers at me, as if trying to burn me with her eyes. Given she was one of the most powerful witches in the country, I wondered if that was on the table. Immolation wasn’t something I had planned against when offering this wager.
“Give up!” I yelled. “Give up before I lose control! Give up before it’s too late.”
“Give up?” Amelia sneered. “You want me to give up?”
And then she spat at me.
I saw red.
I let her hands go, and grabbed her hips and flipped her around. Amelia kicked and threw her arms around but I slapped them away with extreme prejudice. The time for softness and mercy was gone. All those chances that I gave her to resolve the matter without resorting to this outcome were over.
I pulled her downward, until I was standing between her legs, my cock aimed at her puckered hole, while she lay spreadeagled before me. I grabbed her hair and pulled her back, Amelia wincing and yelling slurs at me, but I paid her no mind.
“You wanted the incubus to fuck you, right?” I hissed into her ear. With my other hand, I smacked her nipples, making her scream again “You wanted the incubus so bad? You have it.”
And I let go.
I didn’t care about lubrication. I didn’t care that this was the first time in two decades that she had anyone do anything to her arsehole. I smirked as Amelia let out a strangled squeak that was drowned by the sound of her arse slamming against my thighs. That was the only sound I could make before I started pumping into it without any mercy and used it like a tool for wringing my load out of my balls.
“Give it up, Amelia! Give that arse up to me!” I demanded. I kept pushing, trying to bury my cock into her even harder. “Let me reshape your arsehole.”
Spank! Spank! Spank!
I slapped her arse thoroughly, her defiance fueling my rage. How dare she stand against this? How dare she stay this long without submitting to my inner devil?
“I LOVE IT!” she said, drool rolling off her mouth. With me holding her by her hair, she had put her hands down, as I fucked her arse doggy-style. “I love you spanking my arse! I love your cock reshaping my hole! Don’t ever stop! Don’t ever stop! I want you to keep buggering me every day!”
“Oh yeah?” I questioned, spanking her round arse cheeks again. “Sounds like you’re giving in, Amelia.”
Her expression hardened again, as if my words had triggered something within her.
“Fuck you!” She spat out, her gorgeous, fucked face twisted in venomous disdain as she looked in my direction.
“I will fucking own this arse! I’ll make it my damn property!” I growled, and with that, I pushed the entire length of my cock into her puckered hole. I held it like that for an entire second, before pulling it out and then shoving it back with prejudice.
And again.
And again.
Every single thrust sent waves into her body, forcing her forward, my grip on her hair sending flares of agony in her skull. I reared back and thrust, hilting my cock all the way, and then back again. I wasn’t being tentative. I was taking what was mine. I was forceful, and that was why arse gave in faster than her cunt did.
“FFFFUCK!” Amelia screamed out as her arse stretched further and further. “Merlin! I needed this! Give me MORE! GUH!”
“Admit it!” I said. “Admit that I’ve outfucked you. Admit it that you lost. Admit it that my cock has you tamed!”
“Ugh! Yes! Do your best to tame this bitch! Yes! Please!” she panted, her voice almost a whine as she struggled to maintain her composure through the pleasure I was giving her. “You! Ugh! Feel how my arse is clenching your cock, Harry? Little virgins like Susan would probably faint even at the idea of your cock in their arsehole. She’ll have you doing missionary for the rest of your life.”
Spank! Spank! Spank!
“Gooo Www! Merlin!” She moaned, her arse tightening in pleasure around me. I slapped her full arse-cheeks a few times in anger.
“STOP! TALKING! ABOUT SUSAN! THAT WAY!”
“Ugh! Face it, Harry! You love it when I trash-talk about Susan. You can pretend all you want, but deep down, you love it! You want a woman that can dominate! One with whom sex isn’t just about pleasure, it’s about dominance. About conquest. About facing someone powerful and bringing them beneath you until you have them under your power. Tell me! Tell me! Tell me that you’ve had sex better than this before! Tell me that those school-going sluts can give you what we’ve had in the last thirty minutes! Tell me that trying to dominate me over and over has not gotten your dick harder than any of those virgin pussies ever did. Tell me!”
Her words hit me like missiles, and I let go of her hair. Amelia fell face-first upon the bed and turned her face to look at me, her face victorious. “You might try to hide it all you want, Harry. But you know you love it! I can feel how hard it gets you.”
She purposely clenched her arsehole around me. I reared and grabbed her shoulders back.
“SHUT! UP!”
I thrust and thrust and thrust and Amelia kept screaming and fucking me back.
“UGH! MERLIN! DAMNIT! UGH! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!”
“I hate you!” I hissed. “I hate you for what you’re making me do! I hate you for what I’m about to do!”
“Yes! Yes! Tell me how much you hate me! Tell me how much you like fucking me!”
“I fucking! I fucking love it! Yes! You’re the best fuck I’ve ever had!” I admitted. “You’re better than Narcissa, better than Hestia. Better than the Abbotts together, damn it! The best goddamn fuck I’ve ever had! You’re the sexiest woman I’ve ever laid eyes on! I fucking love your face! I fucking your cunt and your arse! And I fucking love your juicy tits. You turn me on more than anyone ever has!”
“Ugh! I’m gonna cum!” Amelia groaned out, my inner turmoil a huge turn-on for her, apparently as her tight arse clung to my throbbing cock. “Ugh! I love it! More! Tell me more!”
I tried to restrain myself, but between the veritaserum and Devil’s Charm, control didn’t feel that easy. “I — I want to fucking break you! I want to give you the best sex you’ve ever had and then fucking walk away! That’ll be my revenge! I want to watch you screaming, knowing you’ll never get this pleasure again!”
“I’m gonna cum!!” Amelia screamed out. I kept pile-driving my dick into her, not slowing down. I reached forward, and grabbed the back of her head roughly, pushing her face into the mattress, grinding her face into the bed as she screamed and moaned.
“I — I want to see you fucking suffer! After all those insults, I — I want to see you beg me to get you to cum! I want to walk away and laugh as you ruin yourself and give me every single thing you have just in hope that I’ll make you cum!”
“Ugh! You horrible horrible —”
Smack!
“I’M NOT FINISHED!” I snarled, smacking her again. I fucked her savagely, treating her like a whore, gripping her by the scalp and rubbing her face into the bed arrogantly, her high-pitched squealing muffled. Amelia writhed under me as she came yet again, her arsehole jerking around me, squeezing my cock, trying to make me cum. But it wouldn't happen. Not this way.
“I — I’d want all of that! But I can’t! I just fucking CAN’T!”
“Why?” She screamed.
“Because you’re so damn likeable!” I snapped at her, pulling back from her arse, and honestly, Amelia paused her moans and blinked, fumbling slightly. “You’re ruthless, and the way you treat Susan only makes me hate you! You don’t bend down like a whore, and are doing every damn thing to dominate me! Ugh! And despite it all, I just can’t fucking dislike you!”
“You,” Amelia began, before her smile turned rapturous. It was the only warning I got before she suddenly pushed herself back up, and flipped herself back up, sitting on her back. She spread her legs, showing me her dripping pussy as she met my gaze.
“You really know how to charm a girl!”
The Devil’s Charm had been steadily rising within me, its influence corrupting my thoughts from the very moment I had activated it. And if I didn’t put an end to it, things would sprawl out of control.
“End it!” I whispered. “End this madness right now! Or you’re not gonna like what’s coming next!”
“Ugh! Merlin!” said Amelia, grinning. “I loved fucking you too. We should keep doing this! Give up, and become my boy toy, Harry.”
“DAMN IT, AMELIA! JUST FUCKING GIVE UP!” I grunted savagely, yanking her chin up. “It’s over! Tell me it’s over!”
“It’s! Not! Over!” She gasped, steeling herself despite my manhandling her. “You will never beat me!”
My lips twisted into a scowl, and I drove my cock into her cunt, and gave her nipples another firm twist.
“Ahh! Fuck!” She screamed and jolted with energy, writhing violently under me, her feet kicking the bed repeatedly, as an orgasm hit her. It went on for a bit, with Amelia cursing and moaning throughout her orgasm, until finally she came down from her high, and spread over the bed, gasping for breath.
That’s when I knew. This wouldn’t stop. Amelia wouldn’t give up. Quitting was alien to her thought process. This was a woman that survived through two decades of orgasm denial. She’d die but not give up.
I knew what I had to do.
I grabbed her chin and lowered my face down to hers. And then, I licked her cheek, my tongue sweeping all over her sweaty nose and lips, only to wind downwards to her chin and her neck. From there, I moved all the way until I was sucking on her right earlobe.
“You’re right, Amelia,” I whispered into her ear, as she shivered. “I see it. You won’t give up! You probably don’t even know how to give up! So I have to take away the choice from you!”
“How?” She gasped. “By begging me to cum?”
I smiled. “Tell me, did you think that Parseltongue was the only secret weapon I had in my arsenal? Think again.”
I looked into her eyes and saw laconic defiance in them.
“I’m afraid the game was rigged against you from the very start.”
And I used the second power of the Devil’s Charm.
One moment I was there, straddling and looming over her, my cock throbbing inside her pussy. The next moment, an ethereal wave of power exuded out of me. I felt her whole body thrum in response to that power, to my presence, my proximity, my… everything. That smile on my face conveyed something to her in a flashing instant — Amelia moaning in ecstasy, beneath me, looking at me with that lovely face mindless with sensation. And with that image came a hundred and thousand others, each of them a single captured moment, the kind of moments that are the only one to survive a frenzied dream, frozen and layered atop one another, each of them a promise, a prediction, and every one of them aimed right at the most base, the most primitive parts of her brain. It wasn’t just limited to visual imagery. Each layer of the flash had its own round of sensual memory, every one of them only partial but intense — touch, taste, scent, sound and vision — dozens and dozens of dreams and fantasies, each of them being their own moment of absolute ecstasy, a memory that was just as real as reality itself, all of them compressed into that one instant of dark inspiration.
That was what I hurled at Amelia.
The reaction was just as priceless.
One moment we were matching gazes, the next moment, her eyes widened to saucers as hundreds of individual moments of ecstasy and sexual gratification hit her in a single strike. She arched her back, her mouth opening but no sound coming out of it. Her hands fell limplessly to the sides and as her pussy quivered for a second and then —
“FUUUCCCKKK!” Amelia screamed her lungs out as she exploded, “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! I’m cumming! I’m cumming! Yes!”
Her hands clawed the bedsheets, clawed my arms, bruising, even drawing blood. She wanted to get up, she wanted to get away, she wanted to push me away and pull me deeper. She wanted to coil her legs around me and wanted to push me out of the window. She wanted to scream and she wanted to cry and do a million different things. Her back arched up, pressing her sweaty breasts into my chest as she screamed and screamed. Tears ran down her cheeks and her mouth frothed with spit. Her eyes were wide as saucers and her lips were stretching to an extreme as she screamed and screamed. Her pussy had become tighter than a Gringotts vault, locking my cock within it, while her cunt juices squirted from deep within her, coating my balls, my crotch and the bedspread under us.
I wanted to cum inside her. I wanted to fill her with my thick, creamy cum. My cock and my balls were screaming for release, screaming for me to give in, to allow myself this pleasure. The Devil’s charm had done the trick and it wanted me to indulge myself, let it loose and relieve the pressure within, empty my sack into her. It wanted me to act on those devilish feelings. To fill her pussy with my cum, to fill her to the brim and get her pregnant.
My mind protested, the Defiant perk shouting incessantly in the back of my mind, telling me to fight against it. But I couldn’t. The Devil’s Charm was an upgraded perk, formed of Femme Fatale and Pheromone, and belonged to someone that could rule the world through the power of filthy, nasty sex. My mind was silenced, my rationality stampeded out at the moment, my screaming conscience silenced, as the devil in me now dictated my actions. And that devil craved filth. It craved me to breed this fine specimen of feminine sex. It craved to put a baby in Amelia’s belly.
‘Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Ugh! Oh! Fuck! ” Amelia squealed, her juices continuing to squirt from her violently.
As she wailed in pleasure as loudly as she could, her walls shook, and I tried my best to survive her orgasm, trying very hard to keep myself from giving in as her pussy squeezed my cock like a clenched fist.
“FUCK! FUCK! UGH!!”
Her cunt kept gripping me, tighter and tighter, wrapping around my cock like elastic, trying to pull every bit of cum from within my balls. It pulled me deeper and deeper, letting her juices coat my shaft. I grit my teeth and tensed all my muscles, doing everything to resist the devil within me and the demoness beneath me. The pleasure was too much to take. I was getting closer to cuming. Closer and closer and closer until it reached a crescendo and —
“CUM IN ME!” Amelia yelled. “BREED YOUR BITCH!”
And I lost it.
“UGh! Fuckkk!” I grunted, my body heaving upwards as cum burst out from my cock.
“Yes! Oh yes!” Amelia screeched like a banshee. “I can feel it! It’s so fucking good! Your cum! In me!”
But I wasn’t listening. I was gone too far into the abyss. The Devil was in charge now. And the Devil wanted to breed this magnificent woman. I squeezed her tits and despite me cumming into her right that moment, it didn’t stop me from drilling my cock into her. I pulled back and shoved back in and in, deeper and deeper, hilting myself into Amelia every single time.
“Yes! Yes! You’re cumming in me! You’re CUMMING IN ME!”
“Yes! Yes I am!” I gasped, and drove into her with a final push, firing all my jizz into her. Her cunt was still gripping me hard, sucking everything like a black hole. It was insanity, it would have serious repercussions, but the Devil did not care. Neither did she. Finally after riding wave after wave of pleasure, me and Amelia both collapsed at the same time, with me above her, her breasts in my palms and her cunt sucking my cock. As it should be.
With Herculean effort, I pulled myself up, and looked at her face, our bodies sticky with sweat and cum and mashed up against each other.
“Well?” I breathed. “Are you ready to accept defeat yet?”
“Ugh! No — I can’t give up!” She groaned, her voice weakened from the strenuous activity, each gasp and pant lacking its harsh edge, now sounding soft and feminine. She was at her worst, barely hanging to the last shred of consciousness by nothing save her stubborn will. “I can’t — Just give me a minute, I’ll— I’ll be —”
“My sex slave, my cum slut, my whore,” I muttered. “Face it woman, it is over. Do you know why?”
“No — wait, don’t I—”
And then I twisted her right nipple.
“Pleaseughhhh! Fuck! I’m CUMMING!” She yelled, her cunt erupting again. I pushed my fingers downward, flicking her pussy, touching her arse, and just casually maintaining physical contact with her orgasming form.
It was a terrifying power, the Devil’s Charm. When used at full strength, it cast an effect that the Screen called The Throes of Ecstasy. In it, the victim’s mind would be bombarded with hundreds of psychic projections, augmented with sensations of all five senses, making it more real than real could be. In effect, it was like having a hundred different orgasms with all of them triggering all at once. The victim would lose all sense of rationality and control and endlessly orgasm until there was practically nothing left. What was worse, the victim’s magic forced her to constantly cum until it could expunge the psychic attack out of its system. And because this attack was directly injected into one’s body — through my cock into her cunt — it bypassed any and all Occlumency in the process.
And when I touched her again, it acted as a stimulus for one of the thousands of psychic memories I had injected her with. Her body reacted instantly, and led her through another mind-shattering orgasm.
I hadn’t been fibbing. The moment I used the Throes of Ecstasy on her, the battle was over. Amelia had lost. No, it was like she never had a chance in the first place. She just didn’t know that bit. She had wanted me to unleash everything I had got, and come at her. And now she had seen the result.
As she so perfectly put it, one must be careful what they wished for.
“Admit it, Amelia,” I murmured softly. “I am your better. Your master. I fucking own you now.”
Amelia looked at me through slanted eyes. Her mouth was open, but no words were coming out. I noticed her lips were moving, as if she were speaking. I slid down and moved my ear to her mouth, and I heard, barely audible, her voice, repeating the same phrase over and over again.
“I can feel it! I can feel it! I can feel it!
I shivered and my eyes widened. I had done it.
I had done it!
“SCREAM IT!” I yelled, grabbing her chin. “SCREAM IT OUT LOUD! BITCH! SCREAM IT FOR THE WORLD TO HEAR!”
“I CAN FEEL YOUR CUM IN ME OH MY GOD!” Amelia wept, tears streaming down her face. “It’s in me! It’s in ME! Nobody ever fucked me like this! Nobody ever fucked me like this! Nobody ever fucked me like this!”
She was crying. Moaning. Grunting. Spasming. All of it and more. Every single touch returned the Throes of Ecstasy upon her, making her spasm and cum like nothing else. Her pussy was spitting out spurts of cum all over the bed. For a woman that had been deprived of physical pleasure for two decades, it was like receiving all of it at once. Her eyes had rolled to the back of her head, and she just stared blankly at the ceiling, her mouth open.
I slapped her face. “Say it. Say it, damn it. Who’s your master?”
“YOU!” She wailed. “You’re my Master! You’re my Master! You’re my OHFUCKICAN’TBEARITANYMOREFUCK! YOU’RE MY MASTER! YOU OWN ME! I AM YOUR FUCKING SLAVE JUST STOP ME FROM CUMMING! I CAN’T BEAR IT ANYMORE!”
“Tell me I broke you! Tell me I fucking outfucked you!”
“You broke me!” She croaked. Or cried. It was difficult to say. “You broke me! You outfucked me! You made me your cock sleeve!”
As I heard those words, I pulled my cock out of her pussy,and let her lie on the bed, utterly spent and wasted. A shiver ran down my spine. Was it over? Had I conquered Amelia completely?
The answer came in the form of a notification.
World Anchor Amelia Bones has gone up to 100%
World Anchor Sealed!
+10 Meta-Luck Points Added as Bonus!
Current World Anchor Analysis
World Anchor — 533
Required World Anchor - 35
Meta-Luck — 51.1
I could have screamed in joy! Yes! I had done it! Amelia Bones, the mean bitch of the DMLE was now mine! At a hundred percent anchorage, she was mine! Hitting a solid anchor had transformed Hermione from a shy girl, afraid of the creature within, to a horny, exuberant, feral whore that had acknowledged her inner monster. Hestia Jones, the Order’s spy, had transformed into a double imposter that was now ensnaring Tonks, another Order member and her best friend, into becoming my bitch. And now, Amelia, already in my clutches thanks to the contract, was now mine to mould as I desired.
Gained Affinities from World Anchor — Amelia Bones
Runecraft +10%
Transfiguration +17%
Psychomancy +31%
Magical Sensing +19%
At 100% World Anchorage, you've gained a Perk!
For hitting 500 World Anchorage, you’ve gained a Coupon!
For hitting 3 Sealed Anchors, you’ve gained a Coupon!
My eyes practically bulged out. Coupon? What the fuck were these? I needed to know, but at the same time, this wasn’t the time to react. I could do that in my private time. I could —
“Harry!”
Amelia’s words attracted my attention, and she looked into my eyes. There was still a bit of fire in them, and for a moment, I wondered if she was about to put up one final defence. Her solid anchorage would not make her absolutely subservient by any means, so there was always a chance of a nasty surprise.
Amelia looked at me with a satisfied smile. “You outfucked me. And now, if you want to marry Susan, you have my blessing. I’ll be the Potter Regent just as you wish, unless… you don’t want that?”
“No,” I said, grinning. “I do. I told you, Amelia. I’d win. You shouldn’t have asked me to use my incubus powers.”
“On the contrary, I’m glad you used them. It gave me a far better idea of what you’re capable of, Harry. But apart from that, who said anything about you winning?”
I narrowed my eyes. “Amelia —”
“Yes, you outfucked me, and you won the wager. But I sincerely doubt victory is truly yours.”
I clenched my fists. “What do you mean?”
Amelia didn’t respond. Instead she slowly pushed herself to the edge of her bed, and grabbed her wand. She must have been really exhausted if even summoning her wand back was beyond her at this moment. And then she raised the wand at the wall behind me and said—
“Finite Incantatem!”
I whirled around, my eyes all but popping out, as Susan appeared, seated on a chair, her hands tied behind her back. I watched the ropes slowly fall off and disappear, as Susan, shaking and tearful and wet, stood up, her dark eyes staring at me, horror filling in them.
“I told you,” said Amelia calmly. “I still had one last lesson to teach her, didn’t I? And now she’s seen you at your worst. If she can accept this avatar of you, you have my consent for marriage. The question is, will she?”
Notes:
If you want to support me, find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Next Update is on 15th September.
Chapter 68: Know Your Place
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 2 - HOUSE OF BONES
She and Harry had just had sex.
Earth-shattering, mind-boggling, loin-stirring, sweaty, dirty, filthy sex.
Amelia never thought it would get to this point. Harry was just a young man. What did he really know about sex? Incubus or not, banging slutty teenagers wasn’t exactly difficult. She had spent twenty years honing her body, perfecting her mind and spirit in search of that one elusive, explosive moment of pleasure. That world-breaking, soul-shaking orgasm. She wasn’t about to let some young dickhead saunter into HER bedroom and act like he owned the place. She wasn’t about to be conquered by a mere boy. The thought was laughable. Yes, circumstances ensured that he was the only guy that could fuck her, but that didn’t mean he could actually handle a body like her. As if, after years of patient wait, the young stud capable of giving her that elusive pleasure would be none other than James’s son. Yes, he had an impressive cock and an equally impressive stamina, but she hadn’t seen any art in his technique when he had first fucked her in her office. Plus, she had been reeling from her first-ever orgasm in twenty years to criticise the one dick that gave it to her in the first place. Still, Amelia had her doubts whether he’d actually be able to make her cum without her voluntary submission. Her mind was a masterpiece — a psychic oubliette of interlocking mind streams and unparalleled defences. To break through that was a near impossible task, and Amelia didn’t think that anyone, let alone James’ son had the nerve or the talent to get the job done, to give her that one good fucking orgasm.
But she was wrong.
By Morgana’s lacy bra, she was dead wrong.
Harry didn’t make her cum once. He made her cum thirty-one times.
Amelia had no idea if her orgasm count was even close to accurate. She had lost count, because she was too busy seeing stars. What felt like a dozen world-shaking, pussy-creaming, body-quaking orgasms roared through her body during the first few spars. He worked her body like a maestro, playing her like an instrument, his mighty cock pulling orgasm after orgasm after orgasm from her body as if it was his sole purpose, as if he was built solely as a tool to help her cum. His cock was the key she needed to unlock the untapped vault of orgasms she had been saving for the last twenty years.
The best thing was that he knew that he could handle her. Deep down, he knew he had her number. Merlin, Amelia loved arrogance in a guy, especially when he could back it up. And he did back it up. She had seen men older, stronger and powerful than him falter when facing the DMLE Director for ten minutes. Harry? He had the nerve to tell her that he’d be done in ten, but she’d need far, far more to digest his presentation.
And he had. To be candid, Amelia had gone out of her way to cut down every single proposal he had offered. She had ruthlessly discarded every single one of his arguments and thrown them at his face. She had watched him constantly pull off newer and newer alternatives, using her own situations and limitations exquisitely to his advantage. If he was any better, he’d sell water to a well.
If not for her Occlumency, she’d have orgasmed right then and there.
And he kept doing that. Over and over. She had challenged his business acumen, and he had shown her that he knew his shit. He tried very hard to hide it, but Amelia was certain that the notes on the files were of his own making. How a third-year pass out at Hogwarts had developed such acumen was a mystery in itself, but Amelia hadn’t pried any further into it.
Plus, she was having too much fun trying to decipher it herself.
The spellcasting practice had been another example. Harry had claimed that a good student doesn’t need to be a good scorer. A simple statement by all means, but there was nothing simple about the person who had said it. He might not even have known it, but he had her hooked. Every facet of his identity had its own mystery, and the total was greater than the sum of its parts.
Amelia had witnessed his performance, and she had been wowed.
His third performance had left her utterly conflicted. The way in which he had seen through her, had disarmed her with his words, Amelia might as well have been naked before his insightful gaze. Was it any surprise that her clothes had followed suit? He had backed up his arrogance, and Amelia was happy to back her arse onto that fat cock of his. The things he did to her body, her long legs, her round arse, her big tits… the way he controlled her, first in the tub, then during dinner and then on her worktable, the way he pounded her in bed, the way he handled her… the thought of it was enough to make her cum all over again.
She had told Harry that if he beat her, if he conquered her in bed, then she’d step aside. And he did. Amelia wasn’t afraid to admit that Harry had conquered her. She had no idea what he was truly capable of. What he could do in the bedroom. She didn’t know how a guy his age could fuck a woman so completely, but he did. The parseltongue was a nice touch, and that power he used in the end…. Amelia shuddered. Not only was he better than her at sex, he was a lot better. As she had told him during the sex, his cock was a weapon designed to tame sluts. And he had tamed her, the biggest slut of all. Harry’s slut. Where did this talent come from?
How by Morgana was he an incubus?
Harry didn’t know this, but he hadn’t gotten Amelia naked and in his arms just because of the contract. Sure, at first, she had told herself that she didn’t really want this, that they were having sex simply because he ticked all the checkboxes of the contract. But even then, she knew that he was fucking hot. She didn’t really want to admit it, but she had a thing for younger men. And when they got rolling in the bathtub, she couldn’t help but assess him sexually.
Younger? Absolutely. Was he a stud? Clearly. Was he hot and sexy? Obviously. Quidditch player? Yes. Arrogant? Fuck yes. And most importantly, was he hung? Mmmm, absolutely yes. Harry was a cocky son of a bitch, and she was being quite literal here, for Lily was a bitch in every sense of the term, but Harry’s ego transcended James by a magnitude. That type of guy made her wet. He had what it took. He was her match. Despite her earlier thoughts to the contrary, the forces of fate bringing them together were too strong to counter. The battle of sex was quite simply, inevitable.
That’s why she enjoyed the game. Deep down, Amelia knew how this would end. He had a great cock, and a greater stamina, and most importantly, he knew how to use his tool. Amelia could have been happy with keeping him her dirty secret under secrecy vows, but she was too deep into the game, and she wanted it all.
Just being with him opened the doors in her mind, the doors that she had sealed away with her Occlumency. Politics, power, skill, defiance, spirit and sex — he had her defeated on all fronts. She hadn’t even realised just when she had stopped seeing him as a sink for her physical pleasures, to a partner, someone that was her equal if not surpassed her. She thought she knew him, but she had seen a side of him that she didn’t know he had. She had seen a monster inside him, a sex-crazed beast, and even though he was still Harry Potter, it scared her a bit. Not that she was fearful of him or anything like that, but it was at that point that she realised she didn’t know him at all. He was something that she had never encountered. Letting him have his way in the bath had felt like the end to all her penance. Little did she know that he wasn’t her reward, but her judge, one who’d test her penance and sentence her future over it. Amelia was afraid, afraid that she really couldn’t handle him.
Truth be told, even Harry looked shaken from the encounter. He hadn’t been lying about the Incubus powers. He had warned her, over and over again. Hell, he had practically begged her to accept defeat, and warned her against the maelstrom ahead. But she had been too arrogant in her own power, too stubborn to accept that his power was a force beyond her ability to control. Harry had even looked a bit lost and unsure near the end.
And then he had brought in the demon within.
And it had ravaged her whole.
That uncertainty, that lack of control in his eyes…. Amelia had hated it. Despised it. This was a sex god, and such uncertainty in his eyes was practically an anathema. It was then that Amelia realised that Harry needed her more than he needed anyone else. She knew what she needed to do, even if he hated and despised her for it.
“Yes, you outfucked me,” she told him. “And you won the wager. But I sincerely doubt victory is yours.”
The rage that kindled in his eyes made her melt.
“What do you mean?” he demanded.
Amelia hadn’t responded. Instead she pushed herself up to the edge of the bed. He had fucked her so hard, she had orgasmed so many times that even the simplest of wandless magics was beyond her at the moment. After what transpired, she needed at least a day or two to be able to walk normally. With great effort, she pulled the wand off the table and pointed it at the wall behind him, where her last card, her ace in the hole, was sitting on a chair, incapacitated and silenced.
Her dear little poppet.
“Finite Incantatem!”
The shock in his eyes felt like an aphrodisiac to her.
She hadn’t really lied to him when she said that she had one final lesson to teach Susan. Susan had played her card a little too soon, and become vulnerable as a result. She thought that her position as the Lady of the House would make Amelia play ball. Silly girl! Amelia Bones was the ringmaster, but the tiger in the cage. She was proud of Susan for a lot of things, but this? This was insulting. Amelia had spent two entire days flaunting her body and her sexuality in front of Susan, and driven her to tears. But she knew her well. Susan would not give up, she’d keep coming until Amelia taught her exactly who was the Queen bitch.
In a way, it hurt her to hurt Susan like this. But she had to be shown. She needed to know exactly what Harry was, and what he was made of. In the same vein, Harry had to be shown that without the mantle of the Lady Bones, Susan was nothing. Really, if he seriously thought that she’d give up that big dick after that transcendent, world-shaking encounter, he was a bigger fool than she thought.
Harry would be wasted on a girl like Susan. She was too limited, too unsexy to ever be a good match for him. Harry being married to her would be like Picasso painting your bathroom. He had too much raw talent to just throw it away like that. It was Amelia’s duty, as his well-wisher, and unless things had changed, the new Potter Regent, to make sure that the Lord went down the right path. That path being with her, fucking the shit out of her.
He deserved her. And she deserved him.
Amelia had been lying about one thing though.
She didn’t want to stay as the Potter Regent. She wanted to be Lady Potter.
His Lady Potter.
She had dedicated her entire life to that mantle. Even after James’s death, she had gone through the strict penance of absolute celibacy for two decades, all in silent wait that one day, her prayers would be answered. And they had been answered. Harry’s cock was like magic, every thick, meaty inch designed to bring a woman to the throes of ecstasy. Amelia LOVED his cock! Loved, loved, LOVED his cock. The massive, bulging shaft was a work of fucking art, tall and thick rod of perfection. And she had experienced it in its fullest fury. She had experienced it in all of her holes, fucking her furiously, turning her previous curiosity to full-sized obsession. She couldn’t live without it. Far from just being an end to her celibate lifestyle, his cock had become her muse. From the day she had seen it, she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it and what it did and would do to her. The image of those thick, swelling balls of cum shooting their innards out through that shaft wet her just by thinking of it. She would happily run her finger along that tip, collecting his leaking cum upon her finger, toying with it and teasing him. She’d let that cock stretch her insides and pump his hot cum deep into her.
Merlin! She even loved his cum. How fucked up was that? Amelia had always thought it was a disrespectful thing for a guy to come on a girl’s face, but after he tamed her with that cock, she’d be happy to let him paint her face with them every single hour. On her face, her tits, her arse, all over her. She loved how thick it was, and how much he could cum every single time. She loved how warm it was, and how it slipped down her throat like pumpkin juice. Every single time she swallowed it, she’d be filled with lust anew and be ready for more sex. She loved his cock, his balls, and those parts of him clearly very much loved her back. His cock needed someone to care for it, and who better than to care for them than her?
And if Harry thought she’d just let him return to mediocrity after this, he was very much mistaken.
Harry was a sex god. Amelia was happy to take his thick offering. He had made her experience things that she had never known possible. Amelia had always thought of herself as the top of the pyramid, a true fucking sex-goddess, untouched and unmarred because she was just beyond their ability to please.
Harry had corrected her notions. And now, Amelia planned to learn from him. To learn from a true master. A sex god and a sex goddess were meant to be together. Both of them were masters of their craft. A perfect match. Two artists in the craft of sex, and their canvas was the bedroom. They didn’t belong to the masses, among mere mortals. They belonged with each other, honing their craft.
Harry was up for a very significant complication in his life.
Maybe she always knew what would happen. It was why she had Susan bound and silenced like that, letting her a first-row seat to the odyssey that followed on the bed. A masterpiece in the process of creation. She was witness to the fucking perfect sex that transpired, Amelia and Harry in the bedroom, doing things that most people couldn’t imagine doing, much less try to recreate. Harry brought out her absolute best, and drove her to improve, to conquer him, to ride him into the mattress. But Amelia couldn’t, for she could never out-do him. And at this point, she didn’t even want to. Getting fucked into submission by him, getting fucked so well that she couldn’t just take it anymore and had to cum… the sensations were incredible. She had seen themselves in the mirror, with her on all fours, and him grabbing her hair and thrusting into her arse, his muscles flexed, face screwed up in concentration as he drove his battering ram into her tight, squeezing arse. He looked like a Greek god, and he was all hers. She’d look at her own body, coated in sweat, cum and tears, her skin glowing, her massive breasts swinging like two large melons, her plump lips spread as she gasped, her smoky eyes and her wild hair falling all over her face, as she got ravished in just the way she needed.
She was a goddess, and he was her god.
All she could think about during those moments was that, quite frankly, she fucking deserved this. She had put up with twenty years of celibacy. She deserved more than that. A lot more, and Harry could give it to her. She was too gorgeous to be wasted any longer, and way hotter than every other woman, and her body was fucking perfect. Someone as sexy as her deserved to be fucked constantly and properly. She deserved the best, and she didn’t want Harry to be fooling around. Amelia wanted the best, and she wanted it from him. He was the only guy enough to handle her the way she needed it.
But.
She doubted he felt the same for her. After all said and done, Harry was an incubus and more importantly, a greedy son of a bitch. He had seen something in Susan, whether it be just another virgin, or a powerful pawn sitting on the mantle of the Lady of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Bones. Potter, Black and Bones — if he had Susan, then he’d get a very powerful faction on his side on the Wizengamot.
Amateur.
If one could gain power through mere coalitions between the great houses, then the world would have been far simpler. Gaining control in the Wizengamot involved seizing the initiative, and surprising the rest of the flock enough to push them out of their siege mentality. One needed the power, the fortune and the means to launch an assault to overthrow the status quo. And given that he was playing against Lord Voldemort, nothing less than a systematic purging of all treacherous elements within the government, the military and the press would get him what he wanted. The institutions would remain in place, but the majority of the people operating those institutions would need to be removed.
Compared to that, the three Houses were practically nothing. House Black was a powerful tool in the hands of Lucius Malfoy, but under Harry Potter? Just a big name with zero alliances under its banner. The same held true for House Potter. House Bones held power, but not because of its Lady, but because of Amelia’s own position as the DMLE Director. Even with the votes the three houses would get him, Harry would need to form shadow coalitions, buy votes to prevent unfavourable amendments from being passed, and by tainting the opposite side with manufactured scandals. And of course, his own repo as a playboy would not help his case.
No, Harry needed a firm hand to help him in dealing with this. Someone like her. Amelia had stopped thinking of herself as the Bones Regent and started thinking as the future Lady Potter. And she had a very good idea of how to help Harry achieve that goal. It was time to down all distractions between them, and show people their place in the fucking heirarchy.
Susan would be the first on that list.
Amelia felt like such a naughty slut, meeting Susan’s eyes like that, covered in Harry’s cum. If her plan worked out, Harry would get what he wanted and so would she. Susan…. Susan would just have to be happy to pick up the mess. As was her fate for daring to come between her and Harry.
“I told you,” she said calmly. “I still had one last lesson to teach her, didn’t I? And now she’s seen you at your worst. If she can accept this avatar of you, you have my consent for marriage. The question is, will she?”
Harry looked at Susan, then at Amelia, and then back at Susan, his eyes wide open in surprise, and maybe, a hint of fear.
Amelia twisted her wand, and the bindings fell off.
“OHHHMMYYYGGUHHHHH!” Susan screamed out instantly, her palm on her lips. “You — you—”
Amelia gave her a wicked smile.
“You — you were fucking her like — and you! You’re an incubus and you, and she —” Susan frothed, unable to even express herself properly. She put her hand over her mouth again, droplets of sweat all over her form. Amelia idly wondered if watching two masters of sex rut like that had given the virgin an aneurysm. Susan looked like she was outright nauseous, staring at Harry’s nudity, and then at her, slowly taking steps backward.
So, Susan thought she’d just run away from this? Not on her watch. With a twist of her wand, Amelia spun the floor beneath her laterally, making her run into her instead of away from her. The back of her head hit one of Amelia’s perky, jutting, cum-stained breasts. She jumped away and spun around, turning to face her.
Susan’s eyes widened as she took her in. At her naked body, her huge tits, her tight stomach, and her exposed cunt. They stood there, studying each other for a few moments, before Amelia reared back and slapped Susan across her face.
“Ah!” Susan yelped, and fell to the floor.
“AMELIA!” Harry called out in shock.
“Auntie!” Susan said, rubbing her cheek in pain. Amelia pushed herself off the edge of the bed and stood on her naked toes, bending down and pointing at her.
“Listen you pathetic virgin,” she said, her voice cruel and callous. “And understand this well. I’m twice your age, and I’m still better than you in every single way.You’re a pathetic excuse of a girl, and the idea of this sex-god actually loving you is a silly joke at best. Face it, Susan. You think you’ll ever be able to outperform what I just did?”
“Amelia —” Harry began, but she shut him up with a raised finger. This was her dominion. He might be her god in bed, but outside it, she was the ruler. Always was. Always would be.
She jutted her chest out at her. “You saw how I challenged him. You saw how I relentlessly tried to dominate him. He had to unleash his inner monster to dominate me. Tell me, do you really think that your pathetic attempt at cuddling and jerking his cock is enough to get him to cum anymore? Do you really think he’ll even be remotely satisfied with his future wife, now that he’s had me?”
Susan opened her mouth, but only throaty sobs came out.
“The way I see it, you have two options left. The first, you realise that there’ll always be women like me with better bodies than your pathetic one, and you’ll always fucking lose. You can run away and whine about unfairness, but that won’t get you this cock. It’ll give you a life of loneliness, cause that’s all you’ll deserve.”
Susan trembled. “You— you’re wrong!”
“Am I?” Amelia smiled. Who knew her niece had this much fortitude in her? “You’re the worst kind of fake, Susan. You talk big, you act clever and crafty, but in the end, you’re nothing special. Nothing out of the ordinary. You’re sheep. A pretender.” She stared deep into her niece’s eyes and saw anger boiling over.
“Go bugger yourself!” Susan snapped. It looked like all this humiliation was finally bringing her out of her shell. “I’m an intellectual, intelligent, independent woman! I don’t care what you think of me! I’m not a slut like you!”
Harry, meanwhile, just watched. That, and his eyes kept shifting back and forth, as if he was reading something. Filing that away for later, Amelia regarded her niece again.
“Intellectual? Intelligent? Independent? You’re a little girl that does things to make the higher ups happy. Just like I said, nothing special.”
Susan laughed at her face. “Oh, you mean a submissive slut like you that opens her legs to someone of my age? That lets him fuck her arse like a whore? I’m done with you and I’m done with Harry. Don’t think that you can push me around, Auntie. You might be the DMLE Head, but you’re still a Regent. My Regent. You do what I say, and right now, I don’t want to see your fucking face again! Go away, and take that bastard incubus with you. I have a lot to do with my life than be pushed around and fucked from behind like a pig.”
Amelia smiled. Susan’s words were true. Mostly. She was not one to be treated as a whore. And Harry didn’t expect that from her. That he had only cuddled with her, despite her being in his bed was proof enough. Regardless of his agenda, he was a perfect gentleman with her. He had never attempted to throw Susan down and use her like a whore. She had never cum except by her own fingers. She might have heard tales from Hannah, but the best she had gotten to was slobbering over Harry’s chest and jerking his cock.
But that was fine. Amelia knew her type. Susan looked down on other girls and women for being sluts, when deep down, she wished for what they had but was too much of a coward to push that far. All it took was a little cajoling before the slut side of them began to shine. And if Harry was to marry Susan, he wouldn’t be marrying the proud, regal Lady of house Bones. He’d be tying a leash on her neck and dragging her across the floor like a dog.
And it was Amelia’s job to get that done.
Anything for her sex god.
Speaking of Harry, she studied his face. There was apprehension and… terror? Just what was going on? Had she not been in the middle of turning Susan’s life upside down, she’d have halted everything to decipher this newest mystery.
She supposed she just needed to work faster.
“You saw him fucking me with his giant dick. Do you remember how it felt in your hands?”
Of all the things she had said to her, this surprised Susan the most. Amelia twisted her lips in amusement as Susan turned her head slightly towards the left at Harry, or more precisely, at his large, hung cock. All that fucking, and it was still taut as ever. Hard, thick, meaty dick. Amelia watched as Susan couldn’t take her eyes off it. Perfectly natural. Even now Amelia wanted to gorge on that dick and she had just run through a fuckathon. The way it hung between Harry’s legs, his full, heavy balls hanging below in his smooth sack. It was enough to hypnotise the best of women.
She took a step forward, and whispered into Susan’s ear.
“You like?”
Almost imperceptibly, Susan nodded.
Amelia smirked. The hook had been successfully baited. Now, it was a simple matter of reeling her in.
“You can touch it if you want,” she offered, a dark seductive angel hovering over Susan’s right shoulder.
Susan turned just a tad more, now facing Harry’s cock instead of Amelia. Her eyes couldn’t pull themselves from it. Her nose flared, detecting the animalistic scent pulsing from his meat, and from the cum splattered all over Amelia’s body. The seed had been planted, and it was quickly taking root in her mind. And if things kept going this way, it would be Harry’s seed that would be planted in Susan next, preferably in much more pleasurable places.
“....No!” Susan said, looking away from a long moment. “That or not what I want. Harry’s a monster! An incubus! A fucking arsehole with a giant, sexy cock! Just because he can make a girl scream in the bedroom doesn’t mean…”
Susan blinked, looking utterly flustered as she met Amelia’s smug features.
“Thinking about him in bed, are we? Miss intellectual, independent woman?”
Susan glared at her.
Amelia’s smile widened. “Do not pretend, Susan. Why do you think you immediately came to think about how good he’d be in bed? Did your friends tell you how a really big cock would feel? Not all women are built to handle a big cock, and most of them just shy away from fear. But tell me, does seeing that cock want you to give it a try? Do you want to see if it reshapes your virgin pussy, or does the pain break you in half? Did you fantasise about having him break you? Are you a size queen, Susan?”
Yes. Yes she was.
“Shut— shut up!” Susan stammered. “Sex isn’t all there is to a relationship! Yes! I’d have liked Harry to make love to me and make me a woman, but you know what else I liked more? His choosing to be free instead of blindly following pureblood protocol like a high-strung bitch like you. His ability to choose what to do with his life, instead of carrying the burden of his predecessors. I liked him for helping others, for doing the good that I couldn’t. I admired him and wanted him as my freaking husband! But this! You— you took that away from me! I don’t recognize this monster! You want him so bad, right? Well, you can have him. You two deserve each other!”
“Oh yes,” Amelia grinned. “Harry and I deserve each other. I like driving myself down his thick, meaty cock. I like him thrusting into my arse. I love it when he grabs my breasts and mauls them like he owns them. I love being choked on his fucking cock! And do you know what else I love?”
She edged closer until her face was inches from her.
“Knowing your nipples are rock-hard by imagining what I just told you.”
Susan went purple.
Amelia threw her head back and laughed. “Do not lie to yourself, girl. You want him to ram his cock deep down into your pussy. You want him to plough your arse. You want him to make you this bitch. You can talk a big game, but you know what he has to offer, and that you’re lower than putty in his hands. You really have low self-esteem. You want Harry, and you want that thick cock of his even more. And if you really want to get that, there is only one way forward.”
Amelia slowly touched her arm. Susan had grown so much in confidence. It was remarkable. This level of improvement was very sexy. Her submissiveness was beginning to shine through though, and if Susan wanted to be with Harry, she’d have to give in. Real, truly independent women always expected victory. But Susan, deep down, was preparing to lose.
Amelia could see it in her eyes.
Susan was rooting for Harry, for that meaty cock she had gazed lustfully on, to end up balls deep inside her tight, dripping, virgin cunt. And if things kept going Amelia’s way, Susan would get her wish soon.
“...what?” Susan asked, her voice trembling.
Her smile almost threatened to tear her face apart.
“You’ve to become his whore.”
Notes:
If you want to support me, find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Next Update is on 20th September.
Chapter 69: The Fruits Of Victory
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 2 - HOUSE OF BONES
I had won.
Amelia had been every bit as good as she had claimed. She had been absolutely incredible. Really, the woman could fuck. Her breasts, soft and luscious and gigantic; her arse mouth-watering, her mouth fantastic, and her cunt mesmerising. She combined the nastiest aspects of Narcissa with the youth of Hestia, and merged it with the sheer libido of Hermione under the lycanthropic curse. Like Tracey, her devotion to her man was absolutely frightening. Her obsession with being fucked by me reminded me of Ginny, and her writhing in pleasure upon being inflicted with pain reminded me of Penelope Clearwater. She had been better than any girl, any woman I had ever had, both in this life and last, and we had done things and said things that took matters to another level.
But it was now over. I had slain the beast. And now, things should have fallen back to normalcy. Amelia was my bitch now. I had no doubt that she’d honour our agreement, and accept the role of Regent Potter and not raise a finger against Susan’s desire to marry me. Everything was supposed to turn out for the best. I had outfucked her and now her anchorage had shot up through the fucking roof, hitting a century, showering me with more rewards than I had even anticipated. But before I could greedily open those wrapped-up presents that the 100% anchorage had given me, she had thrown a nasty curve-ball my way.
Susan. Trapped, bound and an unwilling voyeur to our depravity. The bitch had skillfully arranged matters that utterly destroyed and all lasting innocence and wonder that Susan could have brought to the bedroom. Instead she had borne witness to the rough, demanding sex that I had had with her own aunt, I had filled her with my cum over and over, manhandled her, slapped her, and reshaped her pussy and arse. I had taken it as far as I needed to. No, worse.
And she had seen it. Seen me at my worst. Seen me as the incubus that I was. Amelia wouldn’t raise any objection, true, but what good was her compliance when our acts had scarred Susan for good?I might have won the battle, but I had lost the war. And if the expression in Susan’s eyes were any clue, Susan would never think of me like she did back when she shared a bed together.
And the worst part? All of this felt tame compared to the other curveball, one that Devil’s Charm sent my way.
I hadn’t been lying when I told Amelia that unleashing this side of me would be a terrible idea. Activating the perk had brought out a side of myself that I wasn’t aware I was capable of, and I knew better than to believe that I could rear it back in. Much like a spell, or a ritual, a perk was an act of magic, and whether it was cast on self or a victim, it left traces. Strong ones at that. I had enough experience withstanding the passive and active effects of Natural Demon to pretend otherwise. And Devil’s Charm was an upgraded perk, and I had let that djinn out of the bottle.
Part of me felty terribly guilty, but another part of me was surprisingly content. I had lived out the darkest version of me, given the best possible performance, and felt a weird sense of pride at conquering the woman that stood before me with adoration and respect in her eyes.
Like a priestess before her god.
And like a god, I had changed her. Turned her into a twisted caricature of herself. All this time, every single of Amelia’s actions had been geared towards getting Susan out of my life, and ensuring that I was hers. She had shown me what kind of a conniving, heartless bitch she could be, and honestly, I couldn’t think that she could be any worse.
Devil’s Charm taught me better.
I had humbled Amelia. She honestly believed that I had transcended above her, and at the same time, believed herself greater than any other woman vying for my affections. She was no longer interested in getting Susan out, and instead, playing Susan’s emotions against herself, and twisting her thought process into that of a submissive whore. Even should Susan marry me, Amelia was ensuring that she wouldn’t be the bride on my arm, but the whore on my leash.
And the worst part? My cock throbbed at the idea.
I really should have seen this coming. Exposure to my Devil’s Charm had altered Hestia from an Order spy into a true submissive. Hestia for whom sex was nothing but pleasure. But for Amelia who had been denied that pleasure for twenty years and then exposed to the Throes of Ecstasy, it might as well be the strongest and the most sinister Imperius curse.
Exhibit like… seven, entered into evidence.
“Do not lie to yourself, girl,” I heard Amelia say. “You want him to ram his cock deep down into your pussy. You want him to plough your arse. You want him to make you this bitch. You can talk a big game, but you know what he has to offer, and that you’re lower than putty in his hands. You have low self-esteem.”
Susan turned towards me and gazed down the length of my cock, studying every nook and crevice. I felt her stare at my swollen balls, and the juices covering it that had come in fresh from Amelia’s pussy. She chewed on her lower lip, the lust clear in her expressive eyes. My sharp eyes caught the sight of her nipples tightening underneath that crop top, and as she gasped a few panicked breaths, her large breasts were pushed out, bursting to escape her tight t-shirt, eager to be exposed for my viewing only. For someone that described herself as an enlightened, educated, informed young woman, she was reduced to a drooling, submissive, size-queen bending to the will of a powerful cock.
Amelia whispered into her ear again. “ You want Harry, and you want that thick cock of his even more. And if you really want to get that, there is only one way forward.”
“What?” Susan whispered.
“You’ve to become his whore.” She said, “Look at it, little virgin. Study it. Learn every nook and cranny of it, because you’re going to get to know every inch of it very well.”
Susan didn’t even notice or object at the casual denigration, which was good, I supposed, because if she really went ahead with this, it would hardly be the first time she’d be humiliated.
“You know what you should do,” said Amelia silkily, like the devil on her shoulder, corrupting her. “You know what you need to do.”
“You… you do?” asked Susan, like the inexperienced girl she was.
“Yes, I do, my dear poppet. I know you want to be a whore. Desperately. You’re built for it. I mean, look at your tits. They are nothing compared to mine, but they are better than most. You are meant to be this. You wish you had the guts, the courage to show everyone that you are a true slut. You hide under these bulky coverings, but you know what you truly are underneath. But you’re ashamed, afraid to admit it. You’ve built this false shell of a well-liked, independent, motherly young woman. You’ve filled your head full of knowledge and worries that are, quite frankly, too big to worry your little self with. You do this to fit in, to seem smart and knowledgeable, when in reality, you’re terrified to show everyone the stupid slut that you really are. You look down on whores, on slutty women, but you’re exactly the same as them.”
“No…” whispered Susan bleakly. “That’s… that’s not true.”
It probably would have made a little more effect if she wasn’t staring at my cock, unblinking, breathing hard while eating up her aunt’s harsh judgement.
“Do not lie to yourself, little girl,” rang Amelia’s voice, full of scorn. “Just think of what you’ve missed out on. You’ve spent so much time downplaying what you are. Imagine being truly happy, extremely courageous and unfailingly honest. A true woman. A real slut. And I can teach you all that.”
“You… you can?”
“Oh yes,” Amelia went on. “You want men to look at you. You want to tease them, be a walking, talking sex-bomb. You want to show off those tits, and those arse. I’ll help you achieve your perfect form. And do you know what that form is?”
“,,,what?”
“You’ll be his wife, the Lady Bones, but behind closed doors, you’ll be his slut. His cock-sleeve. His whore. A sex-object for him to enjoy and discard at a whim. All you need to fill your pretty little head with is him. To care about his pleasure. All you need to care about is to make him happy. To drain his balls, to swallow that thick cum down your throat, to give up all your holes for his pleasure. You loved it when you rubbed your hands against his cock. You slobbered over his body, but you were afraid to take the plunge. But now you can. All you’ve to do is… accept the truth.”
I couldn’t help but stiffen at Amelia’s sweet, dark whispers. Part of me wanted to scream that what was happening was wrong, that this wasn’t the Amelia I had known. Part of me wanted to use Meta-Luck to undo the effects of Devil’s Charm and return Amelia to her original self, or worse, obliviate the last four days from her head. At the same time, seeing her being a raging cunt and dominating Susan, first through comparing her body and now, by shattering her will. Something about her ruthless dominance, her cold ability to stamp out others and make sure that everyone knew she was the alpha female stood out to me. It was what made her the DMLE Director, the most powerful woman in the British Ministry of Magic. Her vicious words, her dark streak, it did for me in the worst way and made it feel so much appealing. All this time, I was planning on developing myself on my magical traits and winning others, whether through my incubus charms or through my politicking. But now, a new image was beginning to form. A different me, a darker me, one that went hand in hand to the cold, callous individual I used to be in a different life.
I saw myself, seated on a dark throne, with Amelia hovering around me like a dark angel, my protector and slave in one. Utterly obedient, absolutely ruthless, acting as an extension of my will. I saw dozens and hundreds of women, housewives of powerful families, department heads in the Ministry, ordinary pureblood wives that acted as eyes and ears on the street, students, and more.
And it made me throb harder than ever. Like… what the fuck was wrong with me?
Susan was a spitfire, a hellcat in human clothing. She was always so intelligent and self-assured. From our past interactions, it was obvious that she knew and perceived far more than what others of her age could. She always had a response up her sleeve, but for the first time, she was utterly silent. I didn’t know if it was the accidental exposure to Devil’s Charm, or Amelia’s words hammering and pounding away her confidence and perspectives with her cruel and twisted logic, but Susan was being tamed, and she was willingly and gleefully accepting the leash. The flame of her spirit was being crushed, and in its place, a young, hot, submissive slut was emerging, one that took Amelia’s words as gospel. Her silky words, tempting her young, malleable mind, transforming her from an innocent virgin into something far nastier. Turning a girl known for her big heart into a girl known for her big tits. And I knew that if I wanted Amelia to stay a happy bitch, then I’d have to be the bastard she was painting me to be.
The incubus within me licked its chops at the idea.
Amelia looked at me, the anticipation and reverence in her eyes clear. She wanted me to act.
“Suck my cock, bitch,” I ordered, punctuating the last word with feeling.
All of Susan’s defences shattered at my statement, the only response she could manage was a soft, lusty sigh. Her eyes slanted, her lips parted, and she slowly walked towards me and knelt down, tits pushed forward, and eyes transfixed at my weapon. I watched, as her lips curled into a wicked smile, an expression of pure lust. Her eyes flashed, and her tongue wet her lips. She didn’t even bother with her hands and instead brought her mouth forward, her lips opening wider. I felt her warm breath on my cock as her lips kissed the throbbing tip, before they spread wider, sliding across my cock, allowing it entrance into her mouth.
“Yes!” I hissed.
Susan could only take a few inches at first, finding it difficult to get the mighty shaft in one go. Her tongue ran across the underside, despite not being able to push it all in her mouth, wanting to give me pleasure. But after everything that had transpired, I wasn’t satisfied with this helmet polish. So I brought my hands to the back of her head, like the uncaring, arrogant arsehole I was, and pulled her face forward, smoothly forcing most of my cock down her throat. Susan didn’t even hesitate, despite me choking her, and kept taking me in, tears swelling up in her eyes.
“Take it all, Susan,” I said. “Unless… Amelia was right? Maybe you’re not up to it?”
The transformation my words triggered was beautiful to watch. The wonder in her eyes was replaced by a wicked, hungry sneer. With an eagerness that surprised the fuck out of me, Susan attacked my cock with her hot, wet mouth. She dove forward, mouth wide open, attacking my erection. There was no hesitation, no fear. She didn’t even slow down as she pushed it down her throat, taking it like the hufflepuff trooper that she was. Her lips formed a seal around my shaft, as she looked up at me with teary eyes, as if demanding my judgement.
“Better,” I said. “But only passable.”
The rage that flickered in those dark eyes was mesmerising. Susan bobbed and choked on my cock, never slowing, never stopping, just giving me her absolute best. Her inexperience was clear, but she had been privy to her aunt’s performance first-hand, and had likely picked up from it. Or else, she probably was a natural cocksucker, much like her big-titted aunt. They shared the same lineage after all.
Meanwhile, the Screen flickered before my eyes, blinking with an angry red, as if annoyed at my casual dismissal.
At 100% World Anchorage, you've gained a Perk!
For hitting 500 World Anchorage, you’ve gained a Coupon!
For hitting 3 Sealed Anchors, you’ve gained a Coupon!
Susan was still deepthroating my cock, with Amelia watching her with a mix of anger and satisfaction in her face. I took the opportunity to quickly check through the new additions.
PERK — ORGASM BINDING
Amelia has been denied the power to seek orgasmic pleasure all her life because of the betrothal contract, and only the Heir Potter can give her what she seeks.
EFFECTS
Establish a Binding contract with anyone that orgasms because of the caster. Victim cannot orgasm from anything or anyone else unless the contract is revoked. Contract has to be applied during the victim’s orgasm. Grants the ability to grant or restrict the bound victim’s orgasm at will.
I stared in awe at what I had just read. A perk that practically applied Amelia’s condition on any woman that I fucked, so long as I established the contract while the woman was orgasming?
Was this… fucking real?
“How—” I blabbered, before realising I was speaking out loud.
How do I set the contract?
Activating the Perk automatically establishes a contract with the victim.
Nasty! And exciting! I was already thinking of ways of testing this new power and the flexibility it could operate through. Could I apply the contract on someone that I performed cunnilingus on, or did it using my fingers? It shouldn’t matter, so long as I made them cum, right? Could I also buy someone a dildo and use passive Devil’s charm on them, and make them pleasure themselves while thinking of me? It would be interesting on what the perk considered grounds for contract activation.
“It’s so… BIG!” Susan exclaimed, her words making me refocus on her again. “And fat! And nasty!”
“It is also the cock you’ll serve all your life, Susie,” said Amelia, walking towards us. I had already lifted my hands off Susan’s head seeing her diligence, but Amelia thought differently. The buxom woman pushed her niece’s head further, harder and faster, as if she wanted nothing more than to choke Susan on my cock.
“Take it!” She snarled. “Take that fucking cock! You wanted that cock so bad that you went against me! Your own aunt! I raised you! I fed you! I taught you everything you know! And you pull rank over me, just to deny me that tasty cock? Now have it! FUCKING HAVE IT!”
She forced Susan’s head against my cock, until my entire shaft was lodged into her throat, and kept on pushing. Susan gagged and spat and made groaning sounds, but Amelia was relentless.
“Worship his balls!”
Tears and spit were rolling down Susan’s cheeks as she deepthroated me over and over, before pulling back and dive-bombing at my balls. Amelia cast a cutting charm with her wand, and Susan’s top fell down to the floor, before she tore the girl’s bra off, revealing her breasts in their fullest glory. They stood proud, jutting out from her chest, her hard nipples pointing outward. They looked absolutely luscious and massive on her smaller frame. Breasts that were still pure. Unsullied.
That would have to change.
Amelia bent and grabbed Susan’s tits, holding them up for me, squeezing them and digging into them with her palms. Her sharp nails pierced her nipples, causing Susan to scream and moan, while she sucked my balls.
“Fuck his cock with your tits!” Amelia commanded. “You wanted me to teach you how to seduce Harry, right? Well, here it is! Fuck him with your tits! Show him what you’ve got!”
Laughing, I watched as susan bounced her huge tits around my cock and began sliding the soft fuck tunnel between her breasts. Up and down. Up and down she went, bouncing her tits against the full length of my meat. Only the topping would emerge out of her long, deep cleavage, which she’d try to vainly taste with her tongue. Inexperienced she might be, but she was a fast learner.
Like aunt, like niece, I supposed.
Now what the fuck were coupons again?
For hitting 3 Sealed Anchors, you’ve gained a Coupon!
COUPON
Upgrade any 2 existing perks of your choice
CONDITION
Delete one existing perk.
Interesting! I thought. And the other —
For hitting 500 World Anchorage, you’ve gained a Coupon!
COUPON
Upgrade existing PATH
OR
Add new PATH
CONDITION
Required World Anchorage +500
Had Christmas come early? I had never had so many good things happen to me all at the same time. Unless I was wrong, PATH referred to as Path of the Incubus, one of the three routes that witches and wizards could take, the other two being Path of the Sorcerer and the Path of the Necromancer. I had already made substantial progress on the Incubus path, and an upgrade on it would be extremely useful. No doubt it would unlock other incubus-related powers that I still didn’t know about. On the other hand, activating one of the other Paths would open new vistas for developing my magical prowess in the fields of Necromancy or Sorcery, whatever I ended up choosing.
And in return, it would raise the minimum required world anchorage by 500 points. Given that I currently had —
World Anchor — 533
It’d leave me with a measly thirty-three points ahead of the minimal value.
“Ugh! GUH!” Susan moaned.
—Plus whatever I’d get from Susan at the end of this, I suppose. The real problem though, was something else.
Required World Anchor — 535
If I gave it up, then I’d be back to square one, with just a single day at hand to gain more than 35 world anchorages. It wouldn’t be a problem, since I was sure to get something from Susan. And worse came to worst, there was always Hannah and her mum to fall back on. And if not her, then Tracey.
The question was — which one?
One part of me lobbied for the latter. Necromancy was no doubt cool and absolutely devastating in the right hands, especially with perks added to the mix. On the other hand, sorcery could grant me access to power beyond imagination. Earthquakes, tornadoes, volcanoes, fire, wind, lightning — nothing would be beyond me.
But —
I’d be stepping into another’s territory. Voldemort had seventy years of experience in that Path. Perks could drastically decrease the gap no doubt, but if things followed canon, then I had barely three to four years before the destined fight. Hell, Voldemort would be after my arse at the end of the fourth year. One year, or even three for that matter, was simply not enough to match seventy, Perks and Coupons be damned. Same applied for sorcery, where Albus Dumbledore was King.
No, the better idea would be to play to my strengths. Elevate the incubus within me, and develop the powers that came with it. Plus, I reasoned, my chances of gaining new world anchors and by extension, magical affinities were fastest this way. And if dear ole’ Harry with six years of substandard education and sheer, dumb luck could off the greatest wizard of his age, then I, with the full powers of an Incubus, my knowledge of canon, and armed with the spell arsenal of House Potter, Black and Bones and perhaps many more, should obviously be able to send Voldemort’s sorry arse packing into the afterlife. Plus, I had the advantage of Meta-Luck, the greatest tool in my arsenal.
My decision was final.
“Move away!” I commanded.
Susan stopped sucking my balls, and looked up, confused.
“My love,” said Amelia. “I know she’s inexperienced, but I’ll make her learn. She’ll be your —”
“Not that, Amelia,” I snapped, shutting her up. “There’s something I need to do. When I used my power, it unleashed something within me.”
“Do you need…” Amelia began.
I raised my hand. “I’m not sure what will happen. But I might need Susan to give me a blowjob after this.”
“Why Susan? I can —”
“I said, Susan.”
Amelia’s mouth shut with an audible click. Susan just blinked.
I exhaled. “Sorry. I swear there’s a reason behind all this.”
“I understand,” she said, “Do not worry. Susan will be ready.”
Saying that, she grabbed Susan by her hair and yanked her away from my balls. I noticed how Susan didn’t even react to her roughness.
“Don’t come any closer. Something might happen.”
I exhaled, deciding to leave the choice of upgrading 2 perks for later.It was better to use the second coupon first, and see what changes my decision had on my body.
Here goes nothing.
Upgrade existing Path.
Upgrading Path: INCUBUS
Existing Perks Analysing…
Amalgamating…
Shutting down temporary body functions…
My eyes all but bulged out, unprepared for the sudden assault. My head exploding with raw agony, as corruptive energies flooded into my system, feeding into my own, twisting and poisoning my magic into something darker, something worse, growing into a thunderstorm in my thoughts. I felt like I was being crushed and my vision went temporarily white from the strain. Breathing was a luxury as the unwanted pressure on my body forces my brain to focus on ensuring my vitals were still functioning properly. Blood in my head, blood in my eyes, blood in my mouth…
Assimilating newly gained magical constitution…
Establishing parity with physical constitution…
RACE EVOLUTION — INCUBUS LORD
Sex symbol. Pussy clencher. Baby maker. That’s You.
Establishing parity with existing magical affinities…
Enacting…
The rest of my thoughts dissolved as my eyes burned in their sockets living living coals, with magic and pure power rushing through me in torrents unbelievable. At some point, I must have started shouting, as waves of pure force kept billowing all around me. Amelia had been quick to seek shelter behind a protego, pulling Susan behind her. The power, the physical strength, the abilities, it was more than I had ever perceived, and control returned to my body. Something was being born within me, shaped by my will and moulded by the power I had just welcomed into me. It washed around me in a single instant, and my world went white. I closed my eyes and let the euphoria slowly quell down, a receding sea after a vicious storm, leaving behind a primal thrum in its wake.
Sense of Self Reverted
Responses Active
Establishing modified Reality Foundation
Welcome, Harry James Potter!
And then it was over.
I opened my eyes, and found that a vicious storm had blown through Amelia’s bedroom, hurling the desks, chairs, mugs and portraits all over the place. Amelia was untouched, my raging power unable to penetrate her shield. That said, her eyes spoke of a different story. They reminded me of Susan, the way she was transfixed at my cock. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that she was dosed with Amortentia.
Susan lay on the floor, the sensations too much for her if the drool rolling down her lips were any clue.
I arched an eyebrow. Was that because of my transformation?
I inspected myself. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Then again, maybe the change was purely magical. Upon second thought, I did feel somewhat stronger. It was a subtle thing, but greater than the passive effects of Natural Demon. At least I didn’t have demon wings or a tail. No, those would be difficult to explain.
Current World Anchor balance is negative
You have 24 hours to gain 2 World Anchors before you’re deleted from Existence!
Yeah, I knew that already. Unlike before, this was a non-issue. Ignoring the proverbial sword hanging over my head, I checked my stats.
Name — Harry James Potter
Age — 16
Sex — Male
Race — Incubus Lord
World Anchor — 533
Required World Anchor — 535
Meta-Luck — 51.1
AFFINITY
Transfiguration — 60%
Charms — 79%
Martial Magic — 70%
Dark Arts — 71%
Psychomancy (Occlumency) — 46%
Psychomancy (Legilimency) — 10%
Alchemy — 21%
Spatial Magic — 53%
Magical Analytics — 23%
Magical Sensing — 33%
Runecraft — 22%
TITLE: RULE-BREAKER
DOMAIN: LECHEROUS SHRINE (Dormant)
AFFLICTIONS: INDOMITABLE LUST (Dormant)
Incubus Lord. That definitely looked like an upgrade over the original. As for the new details…
DOMAIN: LECHEROUS SHRINE
CURRENT STATE: DORMANT
Do you want to activate it?
Uh, yes?
Unlock Quest to activate LECHEROUS SHRINE?
This time I raised an eyebrow. A quest? First perks, then coupons, now quest? What was next, Level-ups?
UPGRADES
I rolled my eyes. Of course. Upgrades. My bad.
What’s the quest?
QUEST FOR DOMAIN ACTIVATION
Gain +300 World Anchorage
Upgrade OUTLANDER Perk
Do you wish to accept the Quest?
That was it? Upgrading Outlander was a no-brainer, thanks to the other coupon. The three-hundred Anchorage was a stall, but a temporary one. I could get at least a fifty from Susan alone. Maybe between Hannah and her mum, I could push ahead with another fifty. Tracey was also an option, and Penelope…
As I said, a temporary stall. Nothing to worry about.
I checked in the next new addition.
AFFLICTIONS: INDOMITABLE LUST (Dormant)
The afflicted suffers from indomitably strong lust; an untamable hunger and that enforces a deep carnal thirst for the opposite sex. Lack of sex for an entire week can lead to irrationality and malevolent tendencies.
That… could be problematic. Becoming an Incubus Lord had its perks, but it also came with its vulnerabilities. I could only imagine that sex was to an Incubus Lord what food was to a normal person. Go without it for long enough, and it would make you go crazy.
Still, the affliction only acted upon the complete absence of sex, which was manageable. It could be worse, I suppose. I could only imagine what a nightmare it could be if I had to gain world anchors every week instead.
Show me my perks.
Displaying Existing Perks…
Outlander, Horcrux, Defiant, Child of Prophecy, Librarian of Knowledge, Curse Born, Natural Demon, Devil’s Charm, Subversive Activist, Domino Effect, Orgasm Binding.
Upgrade to INCUBUS LORD has set DEVIL’S CHARM to ACTIVE
I blinked. This… this was what was affecting Amelia and Susan. That Amelia was lasting this long, despite the exhaustion from the fuckathon and being mentally twisted earlier, only spoke of her formidable Occlumency defences.
Poor Susan just never stood a chance.
Deactivate DEVIL’S CHARM?
I considered it for a moment.
Yes.
DEVIL’S CHARM deactivated!
As if a breeze had blown into the room, or a spell cast into action, but something imploded, and the glazed look on Amelia’s face vanished. The protego shield around her flickered, and her eyes regained their usual sharpness.
“Harry…. I….” She stuttered.
And then promptly hit the floor. Unmoving.
“Well…” I said to myself. “So much for that.”
Notes:
If you want to support me, find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Next Update is on 25th September.
Chapter 70: Susan's Submission
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 2 - HOUSE OF BONES
The two Bones women lay on the floor.
I was about to go physically pick them up, but I paused, and raised my hand, focussing on the Black ring. Susan’s body was the first to float, followed by Amelia. Levitation was an energy-intensive spell, and on most days, it’d take the air out of me just to levitate one person successfully, if I did it using the ring instead of my wand. This time though, I could lift both with reasonable ease.
Without the wand. Or the ring. Or the incantation.
Floating them both to the bed, I focussed on the remaining problem at hand. I still had one more coupon to use. Upgrade 2 perks at the price of giving one up.
Upgrading 2 perks in exchange of deleting 2 perks.
Choose one perk to delete…
Outlander, Horcrux, Defiant, Child of Prophecy, Librarian of Knowledge, Curse Born, Natural Demon, Subversive Activist, Orgasm Binding.
I frowned, noticing that Domino Effect was not in the list. Neither was Devil’s Charm, not that I could even comprehend giving the latter up. Beside Natural Demon and Librarian of Knowledge, it was the most useful perk I had. Child of Prophecy was more pain in the arse than a blessing, but Meta-Luck was tied with it, so no point tampering with it. Defiant had saved my arse from Narcissa and Amelia twice now, so I was going to keep that as well. Horcrux… would be kept for obvious reasons, even at the risk of Voldemort trying to get into my head. Orgasm Binding was the newest addition to my arsenal and would fit in wonderfully with Devil’s Charm. Subversive Activist would help me in dealing with people that were either males or well-versed in Occlumency. That left…
Delete Curse Born.
Delete CURSE BORN perk in exchange of upgrading 2 perks?
I had gotten this perk from Ginny Weasley. A greater resistance against counter-curses was useful, but not as useful as the others. Besides, Ginny was only half-way through the world anchorage. There would probably be another perk or two by the time I hit hundred.
Yes. I thought. Delete it.
CURSE BORN deleted
Select 2 Perks to Upgrade…
Outlander, Defiant, Natural Demon, Subversive Activist.
I scowled. This wasn’t fair. It had reduced the number of perks, giving me only a select few to choose from.
What do the upgraded forms look like?
Unknown
Guess I’ll have to leave it to my luck. Quickly, I ran through the listed perks.
Defiant protected me from mental coercion, so an upgrade on that would likely grant me something along the lines of Occlumency. Come to think of it, I could just as well learn Occlumency from Amelia. My newly raised Psychomancy affinity would help with that. Outlander was perhaps the most esoteric of all my perks, and anything that cemented my existence was a must upgrade. Plus, it was kind of a given, if I wanted to activate the Domain. Subversive Activist was an option, but I really wanted to see what an upgrade on Natural Demon would look like.
Upgrading NATURAL DEMON…
Upgraded Perk — MALEVOLENT RELEASE
Will you cross over to the Dark Side?
EFFECTS
User enters a terrifying form of darkness, a state of being in which they are one with their darkest powers, and attuned to their darkest emotions. User’s physical nature becomes an incarnation of his own inner malevolence by transforming his body, gaining an almost demonic physiology in the process.
….Fuck me!
Albus Dumbledore had once said that humans have a knack of choosing precisely those things that are worst for them. Guess I’m a walking talking example of that now. First the Indomitable Lust affliction,, and now this. It was like every single thing I was choosing was making things worse for me.
Like, motherfucker! A demonic transformation of all things? Yes, Natural Demon took over my sanity in exchange of power, strength and reflexes, but at least I stayed human. Why the fuck hadn’t I thought that an upgrade on a perk like that would also elevate its worst attributes?
Reverse it. Downgrade it. I don’t want this perk.
Cost of downgrading Malevolent Release to Natural Demon - 16 Meta-Luck.
What? No fucking way! Thank you very much. See? This is what happens when you question your good fortune too much. I should’ve just been happy and accepted the goodies as they were, but noooo, I had to fuck things up.
That said, it did come with its benefits. The last time I used Natural Demon, I damaged my magical core. At least this time, that won’t be happening. Every cloud has a silver lining and all that.
Scowling, I glared at the Screen. I was thoroughly pissed now. I still had one more chance to upgrade a perk. Already I had fucked up Natural Demon, which was probably my most useful skill, next to Devil’s Charm. And now I was thinking of tinkering with perhaps the most dangerous and most important of all my perks.
Outlander.
The perk that gave me the power to create world anchors. What if I upgraded it and something changed? What if things became much more difficult? My mind went back to the Domain and Affliction tabs that my new form had given me. Yes, it was necessary for Domain activation, but the entire upgrade process had already fucked things up for me. Was I really going to tinker with the Outlander perk and complete the set? Or should I just hold back and go for something simpler and far more benign like Defiant?
Guess which one I chose.
Upgrading OUTLANDER…
Complementary perk — DOMINO EFFECT found in existing schematics. Combining…
Upgraded Perk — TETHER
You’re tethered to them! Now take responsibility.
EFFECTS
Establishes a metaphysical tether with world anchorages.
All 50% Anchorages and above generate 5 units of Meta-Luck per month.
All 100% Anchorages generate 10 units of Meta-Luck per month.
“You aren’t shitting me, are you?” I asked out loud. “This is fucking real?”
Fucking hell. I already had three 100% anchorages in Hermione, Hestia and Amelia. That meant a bonus of 30 Meta-Luck every goddamn month. Ginny and Narcissa were both above the fifty-mark, which meant another 10 points. Hannah and her mum could easily be elevated past the fifty mark, which meant another 10 points. A constant growth of 45 points plus whatever additions I could get?
It sounded too good to be true.
Which… I thought, with growing apprehension, it probably was.
The Screen was offering me a great package, sweet, neat and tidy as a Halloween candy. Which meant I’d be an idiot to not check for razor blades and cyanide.
In this world of magic and spells and world anchors, Meta-Luck was the main prize. Yes, I could acquire perks and affinities and grow stronger, both physically and magically, but Meta-Luck was the power to alter Reality itself, the greatest power in the universe. It took a rise of 10% world-anchorage to get me a single point of Meta-Luck. So why was the Screen throwing it at me like cotton-candy?
My eyes flickered back to the description of the Outlan — I mean, Tether perk. Specifically, at the flavour text.
Take responsibility. Why would I take….
“....responsibility,” I whispered, as an icy feeling settled down my spine. Motherfucker, that couldn’t be… could it?
My eyes flickered back to the Screen. Yes, Outlander had combined with the Domino Effect perk, something that applied the CHILD OF PROPHECY perk to all my world anchors that were 50% or higher. Child of Prophecy… the perk that made me the Prophesied opponent of Lord Voldemort. The same perk that increased my chances of encountering significant individuals of this world by 50%. Significant individuals who might not necessarily be on my side.
And if the perk applied to the anchors, then they too would be under the same spotlight. It would be dangerous, but it could also be profitable. Or so I had thought.
But in my foolishness, I had forgotten one tiny detail. Child of Prophecy didn’t just make me an object of attention. It was also what gave me Meta-Luck. And if my anchors had the same perk applied to them then….
Take responsibility…
“Bugger!”
Something tickled my balls, and with a start, I jerked awake.
“Mmph!” somebody groaned, and I realised I had just shoved my dick into a girl’s throat. She took it like a trooper, gagging only slightly and keeping her head down, breathing heavily through her nose until I pulled back. And then she resumed rhythmically pumping my shaft in her hands and sucking on the mushroom tip as if I had never interrupted her.
My vision flickered for a brief second, giving me just enough time to see a mop of red hair bobbing up and down in my lap. A fleeting idea about saying a name fluttered in my head, but she chose that moment to deepthroat me, causing a burst of pleasure to shoot up my spine, and all I could do was set my head back down on my pillow and groan in ecstasy.
Then I realised that the name didn’t matter, since both women had gotten first-hand experience at deepthroating me for good. So instead I put my right hand on top of her head, and held it down for a bit before sliding down to stroke her hair and caress her cheek. I heard her moan at my touch, the vibration of her voice doing wonderful things to my dick. And then she caved in her cheeks to give me even more intense suction.
“So… biggg…” she moaned softly.
“Susan…” I called out aloud, but instead of replying, she kept feasting on me like I was the yummiest dessert she had ever tasted. She beamed at me and gave me a silly grin, and redoubled her efforts. This time, she fed on me with a little bit more of a sloppy technique, wet and crazy and keeping her big, beautiful eyes on me the whole time. Before, she had been sucking my cock to satisfy her internal craving. Now, she was performing.
I flicked my wand and the lights flashed on.
“Someone’s feeling competitive.”
Susan didn’t reply, and instead went on all fours, the scoop-neck of her pyjama shirt hanging real low, giving me the incredible view of her braless tits, the juicy melons swaying back and forth allowing a pale pink nipple to come into view now and then. She was taking more of me into her mouth by now with gusto, managing to smile around a mouthful of my meat, while also fingering herself at the same time.
Then it happened.
Susan suddenly went still, remaining bent over me, her mouth filled with my cock. Only her arms were grabbing my thighs tightly, shaking as she did. Her back contorted, and she all but screamed into my cockhead as an orgasm flooded her body.
Forge Orgasm Contract?
I didn’t think twice.
“Yes!” I breathed.
Contract Forged with Susan Bones
Binding Spell — Orgasm Denial Active.
And just like that, the notification was gone. And in its place, I saw Susan looking at me, her eyes flashed wide open, as she stared at my face.
And then she really went to work.
Susan plunged her mouth upon my cock, her fingers wrapped around my shaft, as she kept jerking them with an unexpected level of expertise. She nibbled on the knob. She tickled my testicles. She took my balls in her mouth and began oscillating them with her tongue, and covering them with her spit. She scratched her nails on my thighs, and gripped them as she more or less forced my cock down her throat.
“I’m gonna make you cum, Harry,” she said. “I want to swallow every drop of your thick cum. Please give it to me, like you did to Auntie. I’ll show you I’m so much better than her.”
Ah. It seemed that the competition between the two busty women was far from over. Well, it only made things better for me. Make hay while the sun shines, and all that.
“Oh my!” She gasped. “It’s so hard!” She lightly squeezed my weapon a few times with her nimble fingers, as if testing its hardness. “It’s literally throbbing in my hand. Merlin!” She studied and admired every ridge and vein on it, all the way from the swollen nuts to the thick head she had swallowed for so long. “Fuck… I even love the smell. What’s wrong with me?”
Exactly. What was wrong with her? The Devil’s Charm was no longer active. So why was she being so….
The rest of my thoughts evaporated as a throbbing pulse hit my cock.
“Oh shit,” I groaned. “I’m cumming!”
Susan moaned in delight at my words, and I felt her fingers dig into my arsecheeks, pulling me hard against her and forcing my cock down her throat just as I came. I gripped a fistful of her red hair so tight that it must have been painful, but Susan only moaned louder. A torrent of cum left my balls, and shot through my dick into her greedy mouth, and I collapsed back down on the bed, breathing hard.
You have just gained a World Anchor
Susan Bones - 42%
Current World Anchor Analysis
World Anchor — 575
Required World Anchor — 535
Meta-Luck — 55.3
Congratulations! You get to live!
I suppressed the urge to roll my eyes. For all the Screen’s dramatics, there was hardly any need for caution. That said, my new skills and perks could end up in a lot of hot water if I was not careful, especially if my fears about taking responsibility were real. Because if they were, even an addition of 100 Meta-Luck per month might not be enough.
Gained affinities from World Anchor — Susan Bones
Runecraft +7%
Transfiguration +5%
Phytomancy +2%
Phytomancy. That was new. I could go out on a limb and claim that it was this affinity that decided one’s prowess in Herbology. Neville probably was a natural at it.
“I’m ready for you, Harry,” Susan said finally, lifting the hem off her t-shirt, and throwing it off the bed. Her panties too followed suit. Utterly naked, she dragged her body across mine.
“I’m ready to love you completely, Harry,” she whispered, her hands caressing my chest. “Please, make me a woman.”
I held her and pulled her close. Regardless of Amelia’s wishes, Susan deserved to have a proper deflowering. Unlike Amelia, she was unused to the initial pain that followed the loss of one’s virginity. If I wasn’t careful, she could be scarred forever. And there was no way I’d do that. Not to her.
Damn it. Just what was it that this creature in my arms did to me? Something about her just screamed helplessness to me, but not in a damsel in distress form. No, it was more like she was an innocent flower, one whose frailty and purity was a gem that absolutely must be preserved. Just being with her curbed my dark desires, and made me want to support her, shower her with affection and give her what she wanted. It made me feel guilty for doing this to her, for twisting her aunt and causing irreparable damage to their relationship. Even now, despite her sucking my cock and deepthroating it earlier, something in me screamed to take her as a lover, not to fuck but to make love.
And so I did.
Susan moaned as soon as my hands touched her breasts, a moan that picked up intensity the longer I held her, and the longer I kissed her. Her body practically vibrated in my arms, as if shaking with an unbridled passion.
She parted her legs, almost instinctively, and I lay a kiss upon her thigh while I positioned myself. Susan’s chest was already heaving with anticipation and thrill, as was my own. She leaned back, propping herself up on her arms as she looked at me, her eyes sparkling with unyielding devotion towards me. I had no idea what I had done to deserve that, I wasn’t going to question it either.
I let my lips linger on her smooth skin, slowly making my way up from her thighs. Her scent was flooding my mind, and I planted a kiss on her dripping sex, making sure to lock my lips around hers and sink my tongue deep inside of her. Susan moaned and bucked her hips immediately, and soon I found myself in a Susan thigh sandwich.
“Cum for me…” I hissed out in parseltongue.
Susan’s thighs squeezed around me as her body writhed, her moans egging me on. I wrapped my arms around her hips and pulled her harder as she erupted in my face.I wrapped my arms around her hips and pulled her harder, greedily sucking every bit of her juicy outpouring, as I tried to devour her whole.
Suddenly, Susan’s death grip around my head relaxed, and I felt her legs drape over my back. Her hips rocked gently, as I lapped at her sex, sending soft quivers through her body that echoed with moans of pleasure. I looked up and found her looking at me, her lips parted, and her eyes molten with raw desire.
“Take me, Harry,” she whispered. “Make me yours.”
Parting her legs, I knelt on the bed, gripped the shaft of my cock with one hand, and her thigh in the other, and angled myself to rub the tip along her folds. She was impossibly slick, radiating a soft warmth like a winter noon. Ever so slowly, I pressed the tip towards its goal, her pussy lips embracing it like an old lover, threatening to make me lose control already.
“More…” Susan gasped.
I leaned in, and kissed Susan in the lips, my chest rubbing against her voluptuous breasts. She coiled her hands over my neck and pulled me closer, her legs doing the same around my waist, inevitably pushing my cock deeper into her folds. Her tunnel was tiny and constricted tightly around my shaft, but she was so wet and welcoming that I could almost feel her sucking me deeper and deeper inside of her. The tightness reached a crescendo as I pushed around halfway of my cock into her, and I decided that this was probably about as much as she would take the first time and started sliding back out.
Susan though, had other ideas.
“No!” She groaned in displeasure, and pulled me tighter, impaling herself deeper than before. The sudden thrust surprised me, as my climax rushed in. I gritted my teeth, trying to stave off the orgasm but Susan, spitfire that she was, had much less restraint.
She raised her hips upwards, meeting my cock as it hit all the way into her folds, my balls hitting her hips with a soft thud. Susan opened her mouth to let out a silent scream, as the mushroom tip speared her, and she fell back, only for me to plunge back into her hole. Susan kept turning her head from side to side, her mewls of pleasure increasing in volume and quantity as I slowly dragged my cock in and out in painstakingly slow moves. After the dozenth time, I felt her pussy flutter around my dick, and she let out a gasp of pleasure.
“More…” she panted. “More… I need —”
I cut her off, slamming myself into her again. The noises she made, oh God! It was like she was being brutally murdered, and I was worried for a moment that it would either wake Amelia up or at least the elves would notice and pop in, but neither happened. There were no second positions, no shifting. I stayed on top, and kept drilling into her, relentlessly fucking the gorgeous redhead below me. After her seventh or eighth orgasm, Susan stopped moaning, and instead, had a fucked-stupid grin plastered on her face. Deciding that she probably had enough, I slid out of her, and lay down next to her.
We must have stayed like that for five minutes at least, before Susan let out a loud moan.
“Bugger!” She said at last. “You’re a machine.”
“That was quite intense, wasn’t it?”
“You’re telling me,” she all but moaned, looking at me and then at my rock hard dick. “You didn’t even cum, did you?”
I smiled. “I can go on for longer.”
“I could tell,” she said, wiping her face with her palms.
I pulled away from Susan’s body and ran my eyes over her delectable frame. Sweat glistened along her abdominals and beaded down her bountiful chest, trickling down between her breasts. A huge grin was plastered to her gorgeous face as she gazed at me with lust-filled eyes.
“Now I know what Hannah and Megan would keep blabbering about,” she said with a chuckle. “You know… I think I anticipated this happening when I invited you here.”
I arched an eyebrow. “You anticipated me fucking you and your aunt?”
“Ew,” she recoiled. “You had to mention that, didn’t you?”
“Sorry,” I said sheepishly, as I sat beside her. Susan put a lone finger into her pussy folds and dragged out the juice within, studying her now sticky fingers with close attention.
“Wow,” she said. “This feels so dirty, and yet, I want to rub it over my body.” She blinked, and scrunched her face, as she regarded me. “Does that make sense?”
She looked so earnest, that I couldn't help but laugh.
“Don’t laugh at me!” she scowled. “I’m just… trying to come to terms with things.”
“What things?”
“This…” she said, trailing her sticky fingers across her body, all the way to her breasts. “You making me a woman. You and Auntie. No matter what she says, I know Auntie. She won’t stop at being the Potter Regent. She wants you, and she covets the Lady Potter title more than anything.”
“You know that can’t happen. Her reputation…”
“She won’t give two fucks about that,” Susan snapped, her assertiveness taking me by surprise. “Auntie doesn’t do things half-way. The mantle of Lady Potter has always run her life. Now that she’s so close to getting it, she won’t consider anything else. Plus, it’ll give her equal standing with me, because I’ll be Lady Bones. She thinks that by being your wife, she can effortlessly dominate all your other wives and any concubines you choose to fuck. She… How do I put this? You dominated her, so she’ll follow you. But nobody can come between you two, and Auntie will ensure that the others know their place.”
“What makes you think I’ll let her?”
Susan let out a perverted chuckle. “Oh Harry, what makes you think you even have a chance? For all we know, you might have already impregnated her.”
I blanched as I considered her words. No, she couldn’t be serious. That was literally insane. Amelia was the DMLE Director. She had painstakingly risen from a cadet to the military head of the country. No way she was going to give all that up just to be the Lady Potter, would she? No, that was way too much. Way too far. Way too serious. And yet —
It would be just like her. Pushing the extra mile.
You’ve won the wager, she had said. But I sincerely doubt victory is yours.
And the worst part? My cock throbbed at the idea. Throbbed at the image of a pregnant Amelia Bones, walking through the Ministry of Magic, her pregnant belly showing, a horde of reporters demanding her to enlighten them with the identity of her baby’s father — the greatest scandal in Wizarding history. My cock craved the illicit filthiness of the idea.
“Wow,” Susan drawled. “Someone sure loves the idea.”
I blinked, and looked at her. Susan giggled, and began stroking my cock, moving down the bed to take me in her mouth. I fell down to the bed, and allowed her to be on top.
“But that’s for later, Harry,” she said, giving the tip a kiss. “For now, gimme this big dick of yours.”
Her mouth was warm, wet and inviting, as she began bobbing her head down on it, deepthroating it with ease, her hands trailing down my hip to grab my arse.
“I’m starting to think you’re enjoying this.”
“With a cock this nice?” she said, running her tongue along the underside of my shaft. “What girl wouldn’t? Say Harry, what do you say about extending this holiday a little more? I can even bring Hannah in. You know… both of us, together…”
My cock throbbed at the idea.
“Oooh, someone likes it.”
“And your aunt will hate it,” I grinned back.
Susan shrugged. “Yes, that will be… how do you put it? Serendipitous?”
We chuckled.
“She’s going to be so mad!” Susan giggled.
Her usually crimson mane looked particularly messy after our short romp. I had expected her to feel confused and exhausted, but instead her smile seemed brighter, and all the shyness seemed to have melted away from her since the first time she had bared her body to me. Now she pushed herself to my side, her naked body displayed as if she had been doing it for years.
“I’m blaming you if she finds out,” I said.
“Don’t you dare!” she replied. “I’ll tell her it was your idea.”
“My idea? You told me about this.”
“And you liked it.”
“Yes I did,” I said, giving her a kiss. I embraced her nakedness as our tongues met with a happy reunion. It was a unique sensation, something no words could describe. What I shared with Susan wasn’t sex, but pure lovemaking. That me and Amelia had sullied her innocence in our silly games made me feel angry and remorseful. Susan… she deserved to be loved, deserved to have her blissful first time. She should have been allowed to experience the joy of being deflowered with all the affection she could get.
She was not supposed to get face-fucked like a whore.
“Susan….?”
“Mmm?”
“I’m sorry.”
She met my eyes. “For what?”
“For what happened earlier. I should’ve told you about my being an incubus. And I swear I didn’t know that Amelia would—”
“Tie me up, and make me watch you two rut like animals?” Susan spat, the sudden anger in her voice taking me by surprise again. The way this girl could shift tones was a mystery in itself. “Or maybe drench me with your lustiness?”
I paused. “....yes?”
“And let Auntie poison my head, and make me go down on you?”
“...yes.”
“While you watched as she demeaned me, enjoying as you face-fucked me like a misogynistic pig?”
I flinched at the disgust in her tone. For a moment, I thought she was going to attack me. Instead, she glared at me, putting her slim hand on my chest, and pushed me down on the bed again. She straddled my thighs, her wet, dripping pussy hovering above my rock hard pipe, mere inches apart.
“I just want you to know that what you did was disgusting.”
Her bare breasts grazed against my chest, and I wondered if the girl had a split personality.
“What you did was wrong! And despite what’s about to happen, I want you to know that I utterly despise you for everything you did. You… you destroyed my relationship with my aunt. You… you made me into this. You’re responsible for what’s about to happen.”
“And what…” I ventured, “ — is about to happen?”
Susan looked down her nose at me, her dislike evident.
“You made me into this slut,” she said. “And now this slut is going to fuck your brains out.”
The clarity in her tone, the sharp disgust and the surreality of our positions sent a ripple through my cock. It was difficult to not just take her right then and there.
“I’m going to give you better sex than even Auntie. Yes, she might have an advantage now, but she’s delusional if she thinks it will stay like that forever. She’s a twisted, scheming cunt that wants to act like she’s a school girl. But she isn’t. She’s old. She can keep deluding herself, but her best days are behind her. She’s slipping. Someday she’ll look in the mirror, and see her age catching up with her. A few more wrinkles, some crow’s feet. Maybe those big breasts she’s so fond of are sagging just a bit. She might even become Lady Potter, might dominate me behind closed doors. But out there, every single time she’ll be on your arm at parties, mingling with young people, she’ll be reminded of her age. And that,” Susan grinned, something terrible in her eyes, “is how I’ll win.”
I suppressed the urge to palm my face. Devil’s Charm or not, these two women were dead set on one-upping the other, and somehow, they’d drag me into this mess. I had thought that Amelia was the psychotic bitch while Susan was simply reacting, but maybe both of them shared more than just genetics and a magical lineage.
After all, batshit crazy could just be batshit crazy.
With a bit of loco thrown in for a side-dish.
“So yes,” said Susan, “I’m going to ride this fat, fucking cock! I’m going to smother you with my big tits while I ride your fat cock with my tight pussy. I’ll fuck you until you make me scream. I’ll let you fuck me till you make me your bitch!”
She lowered herself just enough to insert the tip into her folds, teasing me further.
“And?” I asked.
Her eyes were sparkling with lust, her body a livewire. She needed release.
“If you make me cum like you did Auntie, then I’ll be your bitch for life,” she whispered. “Outside, I’ll be Lady Bones, and you, my husband. Inside, I’ll be the bitch on the floor, wearing your collar.”
“You know what they say….” came a voice from the doorway. “Big talk and no action.”
We glanced at the door and found Amelia, naked as a jaybird, standing there, revealing her hourglass figure in all its glory. “You really want to prove you’re better, Susie? You think you’re the Queen slut? Then you better back your words up.”
Amelia’s teeth showed. “Against me.”
Notes:
If you want to support me, find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Next Update is on 30th September.
Chapter 71: An Impossible Challenge
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 2 - HOUSE OF BONES
Amelia stood before us, her hands at her hips, her whole lewd body on display. She looked fresh, her body wet and begging to be touched, calling to be worshipped, aching to be pleasured. Despite having tapped that arse longer than I had ever fucked anyone, I couldn’t help but admire her taut stomach, her tiny belly button and her full and large breasts that looked larger on her slim frame. Like I said, a sports car with the best features.
“Auntie…” Susan squeaked.
“What now, poppet?” she asked, her voice cruel and callous. “Did your determination leak away like a virgin’s first cum? You make grand statements, but when faced with a challenge, you squeak like a filthy rat, ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble. Isn’t that right, Susie?”
Susan looked at her, utterly furious. “I’m not a quitter, Auntie.”
“Oh?” Amelia arched an eyebrow, as she sauntered her way towards us. A wolf prowling towards her prey. “Not a quitter, you say? Is that why you’re here, trying to get a mercy fuck out of my man?”
“I’m not getting mercy —” Susan began, affronted.
“Oh yes, you are, and stop with the self-righteous bullshit,” snapped Amelia. “I fucking raised you since you were a toddler. I taught you everything you know. I protected you, I changed your panties, I did everything that your blessed father and mother would’ve done had they been alive. And you, you decided to scheme your way into the one relationship that I was allowed to form after twenty years? Why? You knew I fucked him and despite that, you went after him. After the one man that could give me the pleasure I’ve been denied all my life. Why? Why are you so jealous, Susan? Why are you so cruel?”
I could see her eyes tearing as she said all that.
“Auntie…” Susan began, her expression cracked and her eyes wide, unable to retort. Whatever she had expected Amelia to say, this was definitely not it. And to be frank, I couldn’t blame Amelia. She got to me first. She got me naked, and had bared herself to me in the bathtub.
No matter how innocent she had appeared, Susan had been the one that attempted to steal me away from her aunt.
“Yes, I’m the Bones Regent. Yes, you’re the Lady Bones. But tell me, Susie, have I, even for once, treated you any less than a parent does a child? Have I ever neglected you? Have I not, despite my duties at the Ministry, celebrated every single one of your birthdays? Every single night when you woke up crying for your parents, have I not been there to console you?”
“Auntie —” Susan croaked, her eyes glistening with tears. “Auntie, I —”
“Yet what did you do? You come after the one man I had found love in. You tried to sneak him away when I was about to leave for office. You entered his room, you tricked him, you finagled him into him wanting to marry you, knowing that I wanted him. And even after Harry conquered me, you’re here, whispering poison in his ears about me in my absence. Making me look like a hideous hag that’s dragging him down. Why do you hate me so much, Susie? Why?”
Susan put her hand over her mouth, tears running down her cheeks. Her entire body stiffened up like a log. “Auntie, Auntie, I’m sorry! I swear I didn’t think of it that way! I just had a crush on him and after everything that happened, I just couldn’t help but fall for him. I didn’t think what it’d look like to you, and I thought you were just…”
“Just what? A twisted, scheming slut that wants to act like a schoolgirl?”
“No, auntie —”
Amelia was now standing at the edge of the bed. “And what did you call me? A delusional fool whose best days are over? Someone who’ll always be reminded of her age at parties and you’d take joy over my misfortune?”
“Auntie, I didn’t — I swear I didn’t mean it —”
Amelia looked downcast. “But you’re right. About a lot of things, I mean. Maybe I’ve got this whole thing to get away from me. I’ve crossed a few lines. I even treated you badly. I saw you as a threat to my love life and treated you as such, but it’s still true that Harry’s your age. I’m old enough to be his mother. Maybe… maybe I really need to act my age.”
“Auntie,” Susan tried, her face wrecked with guilt as Amelia’s words stabbed her again and again. “Auntie, I’m sorry. I was ruthless and mean and I said things without thinking! I think I just got caught up in the whole thing and…” She looked up and met her eyes. “I just… I was lashing out, after what you did to me, earlier. Please, I’m sorry! Let’s just go back to how things were. I don’t want to ruin all of this because of this petty little game of ours.”
“Damn right,” said Amelia, her shoulders drooping, as a small, sad smile floated on her lips. “Some of the things you said were pretty mean.”
“I know,” said Susan. “I didn’t mean them. I promise. You’re my aunt and you’ll always—”
“Oh I don’t care about that,” said Amelia, waving her hand. “But you said my tits sag.”
“...”
Even I was caught off-guard by that statement.
“You said, my tits sag, ” whispered Amelia. “That’s a fucking lie! I mean, you might not have seen them properly, what with your sanctimonious act earlier, but I think even you can tell they’re perky as fuck.” The entire sad look vanished from her face, replaced with a malicious playfulness. “And what else did you say? I have crows feet?”
She posed for us, accentuating her breasts and her wide hips.
“Go on, take a close look, girl,” she declared. “I have the tits, the arse, the cunt, the legs, the face, the hair, the stomach, I’ve got it all. Compared to this, you’re but a troll-faced, whiny little bitch who can’t dress and doesn’t know the first thing about being a woman. Even the deepthroating you gave him earlier, you learnt that from seeing me. You’ve got no looks, terrible hair, no arse and tiny tits!”
“TINY?” Susan snapped. “They’re DD’s!”
Amelia gave her a pitying look. “Mine are FF’s.” She smirked at the outraged expression on Susan’s face. “Don’t delude yourself. It’s my tits he wants to maul. It’s nipples he wants to suck. It’s my mouth he wants wrapped around his cock, and my pussy that he wants to sink himself into. You? You’re just a watered down, poor wizard’s version of me. Sure, it’s fun to deflower the virgin and make sweet love making sounds once or twice, but make no mistake, the only way he’s going to come to your room is if it's dark and you’re pretending to be me.”
I’ll admit even I was a little taken aback at the vitriol in her words. “Seriously Amelia,” I said, unable to help myself. “You’re a damn good actress. I almost bought that act earlier.”
Amelia gave me a wicked smile. “Tip of the iceberg, Hon. It’s unfortunate the wizarding world isn’t big on show business.” Her eyes sparkled. “But tell you what, Darling? Maybe you and I can look into it. I definitely have the connections and you can cough up the gold.”
“Deal.”
That reminds me, that demonstration earlier was stirring. I can’t believe I came twice just by standing there.” She cackled. “The little virgin collapsed.”
“Yeah,” I drawled. “I saw.”
“Your power is enthralling, Hon. So much potential. So many possibilities for us to experiment for as long as we like. Can I convince you to just stay here? I’m sure the virgin wouldn’t mind, so long as you give her a mercy fuck every now and then.”
“I’m not a virgin anymore,” Susan snapped. “And Harry wasn’t giving a—”
“Oh yes,” said Amelia, interrupting her. “You stole into his room and sucked his cock. I can’t even blame Harry for deflowering a pity-party like you. Now then, kindly bugger off and let the regal bitch taste her man’s cock.”
“I won’t!” snapped Susan. “I thought you— you —”
“I what?”
“...Nothing! For a moment I thought I was wrong! But no, I was right! You’re just a nasty cougar obsessed with a boy your niece’s age. I’m the Lady of Bones, and Harry’s gonna marry me. And remember, there’s nothing you can do about it.”
“Sure, sure,” Amelia dismissed her words. “I’m not here for that. I’m here for… how did you put it? Ah yes, you’re going to ride that fat, fucking cock, and prove that you’re better than me. So, if it’s a competition you want…” she trailed her fingers across her luscious tits, “then it’s a competition you’ll get.”
Susan’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Competition, huh? What kind, and what are the stakes?”
Okay, that was impressive. I didn’t expect her to maintain her wits in the presence of Amelia’s overwhelming vitriol. She flipped her hair, and raised herself slightly, sitting on her knees as she regarded her aunt. It was definitely a far cry from the girl that began stammering in the latter’s presence.
Amelia threw her head back and laughed. “Stakes? Silly girl. Be satisfied with just your ego punctured. The only reason you even stand a chance of marriage is because this guy here is a sex-god that saw something in a talentless virgin like you. Fortune favours the brave, but at times, it smiles on the desperate. That’s what you have. Don’t throw it away just to cradle your ego.”
As much as I disliked it, Amelia was right. Susan had no chance against her. Then why was she being so obstinate? Knowing Amelia, she was intentionally changing her tone, word choice and expression to get the ideal response she wanted. Which in this case, was to constantly stab Susan’s delicate ego. Amelia might have lost the wager, but this was her way of evening the score.
I had to marvel at her. Marvel at how far she was willing to go just to get out ahead. Part of me was mad, sure, but I was more amused than anything. At the same time, Susan’s words rang in my head. We just had a long fuck, and Amelia was ready for a next attempt. Why would she stop at being Potter Regent when she had her eyes on the mantle of Lady Potter?
“Alright, enough,” I said loudly, stopping both of them. “This petty game has gone on for too long. Amelia, we had a bargain. We fucked, I won, you lost. Egging Susan like that, it’s just you being a sore loser.”
Amelia opened her mouth to reply, but I beat her to it.
“Susan,” I went on. “You might not like it, but your aunt is also right. There’s no way you can beat her, not in the game of sex. Not as you are now. You’re about to risk everything just to soothe your bruised ego.”
“But Harry—”
“I said no.”
“Listen to him, Susie,” Amelia cooed. “Accept the truth. Admit that you’re pathetic, and know it in your heart that the only reason you’ll be with him is because he took pity on you. Protected you from the big bad momma-slut.”
Susan growled.
“Amelia—” I began.
“I refuse!” Susan’s voice rang with scorn. “Yes, I’m just a girl compared to you. But so what? Don’t forget, Auntie. Harry had you with everything you’ve got — tits, arse, cunt, mouth, and he’s chosen me. Every single time. Yes you’ve a better body, but you’ve already reached what you could. The apex. Me? I’ll only get better, and don’t forget, even as I was a virgin, Harry chose me.”
“You bitch —”
“So yes,” said Susan,
Let’s compete. Let Harry fuck me the way he fucked you. Let him do his worst. If I can’t bear it, I’ll give up. I’ll walk away from marrying him.”
“Hippogriff dung!” said Amelia, not buying it.
“If I’m not built for the sex he demands, then what good am I?” asked Susan confidently. “Better to know my limits now and walk away, than be stuck as a trophy wife who can’t even please her husband.”
I had to hand it over to Susan. Regardless of whether she might be able to pull it off or not, she didn’t lack confidence. Especially considering who her opponent was.
“But if I bear through it...”
Amelia watched her curiously, as she slowly sat down at the edge of the bed, her legs spread, coated with moisture. Something about her stance had changed. She wasn’t treating Susan as a kid, but as a proper opponent. If nothing else, Susan had managed to make her mark on her mind, and that, I knew, made a hell lot more difference than anything else Susan could or would do.
“If you win?”
“If I succeed, then you’ll never dominate me. Do what you will with the others. I don’t care what kind of bitch you are with his other sluts, but you’ll never come between me and Harry. You’ll never denigrate me. You and I will be equals.”
“Equals…” Amelia whispered, as if tasting the word. “You think you’re my equal, Susie?”
“I think I can become your equal, yes.”
Amelia’s lips twisted, looking a little smug. “Fine. Let Harry fuck you. Right here. And we’ll see who the real Queen is.” She licked her lips. “Do we have a deal?”
“Susan,” I said seriously. “I’ve seen you, felt you. You might say you want a hard fuck, But I’ve seen, I know you. You want a delicate lover, and there’s nothing wrong with that. You don’t have to do this.”
“No,” said Susan stubbornly. “Do your worst. Bring out the incubus. Treat me like you did her. I told you, didn’t I? Hurt me, humiliate me, make me your bitch.”
“Easy to say, before the pain begins.”
“Oh I know I won’t like it,” she said, voice low and eyes blazing. “I’m sure I’ll hate you for it. I’ll fight you every step out of the way. Force me, demean me, make me love it.”
Amelia raised her hands and clapped. “That might just be the bravest thing you’ve ever done, Susie.”
Susan didn’t even look at her aunt, her eyes stuck at my face.
“Well, Harry?”
I looked at Amelia, at the vulpine expression on her face, and then at Susan’s confident facade, her mask straining from her inner doubts. As much as Susan wanted it, I knew there was but one way to end this war, and that was to present them a common obstacle. One that would need both of their combined effort just to last long enough. I needed to show them exactly what an Incubus Lord was capable of. Shatter Amelia’s Occlumency, tear down Susan’s resolve, until both were down on the bed, blabbering nonsense like drunk fools of Knockturn Alley, their brains scrambled from being fucked stupid.
“You want me to do my worst? Unleash my demon?”
“Yes,” said Susan, resolute.
“Fine then,” I said. “If you can last until I cum, then you win. I’ll tell you right now that it won’t be comfortable. It won’t even be pleasurable. Seeing me and your aunt was one thing, but facing my demon? That’s different. Trust me when I say, it will hurt. In ways more than one. If at any point you want me to stop, all you’ve to do is say the safe word — mercy fuck. Say that, and everything stops. You’ll be free.”
“And I lose,” she said softly.
I shrugged. “Yes, but if you can bear through it, then you’ll have everything you want. You’ll be the Lady Bones. Amelia will draw up a marriage contract between me and you, and I’ll sign it. Amelia will keep her word, never hinder our relationship, or denigrate you in any form.”
“And I’m supposed to take your word for that?”
“Yes, you are,” said Amelia before I could reply.
“I guarantee you that what follows this will be terrifying and uncomfortable and… humiliating,” I told her. “I won’t be caring, and neither will your aunt. There will be pain, but not severe or unbearable. And remember, all you’ve to do is say Mercy Fuck, and all the pain will vanish.”
Susan swallowed and gave me a resolute nod. “I’m ready.”
I smiled.
Activating Devil’s Charm
The last two times I had used the perk, it had affected the victim — Hestia and Amelia, magnifying their carnal desires and reducing their inhibitions massively. And not just that, it had mentally twisted them into being obsessed with my cock, and by extension, serving me. The drastic shift from her role as an Order spy into a kinky whore that only got her kicks from hardcore bondage and pain, so much as swearing herself in my service was nothing short of alarming. Amelia too had shifted from someone that would stop at nothing from wanting me for herself, to practically forcing Susan to deepthroat me, so long as Amelia stayed the Queen bitch among my sluts.
This time though, something entirely different happened.
My weariness vanished. The exhaustion from earlier, the upgrade, and most recently, from fucking Susan into the bed, all of that evaporated. Not because my body was no longer weary, but because it was no longer important, only my will was. My hesitation vanished too. Hesitation was for the weak, the vanilla people, the prey. Hesitation was for those that thought they could indulge my hunger and survive. Hesitation was for people that didn’t know their purpose, and I knew mine. These women — they were fighting over me, treating me like a trophy to be won, a toy they’d own at the end of their childish perversities.
I knew exactly what I needed to do.
I grabbed Susan by her throat.
The hunger inside me stirred as I looked at the luscious, curvy, naked bodies of the prey clenched in my hand. The demon in me danced gleefully for a heartbeat or two, and as it did, she shivered, her heart rate rising, her pupils dilating. Susan looked sweet, gentle, kind, but her repressed desires, something I had borne witness recently, were much darker. My fingers clenched her throat, and her eyes widened further. She wanted me to slam her against the wall, and take her in the most violent way possible. I could fulfil her desires, feed my hunger, my unabated lusts, draw away her life, and take my fill. I could leave my mark ripped into her mind and soul so that she’d forever come to me willingly, yearning to be taken again and again and again—
Until she was nothing but a husk.
A toy.
Even Amelia was looking up at me with a smouldering gaze.
“Harry, please, let me suck your cock,” she said, in a husky, pleading voice.
The demon in me licked its chops.
“You will, and more. But first —”
I let Susan’s neck go, and grabbed her hair. Susan hissed in pain, as I pushed her down to the ground. I clenched her hair tighter, and shoved my cock in, and started thrusting. Susan choked and coughed, and looked like she was racking her brain, trying to think of everything she could fathom to help her keep up, from swirling her tongue to stretching her cheeks, all the while struggling to keep her teeth off my girth. It felt utterly right to be like this, with her on her knees, her mouth around my cock. It was her place.
“Conjure collars for her,” I said, “and cuffs.”
Amelia cackled and brandished her wand, transfiguring a pillow into a leather collar which she coiled tight around Susan’s throat. She grabbed Susan’s hands and pulled them behind her, and transfiguring another pillow into a pair of cuffs, bound them together. She levitated the rug from the floor, and transfigured it into a metal leash, attaching the back of the collar to the cuffs. I grabbed Susan’s face, and pulled my cock out, before slapping her with it, slobbering it all over her face, before shoving it back into her mouth.
And then I spat on her face.
“Ghkkguh!” Susan tried to vainly speak with my cock in her mouth. Amelia grabbed her face and rubbed my cock juices and spit all over Susan’s face like it was a moisturiser. Susan fought like an angry beast, trying to get out of Amelia’s grasp, but her aunt was stronger. She pulled on the leash with her knee, choking Susan as she completed the facial massage.
Finally, she let the leash go, and Susan coughed madly over my cock. I pulled myself out and looked down at her, observing Amelia’s handiwork.
“You— ugh! You’re an arsehole, Harry!”
“Oh?” I said. “And what about Amelia?”
“She’s a disgusting bitch! I can’t — UGHH!” The rest of her words died as Amelia pulled the leash again.
I smiled. “You wanted to be my bitch, Susan. I like my bitches collared. I like them naked. I like them mine.”
Susan glared at me.
“Get used to this. If you end up marrying me, that’s how I want you twenty-four seven.”
“Fuck you!”
“Oh, definitely!” I said. “Unless… you think you deserve a mercy fuck?”
Susan opened her mouth to retort, but then decided otherwise. “...No.”
“Good,” I smiled. “In that case, Amelia… a little help?”
“Gladly,” Amelia smiled, and grabbed Susan’s head, and slammed her mouth against my cock. I brushed against her throat, but I still had so much to go. Each thrust was more vigorous than the last. Susan was gagging loudly. Her eyes watered and tears dripped out, but I kept going at a ferocious pace, breathing loudly and grunting, enjoying the feeling of her throat clamping up around my cock.
“Just like that!” I hissed. “Good girl! Good girl!”
Susan coughed out more spit, as Amelia pulled her back using the leash. “Open your mouth!”
“No…!”
Amelia pulled the leash tighter.
Susan gagged and coughed, but finally relented.
“Put your tongue out!”
Even I was interested to see where this was going.
Amelia loomed over Susan’s face and dropped a gobble of spit directly on the girl’s tongue. Susan put her tongue back, and looked like she wanted to vomit, but right then Amelia shoved her head back against my cock. I could feel the sheer revulsion coming from the girl. I could feel that she was hurting. Physically, that is, but being treated this way was also turning her on. She was dripping at being manhandled like this. Yes, she fought and tried to break out, screaming and crying and gagging and coughing, and at the same time, her left hand was down there, fingering her pussy furiously. With Amelia all but forcing her forward, Susan could barely breathe. But it didn’t matter. Her eyes were beginning to wilt, and drool began to fall from the sides of her mouth, as my balls slapped against her chin.
And then her body quivered, an orgasm coursing through her.
“You came before I could even finish in you,” I laughed. “Pathetic. Now stay.”
Susan took a deep breath, trying to control her tears. She looked like she was conflicted between wanting to scream and wanting to cry.
“Stay?” She retorted, proving that she still had the fight in her. “Stay? I’m not your fucking dog!”
“No, you’re more like a frisky little kitten.” I ran one finger down her face like one would pet a cat. Susan jerked her head away.
Amelia jerked her back by the collar.
“You’ll learn to obey me, kitten.”
“I hate you.”
“Then end this,” I said. “You know your safeword.”
Susan gritted her teeth.
I narrowed my eyes. “Follow my commands, or I’ll spank you.”
“Bugger off!”
“You weren’t so opposed earlier.”
“Earlier I thought I was to be with someone sane. Not a psychopath!”
“I won’t hold it against you for being a bad judge of character.”
Angry tears filled her eyes. “Why do you need to do this? I know you can be a delicate lover.”
“Why do you pick flowers?”
“...”
“You don’t need to worry about my reasons. All you need to do is what you’re told.”
“What if I can’t be submissive? Then what?”
“Then you know the result.”
Her lips quivered.
“Don’t be naive, Susan. It doesn’t become you. You know exactly what I want. Your obedience. Your submission. Your body. You’d be my sex slave.”
“No! No fucking way! I refuse!”
“Then say the safeword and we’re done. I’m sure we can leave all of this behind us. Hell, I’m sure Amelia might even obliviate these unpleasant memories out of you.”
“Would you like that, Susan?” Amelia cooed. “I can be the aunt you knew.”
“Closing my eyes doesn’t mean the truth will become a lie.”
I breathed aloud. This was annoying. I never had to deal with so many questions with Hestia. Or Narcissa. Or Amelia. Why the fuck was I entertaining her so much? I knew I could use my power to make her into a quivering wreck but something about her made me hesitate every single time. It couldn’t possibly be because she was a virgin or anything, could it? The knowing smug looks Amelia was sending me weren’t helping either. No woman, I thought spitefully, it's not because I care for Susan.
“Here’s your first lesson in submission,” I said, annoyed. “Don’t ask questions. Don’t talk back. Do what you’re told.”
She frowned.
“This is your last chance to walk out. I won’t ask you again until you break or you give in. If you think I’m a psychopath from just this, wait for what will follow now.”
“I won’t,” she said stubbornly. “I'll survive this. I’ll win this challenge. I’ll become Lady Bones and your wife, and then I’ll spend the rest of my life returning this pain back to you ten times over.”
“Frisky,” I laughed. “But no, if you survive this, then you’ll be my whore. I won’t be nice. I won’t be loving. You’ll just be my slut, nothing more. You’ll just be a set of big tits, a hot arse, and an eager mouth. That’s it. You’ll be my bitch and live for my approval. You'll be devoted to it. And you will love it. You know you will. You will live to do what I say, and the only reward you’ll get is when I use your body to drain my nuts. Any pleasure that you’ll have is secondary to my own. I can dress you like my whore and treat you like one, and you’ll still get on your knees and happily swallow every drop of my thick, creamy cum.”
Susan stared at me with hatred.
“Save your hostility, kitten,” I said. “It doesn’t intimidate me, and it will only make things worse for you.”
Her glare intensified.
I chuckled. “Not so easily broken, is she?”
“She’s a Bones,” said Amelia. “What did you expect?”
Susan turned her eyes, eyes wide open. Indirectly perhaps, but Amelia had just complimented her.
“True, true,” I said, nodding my head. “In that case, let’s try harder. Pull her up. Let’s see if she likes being a dog after all.”
Something dark and wicked flashed across Amelia’s face. She yanked her by the collar and pulled her effortlessly across the silk sheets of the bed. Susan tried to push back, but I was faster. I forced her on her knees, and pushed her head down, pressing her huge mounds onto the mattress and turning her head to one side. All her weight was forward, and with her hands tied across her back and tied to her collar, she was immobile and helpless. Her pussy, now open to both of us for our viewing pleasure, was slick and shiny with her juices, a small drop forming on one of them. Her eyes were smouldering with rage. And at the same time, she was gasping with lust, her breasts heaving. She was loving it as much as she hated it. The dichotomy felt exquisite.
I reached to cup her cunt, and slapped it.
Hard.
Susan shrieked.
I slapped again.
And again.
And again.
“Please, stop!” She screamed, and I hit her once more. Then I yanked her by the leash, and Susan choked, as she was pulled backwards, until she was all but hanging, her breasts freely dangling in the air. I grabbed her arms to keep her from choking further and she coughed.
“Are you ready to submit?” I asked authoritatively.
“Do your worst,” she declared. “I’ll never submit. I’m not submissive. I’m not a slave.”
Something within me snapped.
“Fine then,” I said, a coldness spreading through my voice. “Have it your way.”
I let her fall on the bed face-forward, grabbed her hips, and shoved my cock up her arse.
Susan screamed.
Notes:
If you want to support me, find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Next Update is on 5th October.
Chapter 72: Surrender
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 2 - HOUSE OF BONES
Susan knew she should have walked away.
Both Harry and her aunt had given her ample opportunity to do so. Hell, even when her own aunt was triggering her ego to prove herself sexually against her mature, lascivious form, Harry had been trying to protect her by telling her to let go, and just be happy with what he had gotten her. She could have happily been the girl that enjoyed warm, passionate lovemaking and left the nasty rutting to the likes of her aunt. All she needed to do was put her ego away, and accept that her aunt was better at providing sex to her boyfriend and future husband than she was. Hell, Harry had even provided her a safeword to get out of the humiliation that her own bruised ego was putting her through.
Instead, she had this.
“IT HURTS! IT HURTS! IT HURTS!”
Susan screamed in agony as her small, tight hole tried to adjust to having man-sized meat lodged deep inside it. Her thighs were on the floor, hurting like bitches, with most of Harry’s cock still outside her. It hurt like nothing she had ever felt, and every single nerve of her body was screaming at her to drop her silly ego and end this pain. And yet all she did was grit her teeth and wait for the bastard to push deeper.
And maybe, just maybe, a tiny part of her was actually looking forward to more of this pleasurable agony, whispering into her ear that she had yet to take his entire cock within her arsehole, or else she’d fail compared to her aunt, who had taken it like a champ.
Harry’s hands fondled her naked breasts. Susan cowered away, but he pulled her closer.
“Time for your first lesson,” he grabbed her hair and pulled her back. Susan winced as the action forced a little of his cock deeper up her arse, as he yanked her back like a dog. “You will only speak when you are directly spoken to. And even then it is yes Harry, please Harry, more Harry, can I cum, Harry.”
Next to him, her aunt snorted.
Susan flinched.
“This position is called Kneeling. I expect you in this position every time I walk into the room after you’re my wife. It doesn’t matter where you are or what you are doing. You stop immediately and drop. Sit on your haunches, tuck your feet under your ase, splay your hands on your thighs and bow your head. Let me see.”
“No,” she snarled.
“No?”
“I will never kneel,” her independence roared. “I told you. I’ll deal with this. I’ll suffer through whatever bullshit you put me through, and I will walk with my head held high. You won’t break me, Harry Potter.”
“Fine.” In a flash, he grabbed her by the collar again and forced her forward. Her face hung inches away from the floor, her arse sticking up in the air and attached to his cock.
SMACK!
SMACK!
SMACK!
“You can beat me all you want!” She snapped, even though her body was rebelling against her will. “I don’t care if you kill me! I’ll never be broken!”
“Oh, I’ll not kill you, Susan. But I will break you. Last chance, use the safeword.”
“Fuck off!”
“Fine. We’ll do it your way. I will fuck your arse. If you survive that, I’ll string you up, gag you, and blindfold you. Then I will fuck you in all your holes and leave you hanging.”
Images of what he had just said sprang unbidden in her head.
“Harry, no!” Susan screeched, as she fought against him, thrashing her body as he pulled the leash like she was a disobedient puppy who didn’t want to go out in the rain. Tears were streaming down her face. Morgana, she was pathetic! Naked, on a leash, being commanded by a man who was going to use her as a living sex toy.
“Harry, please,” she begged him, as he pulled on her leash again.
She was bound. Helpless.
Completely helpless.
No matter what way she moved, the restraints would act like marionette strings and bite into her skin. They’d pull her arms up, and her head and her back would follow. Push her down, and she’d have no option but to fall back on her knees and push all the weight towards her head, rendering herself immobile.
Susan was gasping with fear. And humiliation. Her senses were on overload.
“I gave you your chance, Susan,” he said. “Now, you have two options. First, you can fuck me back with your arse. Or, this cock goes straight into your mouth.”
Susan wanted to cry. She wanted to give up, say the safeword and hide away in some hole for the rest of her natural life. Harry was so clearly laying out his plan for her, his thoughts on what her life would be, and with that, a bit of clarity rose in her, reminding her of all the things she fought against. She remembered how strongly she held her ideals. She was to be the proud and regal Lady Bones, and there she was, down on her knees, with that misogynistic’s cock shoved up her arse. It was completely abhorrent. The fact that his cock was huge and perfect and absolutely suckable shouldn’t have mattered. But someone part of her kept pointing out that this wasn’t real. That Harry wasn’t this bastard he was pretending to be, that all of this was just an illusion to make her accept her defeat.
And she wasn’t going to.
With a look of anger in her face, she pushed backward, clenching her teeth as the massive cock impaled deeper into her arse. It was difficult, excruciatingly so, what with her hands being tied across her back. She had to push herself using her breasts and her knees until she was able to get just a little more of his cock into her puckered hole, while all he did was slide his hands up and down her juicy, ripe arse, squeezing her round cheeks firmly over and over again.
The bastard.
Yes, she had had this cock drill into her pussy. Yes, she had deepthroated it several times by now, but it had never felt bigger than it did at this moment, stretching her tight arse open, forcing her to accept the meaty invader. And her arse was accepting it. Despite its thickness, her arse was actually welcoming it inside of her, stretching around iot in a matter Susan didn’t think possible, soaking it with her copious juices, lubing it, aiding it in its journey balls deep into her.
And as she did that, Susan began to realise what she had been missing out all these years. Feeling the enormous cock in her, feeling her arse stretch like that, she now realised what Hannah and her aunt had felt like. She had thought she’d be satisfied with the soft cuddles and passionate lovemaking, but this experience was changing her completely. It just felt right. Perfect. It was satisfying a craving she had always felt but could never truly acknowledge.
“Take it, bitch!” Harry grunted, and Susan pushed her face further down, her cheeks flattening against the harsh floor. She twisted and flexed her body, angling herself to push herself further up to slide more of Harry’s pipe up into her. It was almost inhuman, she thought, wondering how her body could take so much cock. She didn’t know how it could possibly fit, but it could, and somehow, she just knew she could take more. She could take the whole thing.
Susan was beginning to realise she was built for big cocks.
Harry was behaving every bit of the uncaring man he was portraying himself, the brutish buttfucker that she had called him, ignoring all her huffing and puffing and screaming, content to let her push past her limits at an unyielding pace.
Another bit went in. Just a quarter was left.
“Let me give you another option, Susan,” said Harry. “You can either try to push the entirety of my cock into your arse, or you can tell me you don’t want me to touch you.”
Susan snorted! As if he’d really do that. He couldn’t keep his hands off her.
“I’m being serious, Susan. Just say the words, and I’ll pull out. Tell me that you don’t want me to touch you.”
I don’t want you to touch me. Susan opened her mouth to say those words—
But not a single word escaped her throat.
She was hesitating. Why? This was her escape without having to acknowledge the safeword. So why couldn’t she say it?
Say it.
His hands slithered across her arse cheeks.
Say it.
His fingers crawled above her pussy, teasing her folds. She closed her eyes, trying to reject his touch. A single finger crawled into her folds, and she gasped.
“You are so wet for me.”
Say it. Fucking say it. Why can’t I say it?
His finger moved in and out, spreading through the slickness through her folds. Her body tightened and ached, but she fought the urges he was bringing forth. She would not come. She would not give this man the pleasure. Harry worked his hands faster, insistent. The sensations kept building, and Susan clenched her fists impotently, fighting the orgasm he was demanding.
No! No! No!
Yes! Yes! YES!
“UGHH! YES!!” Susan grunted, and pushed herself back against his cock with one mighty push, slipping the entirety of his cock up her arse. At the same time, her cunt felt like she was about to explode and yet —
It didn’t.
Why? Why didn’t she cum?
Harry laughed. It was a cruel thing. There was something hypnotic about it, promising that he knew something she didn’t.
“You will learn to do as I say, without question, without hesitation.” He kissed her shoulder softly, sliding her hair over to one side.
“I — I’ll be good. I’ll behave,” she whimpered.
What was wrong with her?
As if that wasn’t enough, he pulled himself out of her arse, bringing her down from her orgasmic high. “Oh you will, once I’m through with you. This… this is just a trailer, my dear. I will slowly fashion you into something that is utterly, unreservedly mine. But you are a Hufflepuff. Let’s see how diligently you’ve been learning what I have been teaching you, shall we?”
He squeezed her singing behind. Given the number of smacks, it was probably stained red by now.
“I’m going to quiz you. And then I’m going to make you come so hard that you’ll probably pass out.”
Her breathing ragged, but as fearful as she was, the thought of his cock in her pussy made her instantly wet. Her body was loving him and hating him. In the past few days, Harry had broken down so many barriers that it was tremendously hard to refuse him. The things he had made her feel, first through his words, then his featherlight touches, his care and affection and now his ruthlessness, the symphony of pain and pleasure that only he could make her feel was unequivocal. And to think that he was still playing with her. She couldn’t even imagine what it’d be like when she had surrendered herself completely. Yes, she’d surrender, there was no two ways about that. Just a matter of time before her ego gave away, and she became his.
Shut up.
But isn’t that right? He wants me. He loves me. He cares for me. It’s no secret. Even Auntie mentioned it so many times.
Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.
He tried to protect me earlier. He has repeatedly tried to get me to quit. Use the safeword. And yet, he has never forced himself on me, or forced me to touch him. Every single time, I’ve chosen to do it.
Just shut the fuck up!
It was just so bizarre and maddening all at the same time. The ultimate mind game. Because he knew that the moment she willingly surrendered to him, she would truly be his. Irrevocably.
She felt something zoom through the air into his hand.
“So, let’s review,” He slowly walked in front of her, revealing a crop, his eyes smouldering with desire. Her breath slowed. Slowly, erotically, he placed the crop on her shoulder, before dragging it all over her back, until it rested on her arse.
“I will ask you a question. You will provide me with the correct answer.”
“And you won’t hit me?”
“No. You are getting spanked regardless. But as soon as you answer all the questions correctly, the spanking will cease.”
She was quivering. Seeing the crop, feeling it resting on her arse. It was terrifying.
Tears spilt out of her eyes, as he grabbed her hips and pushed his cock back into her arse.
Whack!
He hit her without any warning at all, and she wailed. The crop stung and bit her bare skin all at the same time. That his cock was deep within her only hurt all the more.
“Who owns you, Susan?”
“No— no one!”
Whack!
“AAAGH! FUCK! YOU BASTARD I WILL KILL YOU!”
Whack!
“Who. Owns. You?”
“You— you do,” she answered rapidly. There was a time for resistance, and hers was already crumbling. There was no need to add pain to the mess.
“I couldn’t hear you, poppet,” laughed her aunt. “Scream it out loud.”
Whack!
“You do!” She screamed like she ordered her to.
“When I tell you to kneel, what do you say?”
“Yes, Harry,” she yelled.
Whack!
“When I tell you to lie down and open your legs, what do you say?”
“Yes, Harry!”
She sucked in a deep breath.
Whack!
“When I tell you to bend over so that I can spank you, what do you say?”
“Yes, Harry!”she sobbed.
Whack!
“Please, Harry!” she continued.
Whack!
“Spank me more, Harry!”
Whack! Whack! Whack!
“She learns fast,” her aunt commented with a dry laugh.
Harry chuckled. “She does.”
“What do I want from you, Susan?”
“My obedience!”
Whack!
“My submission!”
Whack!
She let out a loud cry. “And my body! Naked! Chained! And Yours!”
Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack!
She heard him drop the crop, and wheezed, her body all but giving out. His arms wrapped around her delicately.
“Shhh, baby,” he kissed her gently on the shoulder. You did good. Look at your aunt. She’s so proud of you.”
And she was. Amelia was smiling at her, like a proud parent at her child’s accomplishment. He pulled out, his lips moving down all the way until he was licking her wet folds. Susan moaned, desperate for the mental break. She spread her legs wider, crazy for him to get closer and press harder. She wanted his cock back, but his tongue would do so long as she kept getting it. She heard him groan as he slashed his tongue against her repeatedly, fucking her with his mouth. The feeling… was unparalleled.
And then, Harry Potter hissed.
“AAAHH! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!” She screamed, as the pleasure reached a crescendo. She was so lost in the moment that she could barely think, all anger and aggression and lust and desperately wanting to cum. And yet, she didn’t. Why?
“Why can’t I cum?” She demanded. “Why can’t I cum?”
Harry laughed again. “You won’t cum. Not unless I tell you to. It’s part of my power.”
Susan froze in horror. A single glance at her aunt showed her surprise as well. Harry… Harry had the power to control others’ orgasms? Did that mean that she would forever lose her ability to orgasm if he denied her permission? What crazy bullshit was that? He was fibbing. He had to be. He had to be!
“Go on,” he asked, smirking at her incredulous expression. “Ask me for my permission.”
Susan didn’t want to give in to his taunts. But she also wanted to know if he was speaking the truth.
“I want to cum!”
SMACK!
His palm smacked her pussy hard. Susan screamed.
“Ask properly.”
“Please! Please let me cum!”
SMACK!
“Please! Please, Harry, please let me cum!”
Harry inserted his fingers deep inside her core again, and tickled her clit, bringing her right to the breaking point. Her heart was hammering and so was her core.
“Be more particular.” He ordered. “Specify. Who are you? What are you?”
“I’m Susan!”
SMACK!
Fucking Bastard!
“Your whore!” She wept. “I’m your whore! Please Harry, please let your whore cum!”
“Yes, you may.”
It was like his words triggered something in her, and Susan’s whole world exploded in a rainbow of colours and pleasure. And girl, did she cum. She screamed so loudly that anyone else would have thought she was being murdered. Her nails dug into her own palms and her breasts rubbed themselves ragged against the cold floor as she spasmed in orgasmic ecstasy. When the quake dissipated, she was limp on the floor, breathing raggedly, and close to tears. Harry brushed his face against her inner thigh, and gently licked the insides of her folds.
Susan shivered. The last vestiges of her resolve were fraying away. She would be his. Unequivocally.
Would that be so bad?
“Good girl,” he patronised, rising to his knees. “Tell me, Susan. Who owns you?”
“You do,” she answered reluctantly.
“That’s right,” he said. She could feel his smile. “Tell me again, how do I like my whores?”
“You like them naked. You like them chained. Collared. You like them… yours.”
“Right again.”
“Please…” she begged. “Please… please do not hurt me any more.”
“No one will hurt you,” he said. “No one.”
“Except you?”
The voice that escaped her throat was small, naked, defenceless.
“Yes. But I promise I won’t hurt you. If you behave.”
She looked up to meet his eyes. “You promise?”
“Yes.”
“You will make this pain go away?”
“I will.”
She closed her eyes. Surrendering. Giving up. “Harry, please touch me.”
She didn’t even need to open her eyes to see that her words had blindsided him.
“...what?”
“Please… touch me. Heal me. Take all this pain away. Make me yours.”
She felt him lift her face, brushing his thumb against her skin. Something moist hit her lips, and she darted her tongue out. She was a butterfly trapped in his web. A web of lies, deception and selfishness.
She was his.
“Fuck me, Harry.”
“Where do you want me to fuck you?”
“She fought back her tears. “In my pussy. In my arse. Fuck me like you fucked Auntie. Make me your bitch.”
“Fine.”
And with that, her shackles fell away. Susan felt him pick her up with an exaggerated slowness and an impossible degree of tenderness. She didn’t understand his change of demeanour. Wait, was that because she had accepted that she was his whore? Because she had submitted to him? Her defences stood guard, but Harry just shifted her, as if she weighed nothing, and gently pushed her into the bed. Grabbing his erection in one hand, he moved down to take one of her nipples into his mouth, and swirled his tongue around them. Susan moaned as he pushed his erection into her pussy, his jerks becoming faster and faster as he sucked her nipples, working himself to a climax. He bit the nipple, sending a shock of pain through her body.
“Mine,” he declared, as if he had just marked his territory. Then he kissed her hard and unapologetically, and she let him.
When he was done, Susan just dropped her head to the side, exhausted. Her emotions were a shitstorm inside of her, too many to even process, so she just shoved them away, focussing on one single thought.
She was his.
And why did that thought send a pleasing sensation down her spine?
Harry lifted her up, as if she weighed nothing. Susan instinctively crossed her legs around his waist, her hands going around his neck, as she rested her head against his shoulder. She felt Harry walk across the room, carrying her like that, until he rested her against the wall, trapping her in between. There was nowhere else she’d want to be.
And then he grabbed his cock and impaled her pussy.
“OH! FUCK! YES!” She screamed, gripping his neck. “You are so fucking huge, Harry! You feel so amazing!” she moaned out, squeezing her cunt around his thick shaft.
His cock had never seemed more like a weapon of pure evil than it did at this moment. Because all decorum, all the pure thoughts, all the defiance and all the ego that occupied her mind all seemed to slip away. Harry’s cock was changing her, warping her young mind the longer it was inside her. All the things that mattered to her before now seemed so much less important. Her career, her role as a Hufflepuff pack-leader, her future as Lady Bones, her political and social beliefs. All that mattered was that hard cock inside her. All that mattered was making sure that dick got all the pleasure it needed. All that mattered was the sensation of feeling utterly filled up to the brim with that cock. It was a sensation she never knew could feel so good, and now that she was feeling it, she didn’t know if she could ever give it up.
Or if she would ever want to.
“You like that, bitch?”
That she didn’t even take note of the derogatory way in which he had addressed him spoke volumes of what she had been through. Instead her corrupted and sex-crazy body responded with clenching her pussy walls tighter against his weapon.
“Ugh! Merlin! I love it! I love it so much!” She cried. “Oh fuck!”
“You love it, huh?”
He squeezed her breasts tightly.
“Yes! Yes! Yes Uh…. Uh, uh, ugh!” She grunted, her moans becoming less and less rational every time he drove his shaft into her squeezing cunt. He was not letting up, showing no mercy, his experience with rough, filthy, passionate fucking showing.
“UGH! UGH! UGH! YES! HARRY! YES HARRY! YES!”
“Tell me! How does it feel?”
“Merlin! It’s amazing!” Susan groaned. She couldn’t deny it. As she felt a pleasure she didn’t imagine possible, feeling this hugest, fattest, most amazing cock filling her tight twat, she realised that all she needed to do was back down in front of this conqueror. As much as she tried, she couldn’t match his rough pace, so instead she settled for complete lack of hesitation. She wasn’t trying to pretend anymore that she didn’t want this. She was rising and falling violently, like a complete whore. Like the dirty sluts she looked down upon, not the upstanding, regal wife she always saw herself about to become.
“You want to cum, bitch?” Harry growled like the devil he was.
“Yes, Harry! Please Harry!”
“Harry roughly mauled her breasts with his meaty paws. She loved the feeling. Such a hard, rough man deserved the incredible softness of her huge breasts.
“I… uh, fuck! Fuck me! I want to cum!” She begged, coated with sweat and on the edge of a huge orgasm which she knew she’d be denied unless she sought his permission. He had told her! She couldn’t cum unless it was by him, and by his evil cock.
SPANK!
A tinge of pure pain rippled through her arse.
“Try again!”
“FUCK! YES! PLEASE HARRY! Please let me cum!”
SPANK!
“AGAIN!” He roared.
“Harry, please! Let your whore cum! Let your slut cum! Please OHMY—”
“MORE!” He spanked her again.
“I wanted to cum on your fat fucking cock ever since I saw it!” yes! UGH!”
SPANK!
“I wanted you to fuck me when you flirted with me at Floreans!” Susan screamed. “Every time I insulted you, I wanted you to fuck me! I wanted to keep insulting you while you pushed me down on the table, fucking my pussy like you owned it!”
SPANK!
“I was so fucking jealous of Hannah for fucking you before me! I saw you first! You came to our table because of ME! The bitch didn’t deserve getting to fuck you!”
She had always thought that ‘making an honest woman out of a girl' was a rhetorical statement. Girl, was she wrong! His cock was worse than freaking veritaserum. She tried to pathetically keep it within, and not spill out her secrets, but she couldn’t. The pleasure was too great. The agony at not getting to cum was too great.
SPANK!
“I loved it when you used me in your little plans,” She blabbered. “I loved it when you twisted things to get a meeting with my aunt! I was so turned on with your skill! When I came to your room that afternoon! I wasn’t wearing my panties! I thought you’d touch them! Play with them! I wondered if you’d fuck me!”
“MORE!”
“I HATED AUNTIE FOR FUCKING YOU!” she screamed to the heavens. “HOW DARE SHE FUCK YOU WHEN I HAD MY EYES ON YOU?” She looked down at her, her aggression and lusts exploding out of her. “I wanted you! I wanted you to fuck me! Make me your wife! Your bitch! Fuck me ten times as hard as you did that bimbo bitch Hannah and her mom! HOW DARE AUNTIE TAKE YOU AWAY FROM ME?”
She knew her aunt was listening to all of her confessions, but she didn’t care. All she wanted was to cum on that cock.
SPANK! SPANK! His palms kept raining down exquisite flares of agony on her arse. Every touch blurred the line between pain and pleasure, and Susan was losing herself completely. She knew that by the time she could cum, she’d be his whore. Nothing else.
Harry’s whore. That would become her reality.
And she would love it.
“ All those times I cornered you! In your bed, at the beach, every single time I told you I wasn’t ready, I wanted you to force yourself on me! Make me learn to love your cock! I thought you would get past your morality but UGH! Please let me cum!”
He didn’t let her. Instead he made her scream as he drove his oversized rod in and out of her snatch. He was hitting her in places she didn’t even know existed, fitting inside her in ways she had never known possible. All she wanted was his permission to cum, and her world would shake.
“It was so HOT seeing you and Auntie rut like that! I hated it like nothing else! I wanted to be there, in her position, with you driving it in me! How dare Auntie get what I wanted? I knew you first! You flirted with me all that time. I walked you into this house! Why did Auntie get to feel your cock and make me feel jealous about it?”
“And now?”
“Now I’m your whore!”
SPANK!
“Just like Auntie!
SPANK!
“Both of us will worship your cock! We’ll serve you together! If she has the cock, I'll have the balls! I’ll take you up my arse after she has you in her pussy! Every night! Every day! We’ll be yours! Carrying out your whims!”
“Oh poppet!” said Amelia. “You say the sweetest things!”
“Auntie will teach me all the ways to pleasure you! She’s my auntie, she knows best. She’ll make me into a good whore for you, Harry! Me as Lady Bones and her as Lady Potter—”
“Oh….” Her aunt moaned. “What a nice image! Let her cum, Harry.”
“Do it, Susan,” said Harry. “Cum on my cock!”
"FUCK! YES! YES! YES! YES! I'm gonna... I'm gonna cum! I'M GOING TO CUM! I'M GOING TO FUCKING CUM ON YOUR BIG FAT COCK! YES! YES! AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! YYYYEEEESS!" Susan screamed nearly at the top of her lungs as her world exploded, cresting in an incredible wave of pleasure as the biggest orgasm of her life hit her. Any orgasms she had had before this barely counted in comparison. Her body twitched and jerked violently as the orgasm slammed her, grinding into the magnificent man's body, feeling every inch of his cock inside of her.
Her cunt was spasming in pleasure, a kind that she never knew possible. Every nerve of her body was exploding in pleasure, making her body quiver with delight. If there was a pleasure-equivalent to the cruciatus, then this was it. And it was all thanks to that god-cock lodged balls deep in her cunt. There was no more guilt, no more quandaries. None of that happened. All that mattered was this cock in her clenching cunt.
She let out a soft moan, as she felt him dislodge out of her, letting her slowly slide down to the floor. Closing her eyes, Susan dropped her head to one side and rested. She thought she heard the sound of an owl hooting but couldn’t bring herself to care. She felt Harry walk away. Did he get a letter? From whom?
No. It didn’t matter. She was his. If he felt it necessary, he would tell her. To ask him wasn’t her place.
“It’s from Narcissa,” she heard him say.
“What does she say?” asked her aunt.
“Make hay while the sun shines…” Harry trailed off, barking out a laugh. “For the next five days.”
“What does that— “ began her aunt. “Oh, I see.”
Harry let out another laugh. “Guess we have a time limit.”
“Bugger,” claimed her aunt. “I was expecting to have you around for some more time.”
Susan wholeheartedly agreed. Any day she spent without his cock in her was a waste.
“I’d love to, but you know I can’t. Places to go. People to meet. Events to arrange. I will be in touch.”
“Not in touch, Harry,” said her aunt. “You have to touch me! I don’t think I can live otherwise.”
Her aunt let out a soft, moaning sound. Susan wondered if they were kissing.
“I will. It’s just a matter of weeks, Amelia. After that…” he trailed off.
“After that…” she said. “Will you make me an honest woman too, Harry? Fulfil my greatest wish?”
“Amelia…”
“You don’t have to answer it now, Harry. But I want it soon.”
“I will. And take care of Susan. She is to be one of my wives, after all.”
A small smile spread across Susan’s lips. That was all she wanted to hear. Exhaling, she let sweet morpheus take her.
END OF BOOK 2
Notes:
If you want to support me, find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Next Update is on 10th October.
Chapter 73: The Grass Isn't Always Greener
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 3 - THE INCUBUS AND NECROMANCER
Gideon Abbott sat alone in the foyer of his mansion, studying the crossword puzzle from that morning Daily Prophet, when the fireplace flared to life, and Broderick Greengrass stepped through the Floo.
“Ric!” He exclaimed happily. “Afternoon, my friend. What brings you here?”
To his surprise, the seasoned businessman both ignored the nickname and removed several files from the satchel hanging from his shoulder. Then, he carefully placed the bag on the side table and sat down on the couch opposite Gideon’s.
“Trouble,” grunted Broderick.
“Oh joy,” Gideon snorted. “That seems to be the flavour of the month. First Harry Potter pulls off that stunt with Sleekeazy, taking over the company. Then Lucius’s boy gets in trouble with him. Mighty scandal that one could be! But I heard that Lady Malfoy made him reconsider and compromise. Dangerous woman that one is. But what’s up with you now?”
Broderick grunted unhappily. “Gringotts sent me a letter. Bodrok, that’s the goblin that deals with Magical Meanderies and Lomfay Enterprises, got subpoenaed to the DMLE. Someone ratted me out, and the DMLE’s looking into my accounts and investments. My contact told me that someone dropped a fat wad of files on Amelia Bones’ desk. With any luck, they’ll be all over me by the end of the week.”
Gideon put the paper down and took a sip.
“Are you even listening?”
Gideon arched an eyebrow. It was strange for Broderick to be this antsy.
“What’s wrong my friend? It’s just a DMLE check-up. They do that all the time. And even if someone stirs some shit up, your dear friend Lucius can give a Floo-call to the Minister, and all problems turn to pixie dust and float away.”
“Yeah, no pixie dust this time, Gideon,” said Broderick. “Lucius isn’t here. He’s in Albania.”
Gideon arched an eyebrow. “Albania? What’s he doing there?”
“Beats me. But it’s important and secret. No one, not even his wife knows what’s going on. I tried sending him an owl, but it didn’t take flight. Wherever he is, he doesn’t want to be found right now.”
“Then how did you —”
“Narcissa.”
“Malfoy?”
“Who else?”
“And she told you?”
“I’m Lucius’s partner,” said Broderick proudly. “Besides, she’s easy. Just make her feel important, and she folds like a hippogriff’s wing.”
Gideon narrowed his eyes. Narcissa Malfoy , easy? Since when? That woman was as crafty as they came. But then again, Broderick was Lucius’s partner. Gideon had always hoped to do direct business with Lucius Malfoy, but Broderick had always maintained a firm hold on his position as the man’s second-in-command. Not very subtle, but Gideon could understand it. Lucius brought gold and connections to the table, while Broderick balanced it with his resources, manpower and solid work ethic. Plus, the man was incredibly loyal to Lucius and managed all their shady businesses with utter honesty.
Not Gideon’s cup of tea.
“So Lucius is away in Albania, and unreachable, and you’ve got the DMLE hounding you. Any idea who’s leading the investigation?”
“Gawain Robards.”
Gideon winced.
“Any idea how to throw him off my scent?”
“Can’t.”
Broderick gave him a puzzled look. “Why? What’s his problem?”
“Problem? He’s a fucking boy scout. You can’t buy this one.”
Broderick banged the arm of the chair. “Everyone has a price.”
“This one doesn’t. You can reason with Amelia Bones, and you know how big of a stick that bitch has up her arse. Robards? He’s an attack dog. He doesn’t care for politics, or the Ministry. No doubt that’s why Bones picked him out of the litter.”
“Anything you can tell me about him?”
Gideon considered that.
“I’ll tell you this much. Robards will show up on your door only after he thinks he’s got you nicely prepped and ready to be served on the dinner palate. Knowing him, he’s probably looking at your books, your meetings, your parties. He’s already got pictures of your whole inner circle, friends, partners, their wives, everything. He’ll even peek into your fucking bath if he thinks he can get away with that.”
Broderick made a nasty face. “That’s not an investigation. That’s an invasion of my privacy.”
Gideon took a sip of his morning tea. “That’s exactly what he does. What he’s currently doing. He rattles you. And he’s going to rattle your other partners and this goblin until they nag you to become a witness.”
Broderick blinked. “He wants me to rat on myself? He wants me to give him the information that’d end up with… No, no way. There’s got to be, I mean, you’ve got to give me something. Maybe I can give this guy a call. See what he wants. If he’s harassing my banker, that’s grounds for me to call and inquire, right?”
Gideon exhaled. For someone that was a seasoned businessman, Broderick had the tendency to act out when pushed. Luckily, his irrationality soon died down, and he was able to pull that anarchic head of his into solving the mess. This time though, Gideon needed him to be a little irrational to get what he wanted done.
His plans demanded it.
“Listen to me, Broderick Greengrass,” he said firmly, “the only person that’s going to call this guy is your solicitor. You don’t fuck with people like Robards. Get that? He’s like a hawk. Everything you say, he’s going to use it against you. He’s smart. You’re dumb. Get this straight.”
“Then what do you want me to do? Sit on my arse while everything I’ve built over the decades falls apart?”
Gideon looked at his friend with a dubious expression before shaking his head. “No, that isn’t what I meant. What is your biggest hold-up for the moment?”
“I told you. Robards is investigating Lomfay and Magical Meanderies. Lomfay we can manage. They are managed through several other companies on the continent. And no way they’ll have the power or the evidence to subpoena all those companies. But Magical Meanderies? That’s got me all over the place. If they find out that I’ve been manufacturing illegal potion ingredients for it, I’ll fucking lose my fucking license. Greengrass Exports will be destroyed, and the Aurors will be banging my front door warrant in hand.”
Actually, Gideon wanted to say, it wouldn’t be destroyed. It would just be Broderick who’d be fucked. Real hard. But still… Something about this bothered him. He wasn’t a believer in coincidences, but if he were, he’d have described it as hilariously serendipitous.
Still, no one ever became successful by looking a gift horse in the mouth.
“Phyllida,” he said, trying to sound as casual as possible without being overt. “Isn’t that the same unit that your Board keeps harping about?”
Broderick growled. “It is. Phyllida Greenhouses has always been a bad asset for the Export company. They just want me to get rid of it.”
“Why not just sell it to Magical Meanderies or some other company you can control?”
“Too risky,” Broderick grunted. “I’m already spread thin over this trade. Especially with Harry Potter taking over Sleekeazy. Bloody Boy-Who-Lived sent a fucking proposal to the Board, offering to buy out Phyllida, and since then some of the members have been rather vocal.”
Gideon frowned. He didn’t know about that bit. Had Potter acted out without letting him know?
“Harry Potter? When did this happen?”
Broderick gave him an odd look. “Sometime last month.”
Ah. Then he had done it before coming to Gideon. That made sense. No wonder he was willing to put so many cards on the table to get his way. Not a very wise move, but nobody had ever accused the boy of being a genius.
“Anything you want to tell me?”
“... yes. Actually, I do. You see, Harry Potter visited me just last week. He’s a friend of my niece and came to know about our friendship. He came to ask if I could… shall we say, broker a deal between House Greengrass and House Potter.”
Broderick arched an eyebrow. “In exchange for?”
“Sizable benefits,” Gideon shrugged. The best lies were those that hid a sliver of falsehood in an ocean of truth. “Apparently he’s trying to expand his reach in the potions trade, and needs certain magically rich environments, or something like that.”
“I’ve heard,” said Broderick grumpily. “He has had his eye on Phyllida since then.” He paused. “Do you think that he might have been the one…”
“Don’t be absurd, Broderick,” Gideon scoffed. “Even if he somehow got all the evidence he needed to connect Magical Meanderies with you, which I doubt he does, you’re really telling me that a strapping lad like him who’s making a mess of his family fortune, is the one that sent the DMLE dogs after you? And for what? To get the property he wants? If the DMLE discovers exactly what Phyllida is being used for, they’ll seal it for Merlin-knows how long! And even after that, it’ll be held in litigation for years. If Potter was really behind this, he’s a greater fool than I thought.”
“So, not Potter then.”
Gideon shook his head. Inwardly, he was dancing in glee at the opportunity that had just presented itself. “But there’s an idea. Potter told me that he wants to rent Phyllida for some months and see if it truly matches what he wants.”
“Why are you bothering me with Potter and his inane demands? We need to solve the bigger problem here!”
“My friend, I am solving your problem. Phyllida is what ties you to Meanderies. Your Board has wanted you to dispose of it for a long time. Why not let Harry Potter have it? Draw up an agreement, hand over the papers, upon condition that he’ll sell it back to you after a determined time frame. Say… six months. Until then Lucius will be back, and you can just buy it back from Potter.”
“But why would Potter agree? If he really wants the place so bad, why would he ever agree to sell it back to me?”
Gideon smiled. “My dear friend, since when have we started caring about others? And besides, if we play this well, you can even land yourself on the Potter fortune. ”
Broderick met his eyes for a long second. “Whatever do you mean?”
“I’ve heard rumours about Lucius’s son and your youngest…” Gideon began.
“Astoria?” asked Broderick. “Yes. We have a betrothal contract. She’ll be engaged to Draco right after she passes her OWLs. Draco will take up the mantle of Lord Black, and she’ll be the Lady.”
“Must be nice,” Gideon shrewdly observed. “And if you can latch on to your eldest with Potter then…”
The man shook his head. “It wouldn’t work. Potter is the quintessential Gryffindor, from what I’ve heard. He hates Slytherins with a passion, from what Astoria tells me.”
“Now that I will disagree. I’ve discussed Potter with my niece in vivid detail ever since he met me. I’ll agree with your assessment about his Gryffindor disposition, but his sole animosity is with Lucius’s son and his henchmen. He hasn’t even talked to any other Slytherin to date.”
Broderick frowned. “Still, it’s no secret that I’m Lucius’s partner. I doubt he’d want to marry someone whose younger sister is married to Lucius’s son either.”
“Yet he also strikes me as someone wanting to make a name for himself. He reached out to me, and struck a deal over things most profitable, just so that I could lend him a hand in this matter. I think you’re looking at this from a tainted lens. Why not ask your eldest about him? Daphne’s far more… jaded, I’ve heard.”
Something dark flickered over Broderick’s face. “She’s got a… condition. That and it’s not easy for people to get along with her. That’s why I chose Astoria over her for young Draco.”
That and Daphne’s a potential heiress to the Selwyn dynasty. Gideon mused. You, my slippery friend, aren’t as subtle as you think.
“I’d say that’s an even better situation. Daphne isn’t blinded by schoolyard ego troubles, from what I’ve heard. Keeps to herself and is an excellent class performer. Maybe strike something between her and Potter.”
Broderick leaned towards him and whispered evenly. “I don’t see you pushing your niece in his arms.”
Gideon laughed. “You won’t get any secret ploys here, my friend. Truth is, House Abbott has nothing to offer House Potter, but House Greengrass does. The Potters are an Ancient and Noble Family, much like the Malfoys. Can you imagine the social standing you’ll get with your daughters marrying Draco Malfoy and the Boy-Who-Lived? Plus, it fits Greengrass's policy of staying neutral.”
“Still wouldn’t work,” grumbled Broderick. “I am hearing whispers out there. Rumours about something big about to happen. The old extremists are stirring again. If there’s another civil war, my House will be divided among both sides.”
“Or, it can profit the most. And besides, accidents can happen to anyone, anytime. Can they not?”
The two men looked at each other for another long second.
And then burst into chuckles.
“Let me send him an owl,” said Gideon. “We’ll get an agreement whipped right away, preferably one that’s backdated a bit, just to keep the Aurors from snooping around too much. Not that they’d do, what with the Boy-Who-Lived’s name added to it. Give it to him for free for all I care, so long as he’s willing to return it back within a predetermined time period. And then, all problems are gone, and you’ve got the Boy-Who-Lived served in a platter to mould as you like. If you find it fitting, you can tie him to Daphne. What’s there to lose?”
Broderick smiled as he stood up. “What indeed?”
With a pop, Nymphadora appeared in front of Harry Potter’s apartment wearing a sexy black dress and high heels, carrying a bottle of Ogden's in her hand. Hestia had invited her to spend an evening with her at Potter’s place, claiming that he was away. It was a good opportunity for her to spend some time together with her bestie. Merlin knew that ever since Hestia had jumped on the job offer, they had spent a lot less time together than they used to.
She crossed the outer wards and rang the bell, taking the time to breathe better and look around. As much as she denied it, just coming to this place was giving her shivers. The last time she had been here…. Well, memorable, was one way of putting it. Her interaction with the Boy-Who-Lived-to-Sexually-Tame-A-Werewolf had ended up with her fingering herself to sleep.
The memory of that cock sliding up and down Granger’s moist pussy….
She shivered.
“Control yourself, girl! At this rate, you’ll end up tattooing his name on your arse. You’re a fucking Auror, not a Boy-Who-Lived fangirl!”
Truthfully, she felt like a coward. She had only agreed to Hestia’s offer to spend a girls’ night here because Potter was away. But even she couldn’t deny that some part of her actually hoped that he’d be present. Wasn’t that why she had dressed up in that black dress she had worn the last time, with complete with fuck-me heels, looking every bit of a stately party girl in muggle high-society.
Very fuckable.
The door opened, and Hestia arrived, wearing a very tight, faux-leather pink top and no obvious bra. Her large nipples were poking through the material. Matching that with tight jeans in an overall sexy come-hither look, Hestia had dressed to impress.
Nymphadora was amused. She knew of Hestia’s predilections about sex. You couldn’t just have a girl as your bestie for five years of Hogwarts without knowing about her sexual leanings and interests. Not that Hestia tried to hide it or anything.
And the worst part? She knew exactly who it was she was trying to impress.
Too bad Nymphadora didn’t swing that way.
Thoughts of sex led to a different but related topic. Knowing her friend, she wondered exactly what kind of relationship she shared with the Boy-Who-Lived. Experienced or not, he was still a third-year passout.
“Tonks!” Hestia greeted her with a warm hug, pressing her breasts seductively together, the hug lingering a bit longer than normal. Nymphadora pursed her lips, and accepted the treatment anyway. She had come to expect this from her — little touches, just enough to toe the line between platonic and carnal, a harmless kiss on the cheek lingering just a second more than was normal, her inability to maintain eye-contact with her — things like that.
It was both amusing and disheartening at the same time. Amusing, because Hestia kept trying too hard while never being frank about it. And disheartening, because she couldn’t give her best friend what she truly wanted.
Not after….
Tonks sighed. This wasn’t the time to dig out old wounds.
“You look great, Tonks.”
“Thanks, I feel a little underdressed to be honest. But this dress worked the last time, so… I decided to stick with this.”
“Brings in memories of the last time, doesn’t it?” Hestia quipped, her teasing eyes running down her body. “And you’ve added some size to your boobs. And at the hip.” A smouldering hunger flickered in her eyes before being replaced with melancholy, as she took a step back and gave her a thorough look-over.
“You really ought to have increased your height a little. Maybe a couple of inches?”
She could have, but adding much to her height and weight were easy ways to get her coordination all fucked up. The last thing she needed was to come across as a klutz.
She had enough of that during her formative years as a metamorph at Hogwarts, and at the Auror Academy.
“Come on, in.”
She walked past the foyer into the drawing room, with Hestia pulling a bottle from the bar, and fumbling with the glasses. This was the very room she had been in the last time she had been here.
A shiver ran down her spine.
“Reminiscing about your last visit, are we?” asked Hestia, without even looking at her, as she poured firewhiskey into the glasses.
“Uh, I got you firewhiskey—”
“Oh, don’t bother with opening that,” said Hestia. “It’s a gift for me, right? So I’ll drink it later.” she gave her a beaming smile, as she walked towards her, a glass in each hand. “All mine, that bottle is.”
Nymphadora chuckled, and accepted the glass.
Hestia grinned and sat down on the couch where Harry Potter had sat the other time, with a familiarity that went beyond what a secretary should have. She looked absolutely comfortable where she was, which raised all kinds of questions in her Auror brain. She had seen Hestia interact with Harry almost on an equal basis. Yes, she had followed protocol and everything, but anyone with eyes could see that Harry Potter valued her contributions, and not just as an employee on his payroll.
Frowning, she took the seat opposite Hestia. Just like the last time.
“So, where is he?”
“Harry? He’s off to the Bones Mansion.”
Nymphadora arched an eyebrow. She had been there when he had asked Susan Bones to get him a private meeting with her aunt. Something about giving her private information without being in the books. But it was past evening, and she knew exactly what kind of security Madam Bones had at her place.
“He’s meeting with her this late?”
Hestia blinked. “Uh, no. He’s been there since Friday.”
Nymphadora did a double-take. Friday? But it was Tuesday already, and she knew all about Madam Bones and her ‘ten-minute’ meetings. She had gotten stuck playing fetch-girl for half a month, and she knew what kind of a slavedriver that woman was. It was like she got off on dominating others, and making them quake in fear.
“Any clue what it’s about?”
Hestia shook her head. “I know what his meeting is supposed to be about. But then again, the meeting I know of was supposed to be for ten minutes. He was supposed to be back the same afternoon. Instead all I get is a letter, claiming he’ll be delayed by days.”
Nymphadora frowned. Hestia probably didn’t know this, but Madam Bones too was on official leave since Friday. The same day, she met with Harry Potter. As obvious as it seemed, she couldn’t bring herself to believe that Harry Potter could convince Amelia Dominatrix Bones to play ball. Merlin’s beard, the woman practically lived in her office.
“Can you tell me what the meeting was about?”
“Can’t,” Hestia said. “Secretary vow, remember?”
Nymphadora might be an Auror Cadet, but she liked to think she was a damn fine one. Hestia’s chipper tone was scratching a part of her mind that told her that the Vow wasn’t her restraint, but her excuse.
But why? She was a member of the Order first, and Potter’s secretary after.
Something didn’t add up.
“Still, there must be something you can tell me about it? You can’t tell me you’re not curious about what’s going on there at Bones Mansion.”
Hestia shrugged, utterly nonchalant. “Harry confides in me completely. If he’s playing this one close to the chest, there has to be a reason for it.”
“He’s a schoolboy, Hestia, not a grown up man,” she said, trying hard not to think how the same schoolboy made her go all gooey inside just by thinking about him. “Surely you don’t think he’s able to think of everything.”
Hestia gave her an even look. “That schoolboy is my employer, Tonksie. And I think he’s man enough in every way that matters.”
Her stomach did a nasty flip at that remark. Nymphadora had no doubts about the innuendo Hestia had used. It was a warning, all things considered. Perhaps, she needed to let her inner Auror take a backstep, and let her hair down a little first. She wasn’t here to investigate Harry Potter, but to see her best friend.
“Knowing him,” Hestia spoke up, “it probably has something to do with The Black family. That, or whatever he bargained for from Narcissa Malfoy back then.”
Five points to Ravenclaw, Nymphadora mused. She didn’t notice that the only detail she gave her was something that she herself had been witness to, and thus, nothing too useful. Though, why Narcissa Malfoy would give anything worthwhile to Harry Potter was a different jar of worms. That woman was as crafty as they came.
“‘Nuff enough that,” chirped Hestia. “I heard you were part of the team investigating the House Flint scandal. Tell me, is Katherine Flint exactly the kind of slut Prophet was painting her to be?”
Nymphadora laughed. “No, no, she’s much worse.”
“Oh, do tell.”
They settled into a normal gossip session of the recent month and her recent escapades with criminals, with multiple bottles of firewhiskey finished over that time. As the night wore on, Nymphadora could feel herself getting tipsier, the firewhiskey starting to kick in. Hestia was already drunk and blabbering without care. This created a looser lipped environment and the conversations started to turn into private topics.
Something Nymphadora was actually looking forward to. Especially since the moment Harry Potter had begun scratching that part of her mind that told her he was up to something. She hated taking advantage of Hestia like this, but she was an Auror, and it never hurt to trust her instincts.
“So, any regrets?”
Hestia blinked. “Regrets?”
“About taking this job.”
She blinked again. “Are you kidding? Taking up Harry’s offer was the best thing I’ve done recently. I’ll say things have gone to places I never imagined I would go, but now that I am here, I’d like to stay.”
That confirmed it. Her stomach twisted, but she put up a teasing grin. “You’re fucking him, aren’t you?”
Please say no. Please say no. Please say —
“Oh, yeah, ‘course! And I’ll tell you, he’s good.”
Her words hilted a dagger inside her heart. “I see.”
She could almost imagine Harry Potter sitting on that very couch, naked from the waist down, talking to her. And bouncing on his cock in agonisingly slow motions, was Hestia. Just like how she had caught her back in fifth year with…
Stop overcomplicating things, girl. She told herself. Get over it. You knew Potter was a playboy. You sent Hestia to him. You knew this was a possibility. Own it.
“Though…” Hestia chimed. “I could really do with a bigger size,” she gave her breasts a squeeze. Nymphadora was awfully conscious of the way Hestia’s cleavage was glaringly on display, her semi-hard nipples poking through her shirt.
This has got to be the weirdest seduction ever. Talking about her sexcapades with a guy she knows I like, but all she’s doing is revealing her body to me. When will she understand that I….
She sighed.
“Breast man, is he?”
“Through and through. That, and arse. You can’t go wrong with that. You’d know too, if you’d just…”
“I’ll pass,” Nymphadora waved off. “Too young for me.”
“Denial isn’t just a river in Egypt, girl,” she laughed. “I was there, you know, that night when you were whispering his name and fingering yourself.”
Nymphadora went red. “I thought I used a silencing charm.”
“You did,” said Hestia, smiling like a cherub. “I cast an eavesdropping charm on your skirt.”
“Bitch!”
“Takes one to know one,” Hestia sang. “Though tell me this at least, why didn’t you take up his offer? Not that I ain’t glad for the job or anything.”
“I told you,” Nymphadora asserted. “He‘s too young for me.”
She really hoped she sounded more convincing than she did in her head.
You know me, Hestia. It just doesn’t work that way. I’m not interested in… I mean, I definitely don’t want to have sex with random people. I want to be chased, not handed out.” She finished the last bit a little too loudly. “Also, he’s involved with that werewolf girl.”
“Hermione? What about her?”
Nymphadora narrowed her eyes. “She’s involved with him.”
Hestia barked out a laugh. “Come on, Tonks. You know better. He’s the Head of the Ancient and Noble House of Potter. And if stuff goes to plan, House Black as well. His Family Charters won’t allow him to marry a werewolf. At best, she’ll be his concubine.”
Nymphadora frowned. “And… she’s okay with it?”
Hestia grinned. “More than okay. She knows that Harry loves her. And that’s more than enough. That and he can fuck her into insanity. Werewolves are horny bitches, you know.”
Yeah, Nymphadora thought dryly. She knew that very well, what with her first hand experience with Granger.
“... He fucks me like I've always wanted to be fucked. You know what that's like? Getting the fuck you've always wanted, out of your man?"
Damn you, Granger!
She was really confused. His dick-size notwithstanding, Nymphadora would have called his efforts to impress her back then as cute. As much as she disliked using her talents for the purpose, she knew the kind of control she could exert over men if she tried, and as much as she wanted to deny it, the thrill of doing so was indescribably hot. It was a slippery slope, one she had so far avoided. And yet, he wasn’t like the others. His desire to have sex with her, a metamorph, was obvious, but he wanted more than just a simple roll in the hay. He didn’t just want her body, but wanted to conquer her.
And she, like the idiot she was, had handed her bestie off to him to play with.
To be honest, she had expected that Hestia would sooner or later end up in bed with Potter. If not for her appetite, then to get Potter to trust her completely. Men had the tendency to get honest after a good fuck. But seeing Hestia coo over him was surprising. She was no metamorph, but she was a prize nonetheless. Practically a nine on most guy’s lists. A confident, mature woman with a dirty side, but she was not an easy catch. Nymphadora had seen her shoot men down as deftly as she did, and yet, she fell victim to Potter’s charms. A freaking schoolboy. So either Potter was way better with his oversized dick and far more crafty and mature than she gave him credit for, or Hestia was an easier lay than she ever knew.
And she knew Hestia. She wasn’t easy.
She’d admit she was feeling a tad envious. She had seen Potter first. She had introduced him to her. And Hestia had fucked him like that… like how Nymphadora would have wanted.
She couldn’t help herself.
“Just… just out of curiosity, how is he?”
“Ooooh, someone’s interested!” Hestia cooed.
Nymphadora blushed. “Well, you’re the one selling me the idea.”
Hestia’s eyes practically sparkled. “He’s a sex-god, Tonks. He can go on and on and on and on. I know you told me he’s a bad boy, and I had prepared myself for that. Teenage boys are dickheads. A little touch here, a blowjob there, and thirty seconds of fame, that’s all they have. But Harry… oh Merlin, he works my body like a maestro, honey. The first time we fucked, he gave me like a dozen world-shaking, pussy-creaming, body-quaking orgasms. It's like his cock has just one job, getting orgasm after orgasm from whatever pussy he touches. I knew, right then, that he had my number.”
Nymphadora shivered.
“There aren’t enough words in the English language to explain what he does to me. Merlin, the arrogance. And the things he did to my body, my legs, my arse, my pussy, my mouth… the way he controlled me in bed, the way he pounded me, the way he handled me…. Just even thinking of it makes me melt.”
Damn straight. Nymphadora sure was feeling that wetness in her panties. What the hell was she thinking, asking Hestia to describe it?
“A guy like that? He’s wasted on schoolgirls. Hermione’s a werewolf, so she’s an exception. Trust me, Tonks, if word of his skill goes out, half of those snooty pureblood wives that go around looking down on us would be on their knees, waiting to taste his cock. And his cock! You’ve seen it, right? It’s a work of fucking art. Big, thick, and meaty. Just getting it into one of my holes is enough to send me rocketing to orgasm and back. And the way his massive dick would swell up, stretching my cunt even more when it was about to cum inside me, feeling his iron-hard rod flexing as it pumped warm cum inside me…. Uhhh! Even thinking about it is so… stirring!”
Nymphadora squirmed. She really cursed herself in the foot with that one.
“Like, I can’t tell you, Tonks. Merlin, I even love his fucking cum. And you know, he cums gallons. I swear, his body’s sole purpose is to produce cum with how much he spurts. I love how thick it is, how creamy, and how warm it is. And I fucking love its taste. And I’ll tell you, it just tastes so much better from the source. Letting his thick and warm seed enter my mouth, letting it coat my tongue and go down my throat, it’s like a fine meal. Even though swallowing it naturally means the end of a sexual encounter, his cum’s like an aphrodisiac to me. Every time I swallow it, I only want more.”
“Okay! Okay! Stop right there!” Nymphadora held out her hands, sitting ramrod straight, her metamorph powers going haywire. “I don’t need to hear anymore.”
Hestia laughed. “Damn straight you don’t. Any more and you’d orgasm right away.”
“What do you—”
Hestia smirked, and pointed at the mirror. Nymphadora looked at her own reflection and instantly palmed her face in humiliation. Her hair had turned blazing hot pink, and had lengthened all the way down to her waist. Her breasts, which had been quite modest, even for this meeting, were now scandalously large, approaching the size of a melon with each massive mound.
She almost didn’t see Hestia lick her lips.
It took her several seconds to clear her thoughts and settle back to her normal ‘morph’. Hestia just sat on the couch and eyed her in amusement.
“Okay, you’ve made your point,” Nymphadora said at last. “But if he’s that good, why are you pushing me into his arms?”
She could have sworn that Hestia looked forlorn for a second before the happy drunk returned. “Because you’re missing out, babe. Harry’s… perfect. Like, more than perfect. It hurts to admit, but I’m just not built enough to satisfy him. But you’re a metamorph. You can take him in ways no one can, and we both know you’ve got the hots for him.”
“Hestia—”
“You can keep denying, but the other girls won’t. I’m sure the Bonesy girl is trying to get boned on his dick right now.”
Susan Bones? No freaking way. She hated Potter’s guts.
“Trust me, babe. I know it. She’s one of those that look down at bad boys in public, but end up being ravaged by them behind closed doors. Trust me, Harry’ll make you an honest woman. Like he’s made me. I know I joined this to be his handler, but honestly, I’m his now.”
Nymphadora froze. Just that one statement alone had all but driven all sexual thoughts straight out of the window. Hestia was… his?
There were so many wrongs in that one sentence. Hestia was a member of the Order first, and her best friend second. Harry Potter’s employee came third in priority. His sexual prowess, no matter how good, shouldn’t change Hestia like that.
…Right?
She let out an uneasy laugh. “Good joke.”
“No joke,” said her friend seriously. “I am his, Tonks. And I think you should too.”
“Why?”
Hestia smiled. “You’ll find out. When you date him.”
“You mean when I sleep with him.”
She grinned. “Exactly.”
Nymphadora barely managed to suppress the frown forming on her face. Had she been reading things wrong? Had she been so distracted by Harry Potter and his cock that she had missed something sinister happening before her eyes?
NO— her mind supplied. This was Harry Potter. The Boy-Who-Lived. Dumbledore’s protege. But did that mean he was the person people thought he was?
She thought about Granger. The girl was supposed to be a prim and proper muggle born student that was so high strung that you'd think she had a stick stuck up her arse. She had thought that it was perhaps the werewolf curse decreasing her inhibitions, but if Hestia too had been ensnared by this…
Her thoughts went back to Florean’s parlour. The way Hannah was looking at Potter… And from Hestia’s own words, Susan Bones who held nothing but disdain for Potter, if she too was…
Something was wrong.
Something was utterly wrong.
And she needed to find it out. There was an easy way to accomplish just that, but it was a slippery slope. It would cross many lines. If things went too far, she could lose all control over the situation. But if she succeeded, she could unveil the mystery of Harry Potter. Understand exactly what he was up to, and how he was ensnaring women.
“You want me to take the leap, huh?” she said slowly, not believing that she was really doing this. “What would you have me to do, Hestia? Drop my clothes and wait for him to come fuck me like he owns me?”
Hestia let out a bark of laughter. “No, babe. But just give him a chance. Go out on a date with him or something. And when you’re done, tell me all about it.”
Nymphadora didn’t wince. Not at all.
“Sure,” she said, and put up a brave smile. “A date with Harry Potter it is then.”
Notes:
If you want to support me, find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Next Update is on 15th October.
Chapter 74: Penelope's Choice
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 3 - THE INCUBUS AND NECROMANCER
“Lean back,” he ordered, accenting with a ferocious spank.
Penelope quickly obeyed.
Harry Potter pushed deeper, thrusting well past her cervix. Beneath her, lay Percy, his body ramrod stiff, the effects of a petrifying hex. His eyes were still moving, smouldering like hot coals. He looked angry, heart-broken. His eyes glistened, and his nose was running. He was also erect. The smallest lump in sweatpants showed, but it was evident. Guess the hex didn’t really cover innate bodily responses.
Percy had a boner, and he had a really small dick.
A nauseating sight.
“Rub your clit,” Harry Potter’s sharp words snapped her back to her real task, pleasing her new master. Her fingers quickly found her slit and rubbed vigorously. That they were making out with her former boyfriend petrified on the floor beneath her only made it hotter. Within seconds, she was writhing, another orgasm surging through her. A quick jet of her squirt flew out, and hit Percy on the face. Harry cackled.
Penelope didn’t care. She knew that she should, but she was too far gone. Instead she just rubbed harder, forcing herself into another orgasm.
“What are you?” He asked.
“I’m your whore,” she answered, all too happy to give him what he wanted.
“What are you?” His grip tightened around her neck.
She choked. “I’m your whore.”
“What are you?” He squeezed.
“I’m your whore, your slut, your fucktoy, whatever you want,” she choked out, suffocating.
“Damn right,” said Harry Potter. His fingers roughly pulled out and he slapped his hand down right on her clit. Penelope came, legs shaking, pussy squirting, as he squeezed the life out of her neck. Then, he released her. In a second, Penelope spun around, her lips around his manhood. She needed it. She plunged up and down recklessly, deepthroating him. His precum was heavenly. She was slurping, gagging. Her tits clapped as she sucked desperately.
Harry Potter laughed at her wantonness.
“Open your mouth.”
Penelope held her mouth open, and pushed her tits together, trying to give him the best target for his cum. He burst like a dam, grunting viciously. The first shot hit her eye, sealing it. The next cumshot coated her forehead, then her cheek, then one of her breasts, one in her hair, other eye, forehead again, same cheek, other cheek, hair. He squirted a massive dump of jizz that filled her mouth completely. Her other breast got a coat, one to the chin, both eyes at once, and then more on her hair and mouth again. She was completely covered.
Harry Potter laughed, and gestured at Percy. A wet stain had appeared where his boner had been.
“Maybe you’d like to give him a kiss?”
Penelope looked at the self-conceited, cocky, arrogant bastard that was her ex. She grabbed his face, and bent down, ready to give the conceited, son of a bitch, a cum-stained kiss. Percy’s mouth opened and screamed out loud in the voice of Hermione Granger.
“This isn’t fair, Harry! How can you do this to me?”
Penelope blinked.
….
….
“ —RRY! HOW CAN YOU DO THIS TO ME?”
Penelope jerked awake, and found herself on her work desk. Damn it. Had she fallen asleep there while working? Harry Potter had given her a small office three rooms away from his own, to keep her from being late if nothing else. She looked down and found a bunch of papers on the desk that she had been working on, half of which were now soiled from her drooling during her impromptu nap.
Bugger.
Then she felt something wet pooling on the chair she was sitting on and realised that she had wet herself while dreaming of her steamy encounter.
Double bugger.
Damn it. What was wrong with her? This was the third time in the last week that she had orgasmed mid-sleep and woken up to find herself drenched in cum. And every single time, it had been utterly realistic renditions of Harry Potter having his way with her in situations that could have been very much possible. Penelope wasn’t new to lucid dreams, or visions, as Professor Trelawney claimed, but nowhere in Unfogging the Future was it written that a Seer could dream about potential futures of her getting ravished by the sexiest man alive. That said man was also Britain’s most eligible bachelor and had already had his wicked way with her once only added credibility to her visions. So far, every single time she had dreamt of him, the dream had been an almost accurate representation of future events except for that one bit at the end.
Harry Potter had never once fucked her, despite all her dreams claiming to the contrary.
It drove her crazy.
“HERMIONE LISTEN —”
Penelope blinked. That was Harry Potter’s voice. That meant he had returned from his trip to Bones Mansion. He was supposed to have gone there for a meeting worth ‘ten minutes’ with Madam Bones, the Director of Magical Law Enforcement. Including guest treatment and other noblesse oblige, it would probably extend to a couple of hours at most.
He hadn’t returned the entire day.
Or the next.
Or the next.
Instead, he had sent a missive, a half-hearted apology at best, citing that his return would be postponed by a couple more days. Penelope had overheard Granger complaining about it to Susan, throwing a tantrum about Harry being irresponsible, and neither of them wanted to annoy him or Madam Bones by sending him an owl or worse, contacting him via Floo.
Jones had told Granger that if Harry Potter was taking his sweet time there, then surely things were going according to plan.
Penelope wholeheartedly agreed. That was just the kind of man he was.
Still… she couldn’t help but wonder. A ten-minute meet-and-greet extending over an entire week?
Even Jones had been flummoxed at Harry Potter’s response.
And now that he was back, Granger was doing the one thing she knew best. Throw a tantrum like an entitled little bitch.
A smug grin formed on Penelope’s lips. Anything that annoyed Granger was a good thing in her books.
Slowly, cautiously, Penelope cast a silencing charm on herself, and then vanished the wetness from her dress, casting a quick freshening charm over herself. Nobody really expected her to be in her office this late and her room was in a far away section of the building, which explained why Granger wasn’t being so vocal. Creaking the door open as silently as she could, Penelope peered outside, and glanced down the hallway. She knew she shouldn’t snoop, but curiosity burned within her. Would a little peek hurt? After all, she was living in the same house as them, and had no intention of ever betraying Harry Potter, so what harm would a little eavesdropping do?
Besides, if Granger wanted things to stay confidential, she should have thought about using silencing charms, and if not, then at least have the presence of mind to talk about it in an open hallway.
Rationalising her decision, Penelope moved quietly down the hall to one of the guest rooms at the end of the path, the one right next to Harry Potter’s office. She peered in, and found Harry Potter’s profile against the burning fireplace, facing an angry Hermione Granger. He had no shirt on, immediately reminding Penelope of that night in the dungeon, and her pussy clenched. What would she not do to be in Jones’s place? Part of her wondered if Harry Potter would be in a bad mood the next day, and if she could act a little extra clumsy? Maybe he’d unleash his pent-up aggression directly on her, giving her a repeat of the other day.
Or maybe… Her pussy clenched at the thought. Maybe this time he’d fuck her for good?
A girl could hope.
Part of her asked why she was approaching this the round-about way. It was no secret that Harry Potter was sleeping with Jones. And from what Penelope saw the other day, the Weasley girl was also in his fuck-buddy circle. There were moments when Penelope thought of directly propositioning the young man, but every single time she tried to make an attempt, she’d be wrought with all kinds of conflicting feelings and self-doubt. What if he rejected her offer? What if he didn’t find her good enough? What if by offering to have sex with him, she ended up making him uncomfortable and found herself out of the job? Penelope knew that her fears were baseless. Harry Potter was a reasonable guy, at least compared to the others out there.
But she didn’t.
Guess she wasn’t a Gryffindor for a reason.
“How could you do this to me, Harry?” said Granger. “You’re marrying Susan Bones? Why?”
Penelope blinked. Harry Potter marrying Susan Bones? That was a curveball she hadn’t seen coming. She couldn’t say she was close to the other girl, but liked to think that they shared a cordial acquaintanceship. Susan had even offered her a chance to work for her family firm that dealt with wardcrafting, but Penelope had rejected it out of stubbornness and pride. That had strained her relationship with the girl, but she still treated her with more respect than you could get as a muggleborn in Wizarding Britain. But that didn’t mean that Penelope didn’t know her. It helped that she was good friends with Hannah and Hannah was Susan’s bestie.
Susan Bones made no secret of her dislike of Harry Potter. She had always treated him with a degree of suspicion that Penelope wasn’t sure what he had done to warrant. She had previously thought that his being a parselmouth might have triggered a cautionary bias in the girl. But something had definitely happened this summer, because it felt like her dislike for him had evolved into genuine disdain. She had observed Susan’s behaviour when Harry Potter had come to sit with her and Hannah for the very first time, and her mood almost always took a nosedive the longer he was sitting with her.
But then that incident with Draco Malfoy had happened, and something within the girl had changed. The disdain was still there, but there was something more about it. Interest, and a growing one, a curiosity to understand the Boy-Who-Lived’s motives, especially in the light of his fighting Malfoy and his goons to save Penelope from humiliation. She had accompanied Susan and Hannah to the DMLE to support him, and for the first time, Penelope had seen Susan take an intense interest in Harry Potter. There was no doubt that she was attracted to him, whether that was because of his actions or something else, Penelope didn’t know, but the dichotomy was interesting nonetheless. Maybe she had been reading too much into the matter, but Penelope often felt that Susan was using her antagonism as a replacement for a love confession.
It wasn’t very different from young kindergarteners pulling the hair of those they got along with. Susan Bones did live a sheltered life after all.
And given that Harry Potter was now marrying her, it likely wasn’t stretching the truth.
“Hermione,” he said. “I haven't married her yet.”
“Yet,” said Granger. “But you will. You’ve signed a contract.”
Obviously, it’d be a contract. He was a pureblood scion of the Ancient and Noble House of Potter. What did this bitch expect? To hang on his neck as his wife? She might as well have expected him to jump down with a noose hung around his neck. Penelope saw the way his shoulders twitched and prepared herself for him to blow up.
Instead he sighed in resignation. “Because it’s necessary.”
“Why? Because fucking me, Tracey, Ginny and Hestia wasn’t enough? You need more, don’t you? Is that what I am to you?? Just another pair of tits and arse to fuck? Just another pair of lips you want around your cock?”
Penelope felt a shudder down her spine. She was right. Harry Potter was a serial womaniser after all. Just like she feared. And why did that epiphany make her pussy clenched tighter?
“Harry,” said Jones. Penelope almost gasped. She hadn’t seen her there. “You knew this was gonna happen, didn’t you? That’s why you went to Bones Manor?”
“No. I didn’t go to Bones manor to try and fuck Susan. And I certainly didn’t go there because I wanted to marry her.”
“But you did —”
“Hestia,” he said, steel lining his voice. “It is crucial for my long-term plans.”
There was a pause for a second.
“I see,” she said. And that was that.
“Susan knows it, and believe it or not, she was the one that proposed to me, not the other way round.” said Harry Potter. “And if it helps, I have Amelia’s consent.”
Amelia, not Madam Bones. Penelope took quick note of that. Whatever meeting they had must have been significant to get him on a first-name basis with the DMLE Director.
No doubt Jones would have caught that slip as well. That bitch was a sharp one.
“Right because that makes things so much better,” Granger scoffed, focussing on the unimportant. Stupid bint.
“Hermione, trust me Harry—” Jones began.
“Shut up! I don’t want to hear you of all people trying to justify what my Harry did or did not do,” snarled Granger.
And that, Penelope decided, was why everyone hated Granger so much. For her inability to appreciate nuance. Yes, she was being a massive hypocrite, but Penelope thought that she was better than the uppity muggleborn. At the very least, she wasn’t foolishly arrogant like her. Without Harry Potter to save her arse, Granger would have been lynched.
“Hermione —”
“No, Harry!” she wailed. “Go away! Just… just leave me alone.”
“I’m not going to do that.”
The glare doubled.
“You told me I was special. You told me that no matter how many people you sleep with because of your nature, I’d always be special in your heart.”
“You are special—”
“Is that why you agreed to marry Bones at the drop of a hat? Why? Because she’s the niece of the DMLE Director? Because she’s a pureblood that would fit right in place on the arm of Harry fucking Potter? Because the great Harry Potter is too high-born to marry werewolf Hermione Granger?”
“Yes!” snapped Harry Potter, and Penelope gasped, and then quickly checked to see if the silencing charm was still active. She quickly recast it.
“Yes! Dammit! Yes. I cannot marry you, because you’re a werewolf. I’m Harry Potter of the Ancient and Noble House of Potter, and I need to follow the Potter Charter as the Lord of my family. And that Charter says that I cannot take anyone that doesn’t fit a particular criteria.”
“Like what? Like being a pureblood?”
“Yes,” said Harry Potter coldly. “Like being a pureblood.”
“That’s a load of crap and you know it. Your dad married a—”
“Muggleborn,” He snapped again. Clearly he was at the end of his sage-like patience. “And do you know where that got him? This close to being thrown out of the family. He had to leave the safety of Potter Manor and take shelter in a cottage in Godric’s Hollow. You know, the same place where he and his wife got slaughtered like cattle by Voldemort?”
Granger flinched.
“Yes, my father loved a muggleborn and he married her. Unfortunately, I don’t have the option. Every year, I’ve been hounded by Voldemort and his Death Eaters, and I’m done fighting to survive. Now on, I’m fighting to put them down like the rabid dogs they are. And for that, I need to hurt them magically, financially and most importantly, politically. And for that, I need to make my House and myself stand out. And whatever I need to do, I will.”
Penelope winced again.
“He’s right, you know,” said Hestia. “You cannot change the system without being a part of the system. You, Hermione, have always been sheltered ever since you came to Hogwarts. First with Albus Dumbledore’s advocating of muggleborn rights, and then, by becoming Harry’s best friend. They might say what they want behind your back, but no one would make a direct enemy of an Ancient and Noble House. And that goes doubly for the Boy-who-Lived.”
“What do you know?” scoffed Granger. “You’re just a —”
“A what?” snapped Hestia. “A slut that opens her legs for Harry? You know nothing, Hermione Granger. Take it from me. Daughter of a pureblood mother that fled away to marry a muggle. Yes, I’m a halfblood, but I was treated worse than a muggleborn. You… you’ve always enjoyed his protection. You don’t get to judge us for what we are and what choices we make.”
Damn straight, thought Penelope.
“What protection?” snarled Granger. “Draco Malfoy called me a mudblood in broad daylight in our second year.”
Hestia threw her head back and laughed. “You think that matters? Wake up, Granger. For people like us, mudblood isn’t a slur. It’s a description. We’re mudbloods. We.’re cattle. The British Ministry of Magic pulls us in using this dream of becoming a witch and learning the wonders of magic, and hauls us along through one contract and the other. You ever wonder how we pay back the education loan Hogwarts saddles us with?”
“Yes, we do part-time jobs,” replied the oblivious mudblood. “The Ministry, the DMLE, the Department of Mysteries. If not for this curse, I too would —”
“Do nothing,” scoffed Hestia. “For you can do nothing. You’re just an uppity mudblood know-it-all with her head up her arse. Yes, you’ve got it worse now that you’re a werewolf, but why does that matter when you’re enjoying Harry’s hospitality? You know what happened when my friend Chiara was turned into a werewolf? Her parents threw her out. Hogwarts threw her out. First in our entire year and Charms prodigy, and she had to resort to selling her body at Knockturn Alley to pay the loans. So shut up when I say you’re an ignorant little halfwit.”
Granger flinched.
“You’ve no idea how I was bullied as a kid. If not for Tonks, I….” Hestia’s voice faltered. “If not for her, I’d probably have committed suicide from the fourth floor. Maybe it wasn’t even a big deal for her, she was a superhero, even in school. Always standing up for what she thought was right, no matter the circumstances. She became my friend. She… was my hero, always has been. I used to look at her, and tried to become like her. If not for her, I’d never have become the person I became. And just so you know, I scored six Outstandings in my NEWTs and became so good that Barty Fucking Crouch noticed me, and made me Assistant. I worked for him for an entire year, and then you know what? One little incident with one of Malfoy’s cohorts and I’m out on the street. Why? Because I was doing my job instead of bending backwards for the pompous fool.”
Penelope felt a little ashamed. She had always thought of Hestia Jones to be a gold-digger that had spread her legs for the Boy-Who-Lived. She had never thought that the woman might have her own problems as well.
“This world needs to change, Hermione,” said Harry. “You know just as well as I do that it’s only a matter of time before Voldemort finds a way to return. The wrong people are still in power. If we want to bring real change, we need to bring about a fundamental shift in the wizarding government. The institutions will remain in place, but the people operating them will have to be removed.”
“Removed,” said Granger. “You mean kill.”
“Taking decisive actions always costs lives.”
Granger frowned. “And what about the people who die in the process?”
Harry shrugged. “It’s the truth of all wars. Kill one to save ten. Let a hundred die so that thousands may live. Call it ruthless, call it unfair. It does not make it any less true. It’s better to amputate a cursed hand than let the curse expand to the rest of the body.”
“I’m not sure how I feel about that.”
Harry stepped forward and hugged her. “I know. And Hermione, that’s okay. But I’m not the same guy you spent the last three years with. That Harry Potter died that night with his godfather.”
“Now you’re just exaggerating…” Granger began.
“I’m not,” he said. “I truly am not. Ask Hestia. She’s got an entire dossier of Harry Potter facts collected over the past three years. She’s been working closely with me on several projects that I’ve kept you out of.”
“He’s telling the truth,” said Hestia. “If I had a galleon for the number of times I suspected he was an imposter, I’d have a new wardrobe.”
Penelope rolled her eyes.
“Whatever happened with the dementors, it changed me, Hermione,” said Harry Potter. “And not just magically. Yes, it made me an incubus, but that’s the least of it. I’ve power now, way more power than I used to have. I’m also more comfortable with my magic. I’m more cynical, more cruel, more cunning.”
“True again,” Hestia chirped. “The Harry Potter in the files has a hero-complex. This one here is almost a monster.”
“Don’t call him that,” Granger snapped.
Harry Potter laughed. “She isn’t wrong, Hermione. The Harry Potter of old would have relied on Dumbledore to pave the way. I? I think that all Dumbledore has done is fuck things up.”
“I think you’re being unfair —”
“Am I, Hermione? Half the Wizengamot is composed of blood purists that flocked to Voldemort’s banner at the promise of easy chaos before that bastard vanished in 1981. Yes, we won the war, but all those that supported his policies still hold them in place. The same people are in power. Lucius Malfoy was a member of the Dark Lord’s Inner Circle, and he’s one of the most powerful people in this country. The way I see it, we’re worse than where we started. All those deaths — Aurors, Hit-wizards, members of the Order of the Phoenix, my parents… all their deaths were for nothing.”
His voice went from cold rationality to helpless frustration as he turned and smacked his fist against a stone pillar.
“Six months ago, I’d have been confused about what to do with this country. Now? Part of me just wants to butcher these scum wholesale and be done with it.”
“Harry!” Granger began, scandalised.
He laughed again. It was cold, hard, and taunting. “Look at you. Despised as a muggleborn, cursed to become a werewolf, and yet, you’re horrified at the idea of ending the lives of criminals that kill and torture for fun. Me? I’m sitting in the shadows, figuring out all the angles, including taking the time to laugh at the approach Dumbledore uses. It’s been in the works since the start of summer, and trust me, when I make a move, it will be to not only win, but to obliterate all of them.”
Penelope wasn’t able to completely deny his words. The boy she remembered from Hogwarts was a far cry from the man who was her employer. That naivete, the emotions he wore on his sleeve, and the simple way he looked at the world, now felt alien when compared to the person she was working for and dreamt of every other night.
“Harry… What are you trying to do?” Granger asked slowly.
“I’m trying to fix this world, Hermione,” he said, running his hands through her hair. A pang of jealousy surged through Penelope. Oh, what she wouldn’t do to be in Granger’s place right now!
“Amelia knows it, well, part of it, which is why I have her blessings for this marriage with Susan. But all of this, it’s far greater than you or me or any of us. And there’ll be a lot many things I’ll need to do that you’d find uncomfortable if not downright nasty.”
“What… will you do, Harry?”
The same question was running through Penelope’s mind.
“Trust me. You don’t want to know. Just understand that marrying Susan isn’t the first outrageous thing I’m about to do, and certainly not the last one. And they’re not because you, or any of the others, are any less important to me.”
Granger faltered. “What happened to you, Harry? You — you weren’t like this. I understand you took the path of the Incubi but… it’s like with every single day, you’re becoming something else.”
“And does that… Do I scare you?”
Granger opened her mouth, and then closed it. Instead, she put her hands around his back. “No.”
“No?”
“No.”
“And why’s that?”
“Because you’re you. And that won’t change.”
Potter let out a chuckle. “Because I’m me. There’s a very great irony in what you just said, Hermione.”
Granger bobbed her head but said nothing. She just stayed like that, in his arms. Penelope fisted her hands. It was so unfair. Just what did Granger do to deserve him? Why couldn’t she be in her place? What did she need to do to be in her place? There was absolutely no reason for him to stick with Granger and bear her uppity behaviour unless —
Penelope stiffened. Could it be that Harry Potter had a thing for exactly that? Come to think of it, hadn’t she too been utterly stubborn back then, refusing his job offer at his face? Even Susan Bones, whom he was supposedly marrying, wore an expression of disdain whenever Harry was concerned. Perhaps high-strung girls were his type? It was a weird fetish but Penelope supposed it could have been worse.
If nothing else, this conversation had been illuminating, showing her a lot of what was happening behind the scene. Harry Potter was on the path of an incubus, a wizard that enthralled others through carnal satisfaction. Was that what her dreams were warning her about? Was that why she lost all control in his presence, and even if that was the case, did she really mind?
She’d need to think about this.
“And you?” Granger asked Hestia. “Where do you stand in this? I doubt you joined him to be part of this… conflict.”
“Actually Hermione,” said Harry Potter. “Hestia’s more than just that. She’s a member of Dumbledore’s Order of the Phoenix, and was tasked to be my handler.”
Granger took a double-take. “The Order of the Phoenix. Then… Dumbledore knows that you — you —”
“Dumbledore didn’t personally send me, if that’s what you’re asking,” admitted Jones. “I volunteered. Harry needed someone of a certain description and skill set, and I fitted the bill.”
“So you’ve been spying on him.”
“With his permission, yes.”
Penelope blinked.
“Excuse me?” said Granger.
Harry Potter scratched his head. “It’s a bit complicated. I caught her act the very first day. And she’s taken the necessary oaths. We discuss what information gets passed on to the Order and I can access Order networks to get what I want. It’s a win-win.”
“And you don’t care that she’s a spy? She can be dangerous.”
Hestia laughed. “It isn’t complicated, girl. I’m on Harry’s side. And if that means jackshit to you, I’m bound by oaths. Not that I need anything else except that cock of his.”
“Stop joking,” said Granger, turning purple.
“No joke,” said Hestia seriously. “This incubus here has me enchanted with his cock. I’m sure you can relate to that.”
Granger blushed.
“Speaking of which,” said Hestia, turning to Harry. “You sir, have a date with Tonks due tomorrow at four-thirty sharp. She doesn’t like lateness.”
“Tonks, you mean that Auror?” asked Granger. “You’re setting him up on dates with other women?”
Yeah, what was up with that? Penelope thought furiously. Hestia was his secretary and sex-slave, not his goddamn pimp.
“So, you did it, huh?” asked Harry.
“In record time too,” gloated Hestia. “I’m antsy about how that will go through.”
Granger shook her head. “I’ll never understand you. You want him to keep fucking. You say Tonks is your hero. And yet you’re pushing her into his arms?”
A shadow of something dark flashed across Hestia’s face. “I am, and so what? You’ve got a problem with that?”
“Yes,” said Granger. “Because that makes no sense.”
Even Penelope agreed with her observation. Something just didn’t add up.
“Too bad,” said Hestia coldly. “It’s my personal preference to see my bestie with Harry. Not everyone is as selfish as you.”
“You—” Granger clenched her fists.
“Hermione,” Harry Potter interrupted them before things could devolve further, “she’s just trying to bait you to get you off the topic.”
Hestia gave him a dirty look.
“Which,” he continued, “is perfectly fine. I have my secrets, you have yours. You don’t have to tell me, or anyone else, unless you want.” He paused again. “That said, you didn’t… pressurise her over this date, did you?”
Hestia arched an eyebrow. “What kind of person do you think I am? Tonks agreed to this date on her own accord.”
Penelope blinked. Tonks, that strict auror that looked too sharp for her own good, had agreed to a date with Harry Potter? She had noticed the way the woman was looking at him back at the DMLE, and it wasn’t a look of arousal, but of suspicion. The kind a policeman would give a suspect.
“You should have seen her the night she came to my place after visiting you. Her face was flushed. I had never seen her aroused like that. Not even with Weasley. She shut the door and fingered herself to sleep, moaning your name.”
“Tonks was moaning my name in her sleep?” asked Harry. “I didn’t think I had that sort of effect on her.”
“Shows what you know.”
“I thought she didn’t want to be one of my conquests.”
Hestia barked out another laugh. “You don’t know the first thing about her then, Harry. Being a conquest is exactly what she wants. She wants to be chased, she wants to be made feel special. I don’t know what you and Hermione did that night, but Tonks… She felt challenged. Trust me, she wants you more than you think. All she needed was a push, and I gave her that push.”
“Crazy,” said Granger, shaking her head. “Absolutely crazy.”
“Oh I am,” admitted Hestia, before turning to Harry with a bright grin. “That said, after you’re done making love to her the first time, you’ll invite me to your bed with her, right? Think you can manage a menage e trois?”
“I’ll try,” Harry said drolly.
“And if she has a problem with that?” asked Granger. “I doubt she’d like some other girl interfering with her personal time with her man.”
Pot Kettle, Penelope thought, given what she had witnessed in the dungeons. Who knew the prim and proper high strung bitch swung that way?
“With her man…” Hestia repeated, smiling like a cherub. “I like the sound of that. But no Hermione, I won’t be interfering. If Harry invites me to his bed, it’ll be called sharing. And remember, I could be between him and her. Or he could be. Or she could be. I’m quite flexible.”
Granger gave her an arched look, before snorting.
Lunatics… Penelope decided. Utter lunatics. And yet…
Do I really mind? So long as I get…
She gave a longing glance at Harry before moving away from the door.
— Punished?
Notes:
If you want to support me, find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Next Update is on 20th October.
Chapter 75: Horcrux
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 3 - THE INCUBUS AND NECROMANCER
"There is a little bit more in the bottle, My Lord, you need to finish this."
I hiss, and turn my head to the side, annoyed. The light from the fireplace feels really annoying. As does the chair. And the table. Everything feels so annoying. And large. Like they belong to a giant. I realise that I am not in fact sitting on the chair, but on someone's lap.
A woman's lap.
As if I am a baby.
"My Lord," says a feminine voice, directly above me. She is cruel and sharp, like an unsheathed knife. "You need this. Until it is time for the ritual, you need to constantly—"
"Do not dare tell me what I should or should not do," I snarl. My voice comes out high-pitched, and cold and I wonder why I am feeling so angry. Something thick and soft hits my head, and I look up, and find her blouse-covered breasts right above me.
Unable to help myself, I flick a finger downwards.
The woman shrieks, as her blouse is torn apart. her body bends, her spine curved by an invisible arm, dropping her naked breasts directly over my face.
I grab one of her tits with my tiny hands and bite on them as hard as my baby teeth could afford to.
"My— my lord—" The woman whimpers.
"Do not question," I hiss, feeling a maelstrom of rage burn through me. Why did I just do that? What is happening to me? I did not want to do this, yet the desire to do so was overwhelming. Like being unable to do so would kill me.
Why?
I idly dwell on the subject as I bite and suck on her breasts, while she moans and whimpers in a mix of pain and ecstasy. Touching her breasts and sucking on them brings with it a strange familiarity, like I had done it many, many times before. But when? Sacrificing my ability to feel and give sexual pleasure was one of the first things I had sacrificed on the altar of necromancy. It was one of the many steps to my apotheosis. Even biting her breasts brings me nothing but the weird taste of human flesh, and my teeth aren't sharp to draw blood. At least that contained magic, even one as vile and twisted as a Carrow.
"My Lord —" the blasted rat says.
I let go of the fleshy breast and flick a finger, and my wand comes spinning into my hand.
"CRUCIO!"
Pettigrew drops down to the ground, screaming. The curse lasts for just two seconds before I release it, but the rat's agony will last far longer. From somewhere beneath my feet, a soft yet deep and resonant hissing sound emanates. My snake, my precious little thing, just registered its amusement. Out of all my followers, she is my favourite. A part of me. And in time, when I will have a complete body, she will be rewarded with a body of her own.
My Nagini.
"Milk her," I command them, idly grabbing the woman's tit and scratching it with my baby hands. "You botched the ritual, Wormtail. These impulses… they are strange and bewildering and ensnare my senses. My body rejects it, and yet, my mind wants it. This is… troubling."
"My Lord," says a soft, silky voice that I know very well. I turn my neck again.
"Speak."
"Perhaps we should look for a different body?" asks Lucius. "It isn't difficult to get wizard-borns. If you want…"
"No," I hiss back. "I needed a certain metaphysical mass that fit in the astronomical conditions. Aquarius. Born during the Witching Hour. Born to a mother that succumbed at childbirth. This body… is perfect."
"But my Lord, this has been repeating at an alarming frequency. Matilda Jugson perished from your bite. The venom in your body…."
Annoyance rises in me. The desire to cruciate the slippery man is overwhelming. My fingers twitch.
I barely control myself.
"Are you telling me that Jugson's girl's pathetic life was more important than serving me?"
"No, no, my Lord. It's just that she was a loyal Death Eater, and we need someone to tend you, until the ritual is over. If the effects keep persisting…"
My fingers twitch again. I hate to agree with him. But Lucius has a point.
"There are always muggles, my Lord. They —"
I shake my head. Exhaustion is overwhelming me. This wretched existence is just….
"Muggles will not do," I tell him. "I need someone magical. Bring me mudbloods. Or halfbloods. Women from the blood traitor clans if you must."
"I — I will arrange for it, My Lord. You can trust me with it."
Trust? I laugh at his empty placates. Honestly, that Lucius is even here is surprising. The man has grown quite formidable in my absence. I had expected him to avoid me until my resurrection.
But I cannot, will not trust him.
Trust gets you killed.
"My Lord," says Malfoy. "I request you at least consent on leaving this place. My manor is most warded. My wife can personally attend you. Back in Britain, it will be easy to manage this… situation."
"No," I coldly hiss. "We will stay here for another two weeks. And then we will shift to a different location. I shall not return to British shores until I have my form back."
"But my Lord, I do not understand. Why must we wait —"
"Fool. At this very moment, you have witches and wizards pouring into Britain from all over the world. Every meddler from the Ministry of Magic will be on duty, checking for unusual activity and double-checking identities. They will be obsessed with security, lest something go wrong. So we wait."
It was partly a lie. The truth is, I cannot trust him. Or the others. Until then, I must stay here, where the wards are under my command.
"You're right," said Malfoy. There is a slight drawl in his voice. He does not trust my word. "The Quidditch World Cup is in a week. It will be an ideal hunting ground for your needs."
I smile. "Yes. It will. Prove your worth, Malfoy. Gather our old friends. Summon the faithful to their master's call."
"And.. Potter?" asked Malfoy.
Potter. An intense migraine threatens to overwhelm me. Just thinking about Potter makes me feel nauseous. Wait, Potter, isn't that my name? Or is it—
"My Lord?"
I blink. That was strange. "Potter is… integral to our plans. All we will need to succeed is a little courage from dear Wormtail here. Unless he finds that in him, he will face the full extent of Lord Voldemort's —"
Voldemort? I pause. I am… Voldemort? Or am I —
I hauled myself out of the dream and sat up in bed, shaking and sweating, with my instincts keyed up for danger and certain that I was alone in bed.
My instincts were half-right.
The room was brightly lit up, with Hestia's face looming over me. She was still blissfully naked, as was course for her given I fucked her before sleep. Her hairs were sprawled all over her face and she looked utterly concerned.
"Hey!" She half-whispered. "I heard you groaning. Are you all right?"
I rubbed at my eyes with one hand.
And then it hit me.
I had just dreamt of Voldemort! It was the start of the fourth year, right before the Quidditch World Cup! Just like canon, I had dreamt of Voldemort and Nagini and Pettigrew and that damned muggle. I knew what they'd talk about, but then why the fuck did it feel like this dream was different?
The worst part? I was beginning to forget it already!
Librarian of Knowledge perk worked on memories that were actively made while being conscious. It did jackshit about dreams and nightmares. And I knew, I fucking knew that I had known about some very important things that I'd be damned if I fucking forgot it.
"You've got a fever," she said, putting her hand over my temples. "How? You were just… never mind, sit tight for a moment, I'll get a draught—"
I grabbed her before she could get away, and searched her face. "Hestia!" I said evenly. "Can you— can you do legilimency?"
"I— what?"
"Legilimency," I repeated. I must have been looking like a crazed loon. "Mind-reading. Can you do it?"
"I know what Legilimency is. But no I can't."
"Do you know anyone that can?"
"Harry, you've a fever. Fever dreams are always the worst. I'll get you a calming draught!"
"A calming draught won't fucking help me!" I snapped. Looking at her all confused and conflicted only served to anger me. I got off the bed, grabbed my hair and shut my eyes, muttering obscenities under my breath as I tried hard to remember everything that had happened. Hestia was useless, and I didn't have a single perk that could help me with Legilimency. I needed to get in touch with someone that could help me.
But whom? Narcissa came to mind.
But could she do it? I knew she was a decent enough Occlumens, but a Legilimens? I doubt it. And if she was, either she didn't have enough confidence to try surface legilimency with me, or she was too good for me to even notice her intrusions. Either way, she was in Malfoy Manor, and there was no way I could just Floo-call her.
Too many risks.
I thought of Amelia next. The DMLE Director had fortified herself with advanced Occlumency. It would be a surprise if she didn't have at least some skill on Legilimency. And even if she didn't, she'd know someone in the Ministry that she could trust and who could get the memory of this dream out before I forgot the details completely.
I grabbed a shirt and rushed out of the door to the fireplace in the drawing room.
"Bones Manor!" I yelled into the Floo. "Bones Manor! Let Me Through!"
The flames remained green, and nothing happened.
Damnit! The urge to break something overwhelmed me and I kicked the table next to me hard. It shattered to pieces.
"Harry!" Hestia shrieked, grabbing me from behind. "Harry! You're scaring me! What's wrong with you? Why do you need—"
"Because," I spun around and grabbed her arms. "I fucking saw Voldemort planning something. I — we're connected. Because of this scar. And I'll be fucking damned if I forgot what it was. So either get me a fucking legilimens or stay out of my fucking way!"
Hestia opened her mouth to speak, but then shut it, as recognition hit her eyes. "I — Wait a minute. I know someone that can help."
"Can they be trusted?"
She hesitated for a moment. "...Yes. She can." She gave me a searching look. "Get some pants on. I'm calling her. She can legilimize your mind and extract your dreams before you lose them. You just… try to stay calm, alright? I'll call Hermione! I—"
There was a knock on the door, before it swung wide open, and Hermione stepped in, wearing a long shirt and nothing else.
"I heard voices," she said, panting. "So I came. Is everything all right?"
Me and Hestia looked at each other.
"You go," I said, "I'll tell her everything."
One vial of fever potion and two drops of calming draught later, I was sitting in the drawing room, with Hermione standing behind me and massaging my temples. The hysteria within me had all but abated, and it was easier to focus now. Hestia, true to her word, had brought in an acquaintance, a thirty-something woman that I had never met before in my life. Even with all the things going on in my head, I couldn't help but register the way her long, brown hair was tied up in a ponytail, showing off her immaculate bone structure. High cheekbones, defined jawline, slender nose, and plump lips. It didn't hurt that she wore skin-fitting robes that showed off her long muscular legs and tight arse.
"Harry Potter, meet Lady Emmeline Vance," introduced Hestia. "Emmeline, this is Harry Potter."
It took me everything to maintain my composure and not react to the name.
"Emmeline is the Head of the Obliviator Office at the Ministry of Magic," said Hestia.
I blinked and looked at Hestia who was giving me a meaningful look. Yes, her stare said, she's a member of the Order of the Phoenix and that's how I know her. Now don't ask stupid questions and get your shit together.
You and I are going to sit and talk about this, my own stare answered her.
"Mr. Potter," said Vance, as she shook my hand.
"Please," I croaked. "Have a seat."
"I understand you've dreamt about something very peculiar," said Emmeline. "Something… you wish to keep under secrecy vows."
"Can you do it? Extract the dream?"
"I can," she said. Her confidence elated me a bit. "I'm even willing to submit to a vow if the price is right, which Hestia assures me, it is."
I exchanged another glance with Hestia and nodded.
"Good," said Emmeline. "You, and… your friend here, will also have to submit to a secrecy vow, swearing to keep whatever transpires here. I might be an Obliviator, but even I am not allowed to exercise Legilimency outside of my job concerns."
"I thought Legilimency was illegal," said Hermione."
"Unauthorised psychic intrusion into another's mind without the victim's consent is illegal, Miss…"
"Granger."
"Miss Granger," said Emmeline. "But Legilimency has several more facets than just mental intrusion. There exist several careers that require you to have some skill in Legilimency. My own Obliviation office is one. Being a Level-3 Legilimens is actually a minimum requirement, before you're allowed to train for Memory-charms."
"I've had experience with memory-charming before."
"Ah, yes, I have heard," said Vance conversationally. "In your second year. I'm told that Gilderoy Lockhart attempted to memory-charm yourself and your friend but got obliviated instead because of his wand backfiring?"
"Yes," I said. Technically it was Ron's wand, but I decided not to go into details. As it was, I was losing time.
"Any fool with a wand can cast a memory-charm and make the victim lose his memory. You might as well hit the victim with something hard in the head. Skilled obligation requires a perfect understanding of the mind and one's thoughts, Miss, and it needs to be done in a manner that even the victim's mind believes that everything is hunky-dory."
"Uh, Miss Vance—"
"Lady."
"Apologies. Lady Vance, I don't want to sound ungrateful for you coming to meet me at such short notice this late at night, but could we get started?" The anxiety was beginning to grip me again. "I've been constantly trying to remember the dream."
"Well, the first thing you need to do is stop doing that."
I blinked. "Excuse me?"
"I'm an Obliviator, Mr. Potter, so trust me when I say, I speak from experience. Every time you recall an event from the past, your brain networks change in ways that can alter the later recall of the event. So the next time you remember it, you might recall not the original event but what you remembered the previous time. So, the more you do it, the more you're distorting your own memories."
"I — what?"
"And that makes it even more difficult to remember dreams, especially since they are not exactly made through experiencing through your physical sensations, but by your mind playing with your subconscious thoughts when you're asleep."
Her words terrified me.
Not just because I had been constantly trying to remember and re-remember the dream, thus hurting my own chances to get the perfect memory, but also the potential implications of what it meant for my own past. Did that mean that the more I'd try to remember about my previous life, the more distorted they would become?
"Memories aren't static," said Emmeline. "There is also the content of environment and time and your mood. Different settings can cause your memories to integrate or lose different kinds of information."
"But I have a perfect memory recall," I blurted and instantly cursed myself. Hermione looked at me in surprise, while Hestia just narrowed her eyes and looked at me suspiciously.
"Harry, you don't have Eidetic memory," began Hermione.
"I didn't," I stopped her before she could go on a tirade. "But I do now. Trust me, I do."
Emmeline pursed her lips. "What you say is… improbable, but I'm assuming you're not lying."
I shook my head.
"If I may ask, how did you develop this skill? Have you gotten instruction at Occlumency?"
For a second, I almost said yes. But reading about Occlumency and practising it were two different things. It didn't help that JKR didn't say anything about how it really worked. Say whatever you like, but 'Clear your Mind' wasn't adequate instruction in any world, fictional or not.
I needed Emmeline's help, and lying to a seasoned Obliviator was not gonna help me. Not in this.
"No."
"No? Then…"
"The how is unimportant, Lady Vance," I said, standing up. A familiar feeling of anxiety was beginning to grasp me. I wouldn't pretend and claim that my plan at beating Voldemort didn't depend on my knowledge of canon. Yes, my involvement would make ripples in the ocean, but it wouldn't change the fucking Marianna Trench into a floating island. Riddle's horcruxes existed in this world, and Harry had already destroyed the Diary back in second year.
But if Voldemort was already planning things differently, and if the people involved were changing as well, it threw a lot of my plans into jeopardy. I needed to know what had happened, and I needed to perfectly recount every single dream I'd have in the future.
I looked at Vance.
No matter the cost.
"Lady Vance," I said, annoyance slipping through my tone. "We're digressing. Can you or can you not help me to remember this dream?"
Emmeline sighed. "Mr. Potter, I have agreed to swear an oath to maintain the secrecy of whatever I find in your mind and help you extract the dream, yes, but only to the extent it is safe for you. Please understand that this isn't your standard memory extraction, but a psychic probing and manipulation of the temporoparietal junction of your mind. Ordinarily, I would take at least a week to prepare for most eventualities before a preliminary scan. That is how dangerous it can be. Trying to do it when my subject is, forgive me, close to hysteria, is simply out of the question."
I looked at her, dismayed.
"You need to calm yourself. Forget whatever has alarmed you to this extent. If you are right and you truly have Eidetic memory, we will be able to extract the dream out. But I need you to relax. Whatever you need to do to get there, do it."
"Hermione," said Hestia in a no-nonsense tone. "Take him to the bedroom. Get him to relax. I'll…" She paused, and looked at Emmeline with an expression that was a mix of apology and embarrassment. "I'll join shortly."
Hermione swallowed but nodded.
"Hestia, I—" I began.
"Harry, please trust me on this. Emmeline is a trusted friend, and I understand your fears. I'll get her to complete the vow, and explain a few things. Trust me, I'll take care of it."
I stared at her for a long moment, before I exhaled in resignation.
"I'll be in my room then."
She smirked. "Go. I'll join you soon."
Hermione took me back to my bedroom, my hands in hers, until she was trapped between me and the bed. She pulled my hands and brought them to her lips, and kissed them softly. I absently grabbed her hips, and pulled her close. Our chests connected, I brushed the hair from her face and pushed it behind her ear, seeing the smouldering desire and concern in her eyes.
She grabbed my chin and pushed herself forward, stealing a kiss. My entire body was still shaking with the memory of the dream, and part of me couldn't help but wonder exactly why I was reacting so dangerously to it. Was it the effect of the horcrux connecting both of us? Before I could dwell further on the subject, Hermione slipped her tongue into my mouth and began to wrestle with mine. She grabbed my cock through my pants, and rubbed her hand along the shaft, softly stroking it.
I grunted, but it was more of an involuntary response than a moan. She slipped a hand into my waistband and began to pull my cock out.
"I want this," she whispered, running her fingers around my bare shaft. She slid off her panties, and knelt down, before taking me in her mouth. She cocked her head sideways and opened her mouth just wide enough to wrap her lips around the side of my shaft and moved forward and backward as my cock slid through her lips.
A part of me pointed out that nothing she was doing was new by any means, and yet, it felt like the strangest experience I had ever had. My cock felt so hard that I feared it was going to explode.
"How does my mouth feel, Harry?"
"Uh… good."
She ran her tongue over the tip of my cock and gave me a sexy smile. "Glad you think so. I had thought that you had lost interest in my body with all the new girls you have now."
"Hermione…"
"Shhh…" she said, and pushed me around and down upon the bed.
"Hold my hair," she instructed.
I balled my fist and held her hair tightly, as she lept arching her back for me and sucking my cock. It was far from the hardcore deepthroating I was used to, but we weren't having rough sex. Hermione was… pleasuring me, her eyes locked on mine and ensuring that she held my complete attention. She took my cock back into her mouth and shoved her head down as far as she could on the shaft but only got it in about halfway; once she was as far as she could get she pulled back and looked up at me and now my eyes were locked onto hers.
We ultimately ended up with me on my knees and Hermione lying flat on her back. I kissed down her jawline, and bit into her neck, my fingers greedily mauling her tits like they were something new that I had discovered. I left a trail of kisses until I passed her belly button, and gave her clit a long, deep lick. Hermione bucked, her pussy burning with desire as she grabbed my head and made me lick her even more.
"Fuck, Harry," she moaned. "Make love to me! Give me your cock already."
I continued to tease her with my mouth, burying my tongue inside her folds which were dripping wet at this point. Her pleasure didn't mean anything, only mine did. And I knew exactly what I wanted to do next.
I met her eyes and began to hiss out in Parseltongue, making her scream out in ecstasy as she gripped my head with her thighs tightly, as orgasm after orgasm flooded through her. Seriously, why didn't I engage in this before? Why had I chosen to sacrifice this to dive into the darkness of necro—
"I'M CUMMING! I'M CUMMING! I'M CUMMING!"
Hermione screamed and screamed, and grabbed my head and pulled me upward, licking her juices off my face.
"In me, Harry," she demanded. "I need it in me!"
I did not wait any longer. I held her waist tight, and placed it at the entrance of her hole and thrust forward until I was balls deep. Something told me that I was far more experienced, far more nuanced and skilled at the art of sex than the amateurish clumsiness I was displaying, but I couldn't help myself. Hermione's pussy sucked my cock right in, and shivered as she became accustomed to my giant weapon. I could literally feel her walls trying to crush me from all sides, uplifting the sexual crescendo to even greater heights.
"Don't stop!" She said, her hands on my back, her nails digging into me.
I thrust harder.
And harder.
And harder.
"Cum!" She said, "Cum in me."
Her juices gushed around my cock inside of her as she tightened and ran through yet another orgasm. It was just like her. My faithful Bellatrix. She was climaxing just with me being inside her, as if that alone was too much for her to handle. I pushed as deep as I could and stayed there, my cock twitching and exploding into her pulsing pussy as rope after rope of cum splashed inside my faithful lieutenant, filling her up. And as I did, a sliver of power erupted out of me.
"Ugh!" I groaned, as I kept cumming more and more inside her.
And then the Screen flickered before my eyes.
Perk HORCRUX Deactivated
"..."
I blinked. Wait. What just happened? I looked down and found Hermione below me, her hair strewn all over, her face covered with my spit, and my cock deep inside her pussy. But her face…
God! Her face…
Her body had gone deathly pale, and cold. If not for the faint beats of her heart, I'd have thought that she was dea—
No. No way! I pulled myself off her, and looked around, and the reality of the situation slapped me in the face like a freight train.
The room was soaked in dark magic. Every single enchantment in the room was permeated by it, corrupted by it. Where there was a bright yellowish illumination now remained a ghastly green glow.
Complete with the familiar stench of death.
What — what the hell had just happened?
As if on cue, a dozen windows opened before me all at once.
Adding New Path: NECROMANCER
Checking for Existing Perks…
Found Null
What? Necromancer? How could that be fucking possible? I had rejected that path and chosen to upgrade the Incubus instead. That's what gave me the Incubus Lord Race. Then how was this happening?
Adding +21% affinity for Hemomancy
Adding +17% affinity for Possession
Adding +8% affinity for Demonology
Adding +23% affinity for Inferi Creation
Adding +8% affinity for Voodoo
Adding +11% affinity for Incarneum
Assimilating newly gained magical constitution…
Establishing parity with physical constitution….
Assimilation Rejected!
Parity Rejected!
Magical Constitution found incompatible with Path
Of course it would be rejected. Incubus was all about sexual pleasure and control. It was the epitome of life and being alive. Like Transfiguration that took control of the physics and chemistry of the universe, Sex magic was all about taking control of the human body and manipulating its perceptions. But necromancy? Necromancy made a mockery of life, and used the power of magic to bring forth destruction and nothing more. Besides being murderous and extremely icky, there was also something utterly profane about using magic to create a rotting semblance of a human life. My stomach turned a little, just thinking that I had gained multiple affinities on that front.
And it went on and on.
RACE: NECROMANCER
Knowledge. Truth. Power. Death has it all. And it will be yours. Someday.
Establishing parity with existing magical affinities…
Creation of Separate vessels necessary
Assimilating effects of perk HORCRUX
Enacting…
A cold, shivering sensation grew in me, as a cold, cold energy began to ripple through my body. For a second, I thought it would hurt, but then I realised that even the pain felt like pure, unending sweetness. There was an empty, heartless void to it, a starless frozen quality that raked at me, not just my body, but me — with a mindless hunger. And I could feel it sending tendrils out through me, slowing my heartbeast, making it impossible to breathe.
Path Necromancer Found Incompatible with Path Incubus Lord
Do you wish to choose one or the other?
Choose? I thought deliriously. What the fuck did it mean by choose? I already chose back then, and I upgraded myself to Incubus Lord. This was just some magical fuckery because of Voldemort that was affecting me through the Horcrux. Damn this thing! I should have gotten rid of it when the option presented itself but I hadn't, and now it had come to bite me back.
Or had it?
"Yes…" I breathed through clenched teeth. "I do."
You have gained a Coupon!
I blinked. Another Coupon?
From my recent experience, a Coupon allowed me to gain something by sacrificing something else. Equivalent Exchange. I had used my previous coupons to evolve myself to Incubus Lord, and also gain some fiendish powers. I could only hope that this one would end up with something benign.
Oh who was I kidding?
COUPON
Activate Voluntary Path Switching between Incubus Lord and Necromancer
CONDITION
Sacrifice 100% of your current Meta-Luck
I seethed. What was I thinking? The System was being an absolute arse for quite some time now. Or maybe this was its original function and it was just taking things slow, giving me an illusion of safety?
Still, sacrificing the entirety of my Meta-Luck? Or else what? I'd be stuck as a Necromancer? Was that what it was? And that was ignoring possibilities of the horcrux taking over, and manipulating me into becoming a Me-too of Lord Voldemort. With Voldemort now alive in a child's body and kicking, chances of that happening had just shot up the fucking roof!
And if that wasn't enough, there was that affliction to consider.
Indomitable Lust. If I failed to have sex within a week, then it would erode my sanity and turn me into an impulsive beast. A beast with Necromancy powers and zero knowledge about how to control it. Taking the deal would allow me to switch Paths, and maybe, just maybe, learn to control both and get out ahead.
All I'd need to do is sacrifice my current Meta-Luck. Which meant if I fucked something up, I'd have no option to salvage it back.
Damned if I took the deal. Damned if I didn't.
"Yes…" I replied through gritted teeth. "Activate Path Switching."
Path Switching Activated
Current Meta-Luck - 0
My fingers drew blood.
Choose Default PATH
"Incubus Lord."
Path INCUBUS LORD set to Default
All magical affinities associated with Path NECROMANCER set to DORMANT
You have gained a new Title.
Oh, what now?
Title - The Road Not Taken
Incubus rush through the Path of Life. Necromancers delve into the Path of Death. Can these roads ever converge?
EFFECTS
?
CONDITION
75% affinity in Psychomancy
Activation of Domain Lecherous Shrine
60% affinity in Incarneum
What the fuck was that? Nobody in their right mind would go all the way to fulfil all those conditions without knowing what kind of effect the Title would grant them.
Can these roads ever converge? Life and Death converging? It made no sense. This thing was really pissing me off.
Sense of Self reverted
Responses Active
Establish modified Reality Foundation
Welcome, Incubus Lord!
"Yeah!" I gnashed my teeth. "Thanks a fucking lot."
Notes:
If you want to support me, find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Next Update is on 25th September.
Chapter 76: Necromancy
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 3 - THE INCUBUS AND NECROMANCER
The entire room was saturated with pungent, necromantic energy.
Hermione was down, breathing soft, heavy breaths, her body poisoned by the aforementioned necromantic burst. She might as well be injected with a mild version of Draught of Living Death.
Hestia and Emmeline Vance were about to enter the room any moment.
And I just had a Necromancer Path slapped upon my very existence.
I felt a little sad that this wasn’t the most surreal or overcomplicated mess I had found myself in.
Honestly, it was times like these that I wondered if I should just drop all my self-imposed constraints and embrace the Path of Incubus Lord completely. Be the sexual demon that Amelia wanted at her side. Be the ruthless bastard that would fit right in place beside Narcissa, once we got rid of her pesky, irritating and obscenely influential husband. Maybe I should have just forced the Devil’s Charm on whatever pussy-on-legs came on my path and gained that 300 units of anchorage as quickly as possible, and activated Lecherous Shrine, the Incubus Lord's domain. And yes, my Incubus brain was already licking its chops at the idea of ensnaring Emmeline into my web. Penelope was already in, but I was saving her for a rainy day. Between the two of them, and maybe Nymphadora Tonks, who Hestia had told me would be meeting me for a date shortly, I could gain my anchorage and successfully infiltrate the Order of the Phoenix and the Ministry on a level that neither Albus fucking Dumbledore nor Cornelius Fudge would see coming.
It would have certainly made things convenient, even though I didn’t do it, because of ‘morality’. My past life was proof that my efforts to follow ‘morality’ completely sucked, but it wasn’t until now that I came to fully understand how much. Really, if not for me having to stick to playing Harry Potter the Boy-hero, things would have been so much faster.
Instead I was limited to playing chess when all I wanted to do was to bulldoze my way through.
The worst part about all of this was the swirling abyss of hunger I felt within me. Sure, the Incubus Lord was a being of hunger as well, but that Hunger was limited to Lust. Manipulating the victim’s perceptions was just a side-effect of overwhelming them with my aura. It just wanted sex, and fed on others' sexual desires. It wanted me to live my life with an ever-increasing coven of females participating in an orgy at least thrice a day. It was a being of lust, and there was nothing more life-affirming than sex. For all the mind-fuckery it did and could unleash upon the world, it truly didn’t want to kill anyone.
The Necromancer didn’t want anything else.
I know that fantasy fiction often makes Necromancy look like an absolutely cool thing. And I’d be a hypocrite to claim that I didn't. The sheer idea of being able to bewitch dead bodies to do your bidding, and using the powers of Death itself to attain all kinds of esoteric powers was wildly enthralling. But take it from someone that actually had Necromantic affinities, it really isn’t all that glamorous.
Honestly, it felt like… nothing. Not the absence of sensation, but I truly felt Nothing. There was no connection with the world around me, no sense of feeling my senses, of establishing my own hold upon the world and becoming something in it. Instead I found a numbing, empty void that seemed to make the world smaller just by existing in it. Every single affinity I had opened vistas of new possibilities, and each of them went just that extra mile to reject the world. Necromancy was not just a mockery of life, it was everything Life wasn’t. It didn’t just want to exterminate life, it thought of that to be common sense. Like a black hole, this emptiness would swallow all life into its dark, primordial pit and unleash something alien and taboo and wrong and mutate this world into a twisted caricature beyond one’s worst nightmares.
Tom Riddle had actively walked that path. He truly believed in the logic of Necromancy. No, he made it his common sense.
That I, his prophesied equal, was an Incubus, a creature of Love and Lust and Life, was not lost on me. Maybe, just maybe, Dumbledore was onto something when he claimed that Love was the power the Dark Lord knew not.
“Merlin’s Beard, what the hell happened here?” came Emmeline’s voice from the doorway.
I turned around, and saw her and Hestia stand in the doorway. Hestia was already blue and looked like she was about to fall sick and throw up. Emmeline was in the middle of casting some kind of preventive charms to keep the distorted necromantic energies from affecting them like it did Hermione. Hestia tried to cast the general counter-spell, but it did nothing. Emmeline had a little more luck, but it only got rid of the stench and nothing else. I could still feel the energy saturating all over the room, and I knew exactly what I’d need to get it out.
Well, two ways really.
“Harry,” Hestia whispered. “What is happening to you?”
I gave her a lopsided grin. “You still think I was overreacting?”
“But — this—”
“It’s necromancy!” said Emmeline, her disdain colouring her face. “I didn’t know the Boy-Who-Lived was experimenting with Necromancy in his spare time.”
“Yes, because it’s such a fantastic option to make one calm and feel better, isn’t it?” I snarked back, despite my inner turmoil. “This isn’t me, genius. It’s from my scar.”
“Your scar—”
“Hermione—” Hestia screamed. “What happened to her? Is she—”
I shook her head. “Not dead if that’s what you’re asking.”
I couldn’t give a fuck that I was standing naked in front of both ladies, and there was an equally naked Hermione Granger on the bed. Necromancy has a way of flushing one’s libido out of the driver’s seat. Take my word on it.
“She got hit by the blast head on,” I said. “She’s still breathing. I guess if I can flush the entire thing off, then she’ll be fine.”
“Flush it off?” Emmeline scoffed. “That’s necromantic energy, Mr. Potter. I doubt a third-year passout can —”
“You forget that this third-year passout was also the one that caused it in the first place.”
“And you did it intentionally?”
I shook my head. “But I can take it back.”
“How?”
I smiled. It didn’t reach my eyes. “Boy-Who-Lived secrets. Not to be shared with his adoring masses.”
“Harry,” Hestia snapped. “Hermione’s in serious danger. We need to take her to St. Mungo’s. She needs to be given a transfusion right away. Who knows how it might affect her lycanthropy?”
It was a valid question. Even if I was able to extract the residual necromantic energy out of her, there was no saying what kind of taint it’d leave behind on her already corrupted body. Lycanthropy was a dark curse with spiritual ties to Hemomancy, or blood magic in layman’s terms.
“Won’t know for certain unless I try.”
“Harry, please don’t do this. We need to take her to St. Mungo’s and bring Professor Dumbledore into this. This is… this is above my paygrade.”
Of course it was. I knew I was about to do something utterly reckless. I was about to intentionally activate the Necromancer Path again, and use its powers. There was no saying how it would affect the Horcrux or what kind of feedback loop it might generate. But the horcrux was a soul shard of Lord Voldemort, a Master of Necromancy, and unless I was wrong, it was syphoning off Voldemort’s affinities into me, only it was doing it in the most unpredictable way possible. Was this Destiny’s way of ensuring that I was His Equal? Was that what the Horcrux was doing? Creating a duplicate of Voldemort’s magical constitution within me? And if so, how long before I succumbed to that power?
No. I needed a game changer, and its name was Incubus Lord. I needed to activate the Domain it had given me. That would be the best way to counter Necromancy’s influence on me.
I closed my eyes.
“You guys should stay away. Something might happen.”
“Harry—” Hestia began, but I beat her to it.
“In case I go crazy and attack you, don’t hesitate to fight back. If stunners and petrifaction don’t work, go for the hard hitters.” I paused again. “I’d appreciate it if you don’t kill me.”
“We’ll do our best to remember that,” said Emmeline drolly.
Switching Paths…
Activating Path NECROMANCER
Registering Affinities…
Binding
Welcome, Necromancer!
There aren’t enough words in the English dictionary to fully explain what happened next. The room just… got darker. I don’t mean the lights went off or anything, but everything got darker. There was this low, trembling sensation that made my eyeballs jiggle a little, and the shadows simply expanded up out of the corners and slid over portions of the room, carrying that nasty, greasy, pungent stench of necromancy with them. Hestia was shaking like anything, and even Emmeline was twitching, her wand all but slipping through her fingers.
The only place the darkness didn’t spread was over me. Instead the shadows stopped in a circle all around me, maybe like six inches away.
This… wasn’t the kind of power I had felt before. Normally when someone that can sling major mojo around draws their stuff up around them, it becomes tangible. For Dumbledore, it was like being in the vicinity of an earthquake, filled with the assurance that the man before you was a walking-talking calamity that could unleash the power of the very world to ensure your destruction. Compared to that, Narcissa’s aura was cool, wet and poisonously lovely, like belladonna. Something was both beautiful and exquisite and would most definitely kill you in your sleep. I had experienced Amelia’s power, a cold and crystal silhouette of pure determination that could stand against an unforgiving tide.
But this was different. The power of necromancy didn’t fill up the room. Instead, it emptied it in a way that I didn’t think I fully understood. And I was the one casting it. An utter stillness spread out of my body, not peace, for that would be something tranquil, soothing, accepting. This stillness was a horrible, hungry emptiness, something that drew its power from being not. It was a power so wholly different from the burning fire of life that was the Incubus Lord, and the power of magic that I could use, that fueled my patronus.
And it was strong.
In fact, the closest I had ever felt something like this would be…
Would be when I put on the cilice for the Black Ritual under Walburga’s tutelage.
I began to tremble as I realised how great a power I was about to stand against, if I wanted to fight the Dark Lord. In that one moment, I fully understood why Lord Voldemort was feared as the Darkest Wizard in British history.
My mouth opened, and I spoke with a familiarity that I did not possess.
“Come.”
There was a whirling sensation, like the world around me had been caught up in a gale, only there was no wind. The books on the shelves were not stirring, and neither were the curtains blowing. Instead the hideous vacuum kept gathering the power splattered all over the room and pulling it all back towards me.
Into me.
I could faintly hear Hestia saying something, but I couldn’t let myself be distracted. Hermione’s body spasmed, as the corruptive powers erupted out of her body like blackish, sludge-like fumes, coalescing and fusing into me. Fumes that would take over me, devour my sanity if I let it, so I focussed on the image of a granite wall to keep myself from them.
It barely halted their movement. I could mentally feel the stones cracking, the wisps of black power trickling through the holes, come to corrupt my mind and make me just as twisted and alien as they were.
This power… it was too much. I couldn’t control it. If I kept absorbing it, this power would erode my sanity, and if I let it go then, it would kill Hermione and the others. I needed — I needed a vent. A sink. Something that could—
“DOBBY!”
With a pop, the faithful elf appeared in the room. “Great Harry Potter has called for — Great Harry Potter is doing NECROMANCY! Accursed magic!”
Great! Even the blasted elf knew better than to touch this power. Guess what that says about me.
“Dobby! Go to Grimmauld Place! Get me as many goblin made weapons as you can. Quickly!”
“But Harry Potter sir —”
“NOW!”
Dobby popped like a balloon, and just then, my knees gave out, but I somehow managed to keep Hermione’s body from falling off. Her skin was returning to its normal colour, and her lips were slowly shaking, her eyelids flickering…
Just a little more. I told myself. Just a little more.
My mind wall was crumbling. The power was pouring in, the first trickle from a dark sea.
If I wanted to live, I needed a sink. Really, really fast.
“EXPECTO PATRONUM!” I heard Emmeline scream, and blind white light exploded into the room, revealing a swan of pure happiness. The darkness hungrily encroached towards the ethereal creature like wolves surrounding an injured lioness, snapping and taunting from every direction. Emmeline snarled and thrust her wand, and after several precious seconds, Hestia’s patronus — a parrot, joined the fray. The darkness hissed and frothed and spat as the two patronuses exuded pure, bright light at them, valiantly pushing them away, but even I could see that it was a losing fight.
“Let go!” I screamed. Hestia was already down to her knees and Emmeline wasn’t faring any better, the patronus charm sucking their magic dry as it relentlessly fought against the dark.
“No!” said Emmeline. “If we give up, it will take over! We have to stop it!”
“You cannot hold it for another minute without succumbing to exhaustion!” I screamed at them. “Let go of your patronuses. It will give us some time!”
Hestia met my eyes, and let go. Emmeline followed a moment after. The two patronuses let out a strange, piercing wail as the darkness surrounded them and devoured them whole, until nothing was left of the two ethereal manifestations.
They’re not real. I told myself. Just patronuses. Just patronuses. It could be Hestia and Emmeline instead. Focus, Harry. Focus! Keep them contained. You’re the Necromancer! They’re magic. Use them! USE THEM!
If I wanted to live, if I wanted the others to live, I had little choice.
I let Hermione’s body slide off my hands to the floor, and stood up.
I raised my hands.
“COME!”
The darkness hissed and frothed, and rushed towards me, not to embrace but in rage. It didn’t want to be controlled, it wanted to be in control. It wanted to take over my mind, my magic, and for all I knew, my fucking soul. The hideous pressure began to surge against my thoughts but this time, I was ready for it. I let out a hollow gasp and directed the power into the emptiness between my palms.
I was the Necromancer. I was in charge. If Magic was all about faith and imagination and willpower, then Necromancy would be no different.
The shadows began to coalesce into a sphere between my palms.
A shadow-ball of swirling, potent energies that was the antithesis of Life itself.
“HARRY POTTER SIR!” Dobby bawled as he popped into the room, dropping a miscellany of various antiquites that could only have existed at Grimmauld Place — swords, daggers, brass knuckles, you name them. I could spot an European cutlass next to a japanese dao, with a pair of basket-hilted great swords next to them. A bunch of claymores and scimitars lay fallen, as did several misericordes attached to iron chains. Clearly the elf had taken my word at face value and gotten as many as he could have.
Without a second thought, I poured the coalescing power at the weapons, bathing them with pure, corruptive power of necromancy. The weapons shone with a bright, blackish aura as the goblin-forged weapons greedily drank into the taboo power and amalgamated it into their very constitution. The more I kept pushing, the more the weapons kept imbibing it, like a thirsty traveller drinking from an oasis until the darkness was all but gone, and the normal illumination was back.
And then it was done.
Would you like to revert to Path INCUBUS LORD?
I would have laughed if I could. Instead a raspy ‘Yes’ escaped my throat.
Adding +7% affinity for Incarneum
Adding +13% affinity for Death-force manipulation
Assimilating newly gained magical constitution…
Establishing parity with existing magical affinities…
Enacting…
Perk HORCRUX deactivated
Sense of Self reverted
Responses Active
Establish modified Reality Foundation
Welcome, Incubus Lord!
I fell down on my knees. Utterly wasted. Every part of me was screaming in pain and wanted to do nothing but embrace sweet oblivion. Instead I looked down and focussed on Hermione. Hestia and Emmeline rushed in, the former grabbing me, as she pulled and dragged me to the bed, casting diagnostic charms all over me.
“She’s fine,” I heard Emmeline say. “Heartbeat normal. Colour is returning to her face. She’ll need some pepper-up and maybe take a day or two lightly, but she’ll be fine.”
“Thank goodness,” I murmured.
“Now you on the other hand…”
I closed my eyes, not wanting to deal with her at the moment.
“He’s fine, just magically exhausted. I think,” said Hestia.
I wasn’t. Magically exhausted that is. Now fine? That’s relative.
“Oh, I’d imagine so,” said Emmeline with a blandness that concealed the shock and concern in her eyes at witnessing my earlier spectacle. “Absorbing unfiltered demonic magic, controlling shadows, coalescing such dark magic while maintaining your sanity… I’d doubt anybody would believe me if I told them what occurred here.”
“You’d be surprised,” I told her with a weak laugh. “The public are suckers for anything related to the Boy-Who-Lived. Even better, go to Skeeter. She’ll probably paint me as the Dark Lord Reborn.”
“I’m surprised she didn’t pull off that stunt already.”
“Not for the lack of trying,” I told her. “She had a serious chance of pushing that back in my second year. But then Hermione got attacked, and she’s my best friend. One can only write so much bullshit before people lose interest.” I began pushing myself up, but Hestia prevented me again.
“Don’t,” began Hestia.
“Get me a pepper-up and I’m ready to continue.”
“Harry,” Hestia pleaded. “You need to rest. You’ve been through a lot and you—”
“Need this memory,” I finished for her. “Resting can wait. Have you seen my pants… I can’t be seen like this before guests.”
“Oh, don’t exert on my behalf,” said Emmeline. “I’ve already seen what is there to be seen, and you’ve got nothing to be shy about.”
I arched an eyebrow. Even Hestia eyed her at the odd statement, before fetching my pants as she began to put my legs through them. I could feel Emmeline’s eyes on my cock, and at the absolute nonchalance with which Hestia did her work, until she met my eyes again.
“So, I suppose you and Hestia share quite an intimate relationship. Perpetuating the Boss and Secretary stereotype, I see.”
“It’s a bit cliche, but it works. Plus, I’m a known playboy. For more information on my glorious and casanova lifestyle, check Witch Weekly. They ran a full three-page article on it this month.”
“You forgot ‘magical kung-fu artist’,” Hestia added drolly.
“Yeah, that too,” I said, wondering in which universe were my little takedowns of Malfoy and his goons equivalent to kung-fu, magical or otherwise.
“I’m aware,” Emmeline drawled. “There has been quite a buzz in the pureblood ladies circle ever since you bedded Breanna Vane’s daughter.”
Romilda again? Seriously, what was wrong with that girl? At this rate, it was only a matter of time before that girl showed up in a Witch Weekly article giving a thorough and first-hand scoop about what it’s like shagging the Boy-Who-Lived.
“A known playboy that dabbles in necromancy,” Emmeline murmured. “I doubt even Witch Weekly would paint that in a positive light.”
“I told you,” I snapped. “It’s not me. It’s the scar.”
“Mr. Potter, with all due respect to your 1981 miracle, I should tell you that curse-scars don’t work that way. I understand that you want to hide your leanings in the subject, but I suggest you find a better excuse.”
I muttered expletives under my breath.
“He isn’t lying,” said Hestia. “I’ve watched him train every single day and night in this apartment. He practises a wide variety of curses, hexes and martial magic, several of which skirt the legal lines, but never more than that.”
“Not in your presence,” Emmeline threw back.
“No,” Hestia countered swiftly. “I know him. Harry’s perhaps one of the most committed, idealistic, talented, charming, insulting, bold, incautious, arrogant, short-sighted and ruthless motherfucker I’ve ever met, but he’s not someone that’ll dabble with something that dark. Yes, he loves to skirt into areas of ‘politically grey’ magic and has caused more headaches for me in this one summer than I have had in my entire life but trust me, Emmy, Harry isn’t one to dabble in Necromancy.”
Emmeline gave me a worn smile. “That’s high praise coming for her.”
I shrugged.
“But even if I believe her, I’ve just seen you perform something that only someone adept at Necromancy can think of doing. Even accomplished necromancers would think twice before using themselves as a sink for the dark power like that. I’m not sure whether to call you brave or stupid.”
“Go with stupid,” I said, with a lopsided grin. “You can’t go wrong with that.”
“Stupid and reckless and insane,” Hestia spat. “What were you thinking? Soaking yourself with that energy like that?”
“Clearly I didn’t think ahead that much. Luckily, I’m better at improvisation.”
“Yes,” said Emmeline. “Using goblin-forged weapons was genius. Goblin-silver contains ancient magic, imbibing all that strengthens it. I imagine you have for yourself an armoury of some of the most lethal weapons known to wizardkind. I imagine a single scratch from any of them would be enough to kill a person.”
“Pretty sure It will come in handy sometime,” I said, inwardly wondering if these weapons would work against horcruxes. Much like basilisk venom, Necromancy was horribly anti-life. More so, in fact. And just in case it wasn’t, I was planning on saving a couple of basilisk fangs and coating some weapons with basilisk blood anyway.
“I’ll admit this,” said Emmeline. “You’re not quite the third-year pass out that I imagined.”
Hestia laughed. “That’s what I told him the first day I met him.”
“So did Tonks,” I said, before turning to Emmeline, and meeting her eyes. “So, you’re a member of the Order of the Phoenix, I take it?”
She regarded me coolly. “You are aware.” Her eyes flickered to Hestia. “I suppose it was a little too much to expect Hestia to maintain her secrecy.”
Hestia laughed. “Hardly, Emmy. Harry’s just that smart. He caught me the very first day. And honestly, I prefer it that way.”
Emmeline gave me a sceptical look. “You’re okay with your secretary spying on you?”
I gave her a half-shrug. “Shows how little I have to hide.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You’re… something else, Harry Potter. An enigma, but I’ll crack you soon. I always do.”
“Amelia said the same thing.”
“Amelia?”
“Bones.”
She grew thoughtful. “First name basis with the DMLE Director, are you?”
I smiled. Let her chew on that for now.
“This scar…” I told her. “It connects me with Voldemort.” I smiled when she didn’t flinch at the name. “It lets me sense him if he’s nearby, though mostly by giving me a paralysing headache.”
Which, come to think of what I know is in the scar, does make it sound terrifying. Every single time Harry Potter came within Voldemort or another horcrux’s vicinity, a resonance happened. Canon Voldemort probably was none the wiser, which was weird, since he was the Dark Arts expert. He of all people should have investigated the nature of Harry Potter’s scar, and explored the nature of the lightning-bolt scar.
Instead he was perfectly happy to brew stupidly over complicated plots all over the fourth and fifth year, and then totally forgot about the connection or worse, actively avoided it.
Knowing my luck, this world’s Voldemort wouldn’t likely be that stupid.
“That power you saw, those skills I drew… they weren’t mine. They were —”
“The Dark Lord’s…” Emmeline finished.
“Yes. Or at least, that’s what I think. In my dream, I was connected to Voldemort. I was hearing him talk to Pe… to some people.”
“Talking to whom?”
I smiled. “I recognized one of them. You want the name? Help me uncover the entire dream. Then you can see the full picture.”
Emmeline scowled. “If it is really what you say, then this is a situation far more serious than either of us can manage. I say Professor Dumbledore should be brought in and—”
“No.”
Emmeline paused and looked at me sharply. “And why not? Surely you do not think that you know more than one of the most accomplished wizards on the planet?”
I shook my head. “I’m just not certain Professor Dumbledore will take any action on this. And if he does, he will keep me out of it. He always has.”
She narrowed her eyes, and crossed her arms. “What do you mean?.”
I exhaled. “First year. I tried to save the Philosopher’s Stone from Quirrell. Granted, I was a stupid brat with barely a year of education, but somehow, I immolated the possessed professor. I asked Dumbledore, and he told me that it was because of my mom’s protection. Protections that supposedly exist but didn’t do shit when the Dursleys abused me while growing up. Protections that haven’t stopped me from nearly getting killed by the basilisk in second year, or having my soul sucked by dementors in third year. And as you’ve just watched, it did jack to keep Voldemort’s darkness from erupting out of me. Whatever this scar is, my mom’s protection does nothing against it.”
Emmeline stayed silent.
“I asked Professor Dumbledore again back in my second year. After the event in the Chamber of Secrets, He told me that the night Voldemort gave me this scar, he transferred a little bit of his powers to me.” I met Emmeline’s hesitant gaze. “According to Dumbledore, that’s how I’m able to speak Parseltongue. Because Voldemort can speak Parseltongue. And now I did this… because He can do this.”
Both Hestia and Emmeline were exchanging nervous glances.
“I’m not crazy, Emmeline,” I said, “neither am I secretly practising Necromancy. I knew something was wrong the moment I had the dream, and when I woke up, something felt super weird. I couldn’t focus. I wasn’t myself. And then when I was having sex with Hermione, something in me just exploded, and the next thing I know, I have all these powers brimming within me, with not an ounce about how they got there.”
“If that scar really connects you to Voldemort and gives you his power, does that mean it’s trying to…”
“Make me into a copy of him?” I asked. “I dunno. It probably could, unless I’m strong enough. That’s why I practice every fucking day, preparing to face Voldemort when we meet next. And knowing him, it will be soon.”
Emmeline frowned. “I guess I can see where you are coming from, Mr. Potter. But I cannot, in clear conscience, dismiss this. A curse scar that connects you to the Dark Lord, and channels necromantic energy like that? I’m sorry, Potter, but Dumbledore has to know.”
I frowned. Emmeline was an Obliviator, and obviously quite skilled in Occlumency and Legilimency. And unlike Amelia, she didn’t have any personal history with me or my family for me to build a bridge past her defences. And as I was now, my Incubus powers were at a minimum, probably an aftereffect of channelling that much necromancy. Still, she had definitely shown some sexual interest, if her comments were any clue. There was a possible chance, but I couldn’t fight her into submission.
No, I needed her to see things for how they were and drop her defences. Even if that meant bringing Albus Dumbledore into this.
“Fine,” I said at last. “You can call Professor Dumbledore, but on a condition.”
Emmeline cocked her head.
“Hestia will be the one calling him, not you. I’d rather not have Professor Dumbledore know you are here.”
“Why?”
“Because I said so. And yes, you are welcome to listen to our conversation, so long as he does not sense your presence.”
Notes:
If you want to support me, find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Next Update is on 30th October.
Chapter 77: Good Intentions
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 3 - THE INCUBUS AND NECROMANCER
"I must say," said Albus Dumbledore brightly, "this is quite the warded property. Whoever has worked on this is certainly skilled. Please pass on my compliments for a task well done."
I smiled. In about fifteen minutes of Hestia sending him a Patronus, Albus Dumbledore had appeared outside my apartment in a flash of flames. Unlike Nymphadora, or Emmeline Vance, he seemed perfectly content to display his usual flamboyance in his dressing sense, complete with the pointed wizard's hat and Fawkes on his shoulder.
I idly wondered if the Newt Scamander movies that came next were just a fanon buildup of the original, and if not, just what kind of hideous curse altered Albus Dumbledore from the smartly dressed man into this weird Gandalf wannabe.
"I certainly hope you have been enjoying your summer well, Harry."
"I have, sir. Hestia has been quite helpful in that."
I gave him a knowing look.
Dumbledore didn't look the least apologetic. Instead, his bright blue eyes twinkled madly. "It was necessary, Harry. Miss Jones is indeed part of an organisation I created to stave off Voldemort's actions during the last war. Regardless of the clandestine approach, I hope you realise that my actions were aimed for your safety."
I scowled. "I'd have liked it if you had just been upfront with me, Professor."
"Ah, but that would defy the entire purpose of your newly-found independence, Harry. You wanted to live by yourself, as is your right. Somehow, I did not think you would appreciate being saddled with a chaperone."
"So you arranged for her to be appointed as my secretary instead."
The elder wizard shrugged. "It was the most convenient option. You are young, Harry, and I believed you'd find it more comfortable to trust your regular needs with someone closer to your age than someone older. I did consider Remus for the job, to be honest."
That flea-bitten mangy, beta male over a hottie like Hestia? Only Albus Dumbledore would think of that as a good choice.
"If it is all the same, sir, I'd rather deal with Hestia than Professor Lupin. He never struck me as the… responsible sort."
Dumbledore nodded his head like an old elephant. "I said I considered him, but he was not… in the right mindset for this. Seeing his best friend being killed by dementors has affected him quite hard. He blames himself for it. I encouraged him to take a sabbatical to free himself of his inner struggles."
I scoffed. What did Lupin even do except running away or blaming himself? There was beta behaviour and then there was this. Hermione was right. The man had rejected the wolf within him, and the wolf rejected him in return. With Sirius dead, chances were he would never see Remus Lupin ever again.
Which disappointed me a bit, to be honest. A part of me was actually looking forward to letting Tonks get involved with Lupin for a bit before snatching her from him and seeing him suffer in silence.
Oh well, you can't get everything.
"But we digress," said Dumbledore. "Hestia mentioned you had a most interesting dream."
"More like a nightmare," I said, and sat opposite him. A part of me wanted to take this discussion to my office, where I could sit on the boss chair, with Albus Dumbledore on the other side of the table, but I determined that it would make things uselessly complicated. Best to let the old man think he still had his pawn where he wanted. The fact was, ever since he had revealed his Divination perk, I had grown massively paranoid when it came to dealing with the man. Like any sensible strategist, I wanted to limit the number of factors he could add to get his divination mojo done right.
Plus, Hestia had placed a listening charm on me, and both women were listening to our discussion from the other room. Emmeline wanted to disillusion herself but even she knew better than to risk the plan. Dumbledore was a master of magical sensing after all, and the Cloak wouldn't work as well as her as it did for me, its original owner.
"Tell me about this dream."
I considered playing the part of the ignorant and socially inept Harry Potter of the last three years, but it would only make me look more suspicious. Hestia had made it clear that she had gotten entire dossiers on his character and history. I had no doubt that Dumbledore was having me watched with greater scrutiny now that I was freely making moves in the open.
"I was asleep and dreaming, but it wasn't like an ordinary dream. I saw… Voldemort."
My words reverberated in the air and Dumbledore looked at me sharply in the eyes. "You saw him?"
I shook my head. "No, not saw him. I was Him. I felt like a baby, and someone, a woman, I think, was cradling me. I saw Pettigrew, and he said something to me that displeased me, I mean, him, and I — he cruciated him. And there was another person, but I can't remember it properly." I took a pause long enough to pass as anxiety, and continued. "I — he was talking about the Quidditch World Cup. And there was a snake. His snake, though it felt like… well, more than just a snake."
"More than just a snake?"
I frowned, and made myself look confused. "Like I, I mean he, he held a special love for it. Like it was important. Somehow. Also, I felt weak. And stuck in a baby form. But I — he, had his powers. And his wand. Sir, the prophecy Professor Trelawney made, about the servant finding his master, it's coming true, isn't it? Pettigrew's found Him, and now they're planning something."
Dumbledore just stared in my general direction, though his pupils were constantly flickering. Like he was deeply thinking about something.
"Sir?"
"Harry," he asked out of nowhere. "Are you absolutely certain that you saw it from Tom Riddle's point of view? That you weren't standing or sitting next to him? Or perhaps, away from him? Looking from above? Did you see his face?"
I shook my head. "No. I told you. I was him. I could feel him — me thinking. Thinking about how he couldn't trust them. Why is that so difficult to believe?"
Dumbledore stayed silent for a moment, his eyes now focussed on his own interlocking fingers. I wondered if that was because he feared Voldemort was taking over me. It would fit in perfectly with his behaviour in canon fifth-year.
Wait. Fifth year. The horcrux only began acting out after Voldemort took Harry's blood, didn't it? So why was it acting out now when Voldy was nothing but a weakling stuck in a child's body? Had my actions somehow… accelerated the future?
"What happened then?"
I noticed the sharper edge in the old man's voice and prepared myself. Dumbledore's actions were always mysterious and often unpredictable, thanks to his divinatory powers. If I had to one-up the man, I would have to play it by the ear.
"When I woke up, I was freaking out. I — ever since the dementor accident, I've been different. I can remember things, perfectly recall spells and recite textbooks verbatim. I thought that I'd be able to remember the dream, but I couldn't. So I started panicking, afraid I'd lose vital information. So I asked Hestia if she knew Legilimency."
"You're aware of Legilimency."
"I spent a weekend at the Bones Mansion. I went to ask Madam Bones if she could help with getting Sirius vindicated and proven innocent. It would get me the Black Lordship, like Sirius wanted."
"You wish to become the Black Lord," said Dumbledore with a soft frown. 'I would have thought that the call of power and prestige does not affect you."
'It's about respecting my godfather's wishes, Professor."
"Your godfather is dead, Harry. I doubt it is a sensible thing to try wrangling the Black Lordship from Lucius Malfoy's hands. His son is the Heir Apparent."
"Not if Sirius gets proven innocent he's not," I shot back. "And please do not forget, I have Black blood in me as well. Dorea Black was my great-grandmother, sister of Arcturus, the previous Lord Black. And Sirius chose me as his heir. And this… is proof."
I held out my right fist at his face. The Black ring, proof of my being the Lord Conditional shone proudly.
His glasses flashed. "I see. You really have been quite busy."
I shrugged. "The first step of being independent involves knowing what I am and what I have."
"True," he agreed. "I agree with your sentiments, Harry. But Alas, the wheels of our government turn slowly and with imprecision. Lucius controls the majority of the Wizengamot, and not even I, could help you prove Sirius's innocence, now that Pettigrew is out in the wild."
"You could do that by using your Order to find him."
"The Order is already spread thin, Harry. And with Sirius dead —"
I stood up. "Don't downplay what happened to Sirius just because he's dead and gone. My godfather was sentenced to lifelong imprisonment despite being a loyal member of your Order of the Phoenix, and not one of you tried to check if he was truly guilty or not. You cast that man to a fate he did not deserve, and he escaped Azkaban just to protect me from Pettigrew, and died from the dementor onslaught. Again, while protecting me from Lupin who forgot he was a werewolf who needs to take a blasted potion on a full moon. No offence, sir, but Sirius has gone to greater lengths for me than anyone else I know of. Including you, sir."
"Harry, I do not insinuate —"
"I suggest we drop this conversation while we can, Sir," I finished coldly. "If you and your blasted Order cannot or will not deal with it, I will. If I need to spend every knut in my Potter fortune to find Pettigrew and prove Sirius innocent, I will."
I probably was being a little too over the top, but hey, when was emotional drama ever anything less?
"Harry, I know you are taking it hard but we must be pragmatic —"
"I'm being pragmatic. I just see him as my godfather and not my pawn."
None of us spoke for the remainder of the minute.
"...I'm sorry," I said softly. "That was out of line."
Dumbledore nodded his head slowly, still not meeting my eyes. "Very well. Let us move on. What happened after?"
"I asked Hestia if she knew Legilimency. I thought maybe she could extract the dream. But she didn't. So I went to the fireplace to Floo-call Madam Bones. But the Floo was closed. I guess because it was late at night. I guess in hindsight, I was already acting weird, I was frantic, I was…" I swallowed. "It really was frightening, come to think of it. Hestia must have seen or felt something, for she said she'd call someone who could help, and asked me if I could go back and try to relax. So Hermione took me to our bedroom and…" I looked down, and added a touch of embarrassment to my tone. "We made out. And somewhere in the middle of that, something surged within me. The next thing I know, a pungent, twisted magic was all over my room. Hermione had gotten the full brunt of it, and her entire body was pale, like she was dead, only her heart was beating softly. Very softly."
I paused. "It was the stench of death. Of Necromancy."
The atmosphere was thick enough to cut with a knife.
"I imagine you got her admitted to St. Mungo's then?" asked Dumbledore after an anxious moment of silence. I didn't quite look into the old man's eyes, afraid of what I'd see in them, and instead looked down at my feet. If nothing else, I could play it as shame.
"No."
"No?"
I looked up and looked in his general direction. As expected, he didn't meet my eyes. "No."
"Why?"
I clenched my fists and pulled off a troubled look. It wasn't difficult. Just thinking of what happened before was enough to make me want to throw up. "I cannot explain it, sir. The power was everywhere, and I just… knew that it wouldn't dissolve with the general counter-spell. Hestia tried it too, when she barged into the room, but it didn't work. It — it was just like with the snake. I didn't know I was speaking a different language, but I did anyway. That energy, I knew I could control it. I didn't know how, but I knew I could. So…I just did."
"Excuse me?"
"I took control of it. I commanded it to come to me. To leave the room, leave Hermione, and come to me."
This time Dumbledore stood up, and unless I was mistaken, he looked genuinely angry. His eyes looked stormy, before a calmness prevailed over him, and they regained their blue sheen.
"Harry," he said with a sigh. "I do not think I need to tell you how massively dangerous and utterly stupid that was?"
I barked out a laugh. "You don't, Professor. It was insanely stupid of me to try what I did. One moment I was calling it to me, the next moment the shadows were in my head, trying to trickle through the walls I created in my head to stop them. I was— I was losing my sanity, but then I had an idea. I called for Dobby, that's—"
"The Malfoy elf."
"I asked him to get me goblin-forged weapons from Grim — to the Black Townhouse. I knew there's a giant stock of those there."
"You've been to the Black Townhouse," he murmured, his moustache quivering. "You really have been quite a busy little bee this summer."
"Yes," I said. "Hestia tried to help me. She conjured a Patronus, but it was draining her. So I told her to let it go. It gave me some breathing time with the darkness eating the Patronus up. I knew I would lose myself, and Hermione would die if I didn't do anything, so I tried to take control a second time. I concentrated, syphoned it all out of her and focussed all that power into the palm of my hand."
"You were able to focus dark energy into a constrained shape…"
I nodded. "I was lucky that Dobby popped in right then. You told me that goblin-silver only imbibes what strengthens it. So I channelled it into those weapons. They are in the other room now, if you want to see it."
Dumbledore shook his head. "I will take your word for it. I imagine they will be quite deadly after being exposed to raw necromancy like that."
"Hestia said the same thing," I quipped. "Guess I'll know where to look for next time I need to destroy another Diary."
I swear Dumbledore stiffened right then. "Yes, I imagine it would be quite effective on such things."
I tried not to smile. I knew exactly where to use those weapons. And soon.
And now, it was time for the clincher.
"Professor Dumbledore, you are a Legilimens, are you not?"
The old man carefully did not look at me. "I am."
"I was wondering…" I said slowly, "if you could help me extract that dream. It would give us knowledge into Voldemort's mind."
"I doubt that is the wisest or the safest thing to do, Harry," he said. "Dreams are crafted by the subconscious, and tampering with them with legilimency is an intricate and dangerous thing to even contemplate. If you make the slightest error, you could very well be damaging your mind."
"So you're saying I should just let go?" I asked, affronted. Inwardly, I was pleased. I had planted the seeds of doubt in the old man's mind, and he was confused about the level of influence Voldemort had over my mind. Dumbledore was an illustrious wizard, but his knowledge of Necromancy was hardly stellar.
Or at least, that was what JKR painted it to be.
"I have other means of gaining information about his activities, Harry," he said softly. "I cannot, in good faith, bring you harm while doing that."
"But sir, surely this is a pressing concern," I stressed. "You told me that on the night Voldemort tried to kill me, he left a part of himself in me—" Dumbledore stiffened ever so slightly again — "You told me he gave me powers, a future and this scar. That I can speak Parseltongue because Voldemort can speak Parseltongue. And now I have this ability to control Necromancy through this scar. What if — what if Voldemort is trying to make me like him?"
"Harry, having an ability does not make you evil."
"That's bullshit!" I slammed the table between us. Despite my fears, I was genuinely getting irritated by the old man's prevarications. "I've felt that power, professor. It's cold, alien and wrong. I felt like I was growing detached from the entire world, from life itself. It was trying to control me, to corrupt me. Whatever is in this scar, it's evil, and if you don't do something about it…. I will."
That exacted a reaction from the old man. "What… will you do?"
I gave him an intense look. "It's like you say, Sir. Do what is right, not what is easy. I have access to the Black townhouse. The Blacks have one of the largest libraries when it comes to the Dark Arts. I'm sure I'll find something there. And even if I don't find anything about how to get rid of this scar, I'll find some way to control this power. I refuse to let Hermione, or anyone else suffer if it acts out again, regardless of how unsafe it might be for me."
Dumbledore nodded and spoke just as quietly. "I do not disagree with your sentiments, Harry. But I cannot stress on how dangerous it can be, for you. And yet, you have raised excellent points. Allow me some time to sleep on it, and I will get back to you. The Quidditch World Cup is later this week, and I hear Arthur has gotten tickets for you. How about we resume this talk once you reach Hogwarts?"
"You're deflecting again, sir," I told him bluntly. "Every year I ask you why He's after me, and every year you shut me up with non-answers. How long? Why don't you just tell me why he's so obsessed with killing me? Why did he try to kill a baby on Halloween 1981? Why did I survive? How did I survive? And what by Merlin, is in this freaking scar?"
"I know you will not accept my decision, but regardless, I will stick to it, Harry. Give me some time. You have given me a lot to think about. But I promise the next time we have a talk, we will talk in detail about the scar, and what we can or cannot do about your dreams."
"So you'll just let it go? Voldemort mentioned something to do with the Quidditch World Cup. What if he's planning something? What if people die?"
"Harry," Dumbledore tried to mollify me. "The Quidditch World Cup is an international event. The Ministry of Magic has called in every single Auror, Hit-Wizard and Trainee to maintain control."
"The same Ministry that let my godfather rot in prison while Pettigrew roams free? You're talking about the same Ministry whose Head takes his cues from Lucius Malfoy! The same Ministry that arrested Hagrid instead of finding the Chamber of Secrets because it needed to be seen doing something."
I was shouting at the end of it.
"Listen to me, Harry," said Dumbledore quietly. "I understand that you want to act. And believe me, I know what it is like. I was in your shoes, subtle and quick to anger. I too was annoyed by the indecision and slowness of the Ministry, and the magical world, and wanted to take a radical approach to things. And it shattered my life. It lost me everyone I cared for."
He exhaled. "When that happened, I promised myself something. I promised myself that I would live my life on my own terms. That I knew the difference between right and wrong, and that I would not cross the line. I wouldn't allow myself to become like…"
"Like whom, Grindelwald?"
Dumbledore pursed his lips.
"...Yes."
"You're not like Grindelwald, Professor. I've read all about the last war. Grindelwald was a man of action. You, a man of procrastination."
I knew I was trying to prick the dragon in the eye. If things went slightly out of control, I'd be burnt to shreds. But I needed the man to be angry. That was the only way I could succeed.
Dumbledore's blue gaze met my own, and I felt the flash of something terrible rising within them. And all of a sudden, utter tranquillity washed over us, in the form of a phoenix song. Fawkes had decided to let out a soulful melody before flapping his wings and returning to the man's shoulder.
He let out a resigned sigh. "You are a strong wizard, Harry. Just like me, you feel it. The allure of power. In your own words, you know how wrong the power of Necromancy is, and yet, you state that you will not hesitate to learn to tame it, despite knowing how dangerous it is. But these are treacherous waters, Harry. If you try to navigate them, you shall lose yourself."
"Then help me and I won't."
"I'm not an expert in necromancy, Harry," he tried. "But what I do know is that nothing good ever came out of it. Some things are more valuable than power, Harry."
"Yes, like those people who might die if we don't take timely action."
Dumbledore froze.
"Take the high road if you want to, Professor. Choose to walk away from this opportunity to delve into Voldemort's mind and help me control this power. Call it your principles, call it doing the right thing, as you're so fond of. But after all that, when the people lie dead, people that could have been saved if we acted on this information… every one of those lives will be on your head."
Dumbledore closed his eyes.
"You're the greatest wizard in Britain, Professor," I pleaded. "And I like to think that I'm no slouch either. I might not have your knowledge or your control, but I have power. We both know it. I don't know why I was given this scar, and why I have access to Voldemort's knowledge, but if I turn aside this power — power that only I can take up — then I abandon my commitment to protect those I love. People that are not strong enough to do it themselves."
"It isn't your responsibility, Harry —"
"Is that what you told yourself when Grindelwald was massacring thousands while you were teaching in the safety of Hogwarts halls?"
Dumbledore flinched, and for once, just stared at me.
"I'm not you, Professor. I am not going to walk away, and give myself excuses about right and wrong just to make me feel better about it. That's an act of a coward, and I am not one."
"No Harry," he sighed. "That you are not." His eyes met mine again, and I could see something glistening in them. "But if you open that door, you might not be able to close it again."
"I will. When the darkness was pouring into me, I tried to defend myself, but clearly, I was weak. But I won't always be. If you won't, I will ask Madam Bones. If she denies, then someone else. Someone, somewhere will agree with me and teach me Occlumency. Teach me to gain control of my mind just in case the darkness tries to engulf me again."
"I believe we have reached an impasse, Harry," said Dumbledore at last. He pushed the chair back and readied himself to leave. "I cannot, in good faith, condemn you to a future of darkness, and you clearly have strong feelings on the subject. My advice is that you develop a neutral perspective to things, choose the pragmatic approach instead of going ahead with your emotions. We will talk about this after the term begins."
I absorbed all that. It was less than I had been hoping for, but then perhaps it was naive of me to think that someone so intractable in his ways could be convinced so easily over a single discussion. Still, it was good enough for what I needed, so I took whatever victories I could.
"I suppose we will, sir."
Dumbledore nodded, and turned to Fawkes. The phoenix gave me a pointed stare before letting out a wild screech, as the duo vanished in a burst of flames, leaving me standing in the living room.
"Well…" I muttered to no one in particular. "That could have gone better."
"Yes!" said Emmeline Vance, who walked out of the next room, looking utterly infuriated. For a moment, I feared she was angry at my insubordination with the Headmaster. If that was the case, then I'd be better off without thinking of pulling her into my game. Obliviator or otherwise, I did not need a blind worshipper in my team.
"That — that—" She snarled, trying to find the best way to express her aggravation. "By Morgana's lacy bra, I cannot believe the nerve of that man. He did not even consider extracting the dream, or consulting anyone else. I could have done it. If nothing else, you could have tipped Bones off about what he was planning. And that man… he's…. Ugh! I don't freaking believe it!"
I couldn't help myself and snickered.
"Don't laugh at me, Harry Potter."
"I told you, Lady Vance. Albus Dumbledore always goes with what he thinks best, often ignoring the obvious."
Her eyes twitched.
I laughed. "Well then, I suppose that is that. Obviously me being the third-year passout, am in the wrong. The dream is probably not worth it at all. After all, who cares if some nameless and faceless people die in the event."
"Don't try to be sarcastic. Mr. Potter —"
"I'm truly not," I said. "It's like Professor Dumbledore said. It's not my responsibility."
She let out a soft growl. "Don't play games with me, Harry Potter. I already told you that I'd swear a secrecy vow, didn't I? I will help you with extracting the dream, and then you can tip Madam Bones. Even better, let me talk to Amelia about it."
I smiled, and sat down on the couch. "I will, but upon one condition."
Emmeline frowned as the conversation turned into a direction that she was clearly not fond of. "I would assume that saving you from becoming a vegetable lying in St. Mungo's while successfully extracting the dream memory would be considered a satisfactory payment. Plus, you might not have noticed, but I have not demanded any remuneration for my efforts either."
"Oh I am aware of that," I said languidly. "And let me assure you, money is not an issue, even if you demand payment. In fact, I'd rather pay you than be in your debt, Lady Vance."
"Then —"
"But the question of payment only arises when you're offering me a service. But that isn't it, is it? You need the memory just as much as I do, perhaps even more. And Dumbledore has certainly proven that he doesn't care two bits about Voldemort's plan for the Quidditch World Cup. It feels like a very thankless thing to risk my own life and sanity for such a thankless task."
"You are playing a very dangerous game, Harry Potter," said Emmeline. "I'm the Lady of House Vance, and the Head of the Obliviator Office. If you think you can worm conditions out of me, you are either very sure of yourself or very foolish."
I mentally agreed with her, but it was too late to turn back now. "You saw it yourself. Dumbledore won't take action, and despite my efforts to egg him into reacting, he stays obstinate and firm on his beliefs. And you heard him, about the dangers of the discipline I plan to tread into. As for what I desire in exchange for giving you the dream memory, I believe you'll find them quite acceptable."
"Acceptable or otherwise, I do not like being pushed, Mr. Potter." She paused and frowned. "What do you want?"
"You will teach me the Mind Arts."
"... That is a very specific request, and not at all something conventional."
"You just witnessed me peeking into the Dark Lord's mind, and drawing dark powers out of my scar. Nothing about this is conventional." I paused, and exhaled, and spoke in a softer tone. "I do not wish to strong arm you, Lady Vance. But I need to master the psychic arts. Occlumency to fortify my mind, and ensure that I'm able to not just hold back the darkness the next time it tries to overwhelm me."
"And Legilimency?"
I paused, weighing if I should tell her.
"Mr. Potter? Tell me. What do you need Legilimency for?"
I made my decision, and met her eyes.
"To extract information from Voldemort's shit eaters after my own people capture them."
"Your own —"
'I am the last of my line, Lady Vance. I have gold, and I know how to use it. Question is, what will you do?"
Emmeline looked at me, and then at Hestia, and then back at me. Then she threw her head and let out a cackle, reminding me of Amelia. Finally, she regarded me, a soft smile on her lips. "Tell me, Mr. Potter, has anyone won an argument with you lately?"
Hestia broke into laughter as I scowled trying to fight off the smile. "Her," I said, pointing my thumb in Hestia's direction.
Emmeline snorted. "I'm sure I will be regretting this, but fine. I'm in. So long as I'm privy to every single of these dreams."
"Absolutely," I promised, inwardly pleased at the successful completion of the first stage of my plan. Soon, Emmeline too would be mine.
"Well then, let's get started. Oh, and Mr. Potter, please call me Emmeline."
"Only if you call me Harry."
"Deal."
Notes:
If you want to support me, find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Next Update is on 5th November.
Chapter 78: She Knows
Notes:
Hey guys! Sorry I was a bit away recently. Family issues. I swear, those are the worst. Seriously, it's taking a toll on my health as well. Also, read the comments. I kind of forgot to post the last update here on A03, a stupid thing to do, I know, so apologies for that. I'm posting that one now, and immediately after, the next chapter. Enjoy.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 3 - THE INCUBUS AND NECROMANCER
"So… how are we doing this?" asked Harry Potter.
Emmeline took a deep breath and gave a long glance at the room they were sitting in. After Albus Dumbledore's departure and the young Potter strong-arming her into accepting his conditions, as unexpected as they were, they had relocated the young Miss Granger to her room and put her under a sleep spell after making her drink two vials of Wiggenweld Potion. Why a third-year passout would keep Wiggenweld potion in large amounts stored up in his cellar was anybody's guess.
"The first thing you need to do is temporarily shut down the Floo, and double-check the wards. We don't want any surprise visitors while we are doing the nasty."
The Boy-Who-Lived smirked at her double-entendre. "Paranoid much?"
"It's only paranoid if nothing happens. And if it does, it gets classified as having foresight."
"Trust me, Harry, she hasn't even gotten started," said Hestia.
Damn straight. "You've to understand that what we're doing is quite illegal in the eyes of the Ministry. I'm not a mind-healer, so if word goes out that I even attempted subconscious memory extraction, I could be heavily fined at best and get ousted from my job at worst. Quite naturally, both of you shall swear oaths to reveal nothing about what happens now without my express permission. Naturally, I too shall swear an oath concealing all knowledge of your involvement in this… process, and your future psychic training. Oh, and an oath to conceal all knowledge of whatever I learn from your memories unless you give me permission to share them with others."
Potter blinked. "And… what happens if I die?"
She chuckled lightly, inwardly wondering what kind of sixteen-year-old's mind naturally gravitated to such morbid ideas right off the bat.
It added to the mystery.
"Well then, the oath breaks. And I can probably sell all your dirty secrets to Rita Skeeter. The Life and Lies of Harry Potter, The Boy-Who-Lived, or something."
The Boy-Who-Lived choked, and Emmeline felt something shift in his eyes. She didn't know what, but he seemed wary, like he thought that she was about to attack him for whatever reason.
Odd.
"You okay?" Hestia asked.
"Fine. I'm fine," Potter said, trying very hard to avoid Emmeline's eyes inconspicuously. And when he did look at her, she noticed the way his gaze was stuck somewhere between her nose and lips. An obvious ploy to avoid a surface Legilimency attempt.
He wasn't as ignorant about the subject as she thought he was.
Mentally, Emmeline rated him up by a couple of points. While her initial impression of the Boy-Who-Lived was little more than a celebrity playboy with a tinge of survivor's guilt and a hero complex, she had come to understand him from a deeper, primal level, especially with his interactions with Albus Dumbledore. As irritated as she was with the Headmaster, she couldn't help but marvel at the sheer efficacy with which Potter had orchestrated the entire thing. He had to have known that the Headmaster would likely react in the way he had, which was why he had put those preconditions as part of the deal. Emmeline had the sneaking suspicion that the heated discussion was as much a way to push the Headmaster into taking action, as well as impressing her into helping him. Yes, 'helping him' was an apt description. Maybe if he was a tad older, with a couple of NEWTs under his belt and enough political expertise to keep his head on his shoulders, Emmeline would have chosen to describe it as his attempt to convince her into joining his side.
I don't know what I was expecting, but you're not what I imagined, Harry Potter. Intriguing. Very intriguing.
"All of this secrecy… isn't it all a bit paranoid?" asked Harry Potter.
"Actually Harry," said Hestia. "It's quite common where psychic training is concerned. When I was working for the Ministry, I had to swear an oath to willingly submit to obliviation should I learn information that I shouldn't."
"I'm not sure what is more terrifying? That even the Bureaucracy feel the need to give themselves self-amnesia, or that this is quite common in this Wizarding World?"
Emmeline laughed. He didn't know half of it.
"Before we proceed to dream extraction, we will conduct a preliminary scan of your mind. It will give me an idea of what I have to work with, as well as an estimate of how long it will take for you to become at least an adept in the skill."
And give me a chance to swim around a bit. Secrecy vows or no, I'd get to see the real Harry Potter behind all these false smiles.
"I've heard it involves clearing your mind and taking the brunt of high-powered Legilimency attacks and trying to repel them," he said.
She arched an eyebrow. That was, quite frankly, one of the most horrible ways to describe Occlumency instruction. Developing a psychic bulwark was just a tiny, tiny portion in the long and incredibly nuanced discipline that was Occlumency. And even then, he was wrong about the process.
Hmm. Maybe I overestimated him.
"Not quite," she said. "Clearing one's mind is a harder, much harder thing to do than what most people believe. Have you perchance, heard the quote, Nature abhors a vacuum? The same situation applies here. The more you try to forcibly clear your head of thoughts, your mind will inadvertently keep throwing new thoughts right from your subconscious to the surface."
"That doesn't seem like a good thing."
"Well, it depends on who you're talking to," she quipped. "I have encountered accomplished Occlumens in the past who use this facet as a defensive technique. Instead of trying to lock the intruder in a memory, a false memory, a mindscape or any other psychic fortifications, they drown them in half-baked memories and images from their subconscious. Let me assure you, it can be mightily exhausting getting out if you are trapped inside the victim's subconscious."
"Isn't that exactly what you plan to do to me?"
"No, you are the dimwit that offered to pay me to do that," she said, utterly unapologetic.
Hestia promptly raised a hand to her mouth.
"Now even you are laughing at me," Potter complained.
"I'm not laughing," Hestia managed to get out with whatever little dignity she could gather. "I've long since determined that laughing will only encourage you."
Emmeline smirked. "I'd advise you not to fight me, since it only makes things difficult, but it would be redundant in this case. I'll be putting you under a sleep spell after dosing you with another vial of calming draught. Ideally, I would go for a 63% solution of the Dreamless Sleep potion, but I doubt I could get one at hand right now."
"Will he need that for psychic training?" asked Hestia. "I know a potioneer who can supply me with that and even submit to Obliviation if the price is right."
"Look at you," quipped Emmeline. "One little Order mission with Fletcher and you've gone habitual."
Hestia stuck out her tongue.
"But yes, I imagine it could be handy. That, and some Wiggenweld potion, which you already have. Occlumency training can have residual after-effects, at least in the beginning. That said," she turned to him. "Are you absolutely certain you wish to start Occlumency instruction now? Hogwarts reopens in two weeks, does it not?"
It was rhetorical. She already knew his answer. One did not make that strong a stand against Dumbledore without keeping that little fact in mind.
"Not a problem," he said. "As a Lord, I'm allowed to leave on Friday evenings, so long as I'm back for classes on Monday."
"You realise that's provision was made for students that had other duties to take care of while continuing their education?"
"Semantics," I said. "I'm a Lord, and the last of my family, and I have businesses to manage. Occlumency instruction is… how do you put it? An extra bit of learning curriculum added to the mix."
Hestia rolled her eyes.
"I see there is no convincing you," sighed Emmeline. "Either way, clearing your mind is best left for those with years of practice in Zen meditation and the Yogic way. Unless that's one of your Boy-Who-Lived powers, we can safely exclude those."
A strange gleam flashed on his face and then it was gone.
Curious.
The house elf had brought them some light snacks and hot mugs of cocoa. Hestia had suggested waiting for morning, but Emmeline had quickly shot the idea down. Dreams weren't permanent memories, and it is highly possible that upon entering the next sleep cycle, his subconscious could wash away with the existing dream and add new ones.
And finally, it was time.
"You know," said Potter, as he laid on the bed, after partaking of the calming draught. "This wasn't how I had expected my first Legilimency session to be."
"You are a student, Mr. Potter," Emmeline said drolly. "You are not supposed to have expectations in the first place." She placed the tip of her wand against his forehead. "Now, Somnius."
Potter suddenly exhaled, and his eyelids drooped. Within the next couple of seconds, he was sound asleep.
"He's something, isn't he?" asked Hestia.
Emmeline looked at her friend and Order member. "I suppose that is one way of describing him, yes."
Hestia gave her a sideward glance, hesitating for a second.
"Something on your mind?"
"It's about Harry."
"What about him?"
"Nothing. Just that you didn't actually have to go through with this. You know, agreeing to his conditions. You knew that Harry would get that memory out anyway, and get it to Amelia Bones. I'd ensure that it happened."
"Perhaps."
"Not that I don't appreciate it, but… why agree?"
Emmeline gave her a smirk. "What's gotten your panties in a twist, honey? That I'm helping him and thus, will be spending more time in this House in the future? Or that I have an official reason to know his innermost thoughts that he has kept away from even you, and you sleep with him."
"It's not what you think—"
Emmeline arched her eyebrows. After a few seconds, Hestia deflated. "Well, maybe a little. But there's more to it."
"Obviously," she drawled. "Why else would an Order member so very clearly change sides?"
"Harry is the Boy-Who-Lived—"
"And protecting the Boy-Who-Lived isn't the same as catering to his every whim. But it's more than that, isn't it? You love him, or at least, have a form of affection that borders on that."
Hestia widened her eyes, a retort forming on her lips, but she beat her to it.
"Don't try to hide it. I'm a Level-7 Legilimens, honey. I've watched your reactions tonight. You were chosen to be his handler because you had the right skill set, and within the acceptable age range for him to be more comfortable. Nymphadora warned us of his playboy attitude and your appetite made you a perfect candidate for this position."
"I've no idea what you're talking about."
"You don't?" Emmeline challenged her. "Is that why you refused to fight him when he spoke against summoning Albus Dumbledore to discuss the happenings? Potter clearly knew how Dumbledore would act and orchestrated the entire thing, and you were completely fine with it. I'm reasonably certain that if I wasn't involved, you'd have kept the entire thing secret if he asked you so."
"I'm under Secretary oath, Emmeline," she said in a low voice. "I can only work around that so much."
"That's the worst excuse I've ever heard from you, Hestia. Both of us have worked in the Ministry at reasonably high positions and managed to squirrel our way through the stringent confidentiality oaths. So forgive me for not buying your bullshit that a boy got the better of you."
"He's not a boy."
"Apologies, he's your lover. I forgot."
Hestia scowled. "Yes, he is."
Emmeline beamed. "See? Wasn't too hard, was it?"
"What of it? What do you want, Lady Vance?"
"Oh, it's Lady Vance all of a sudden," she smirked. "I wonder why. But no, all I want to know is why a talented, driven, young woman like you would choose to do this. What don't I know, Hestia? What is truly happening here? That young man… he's nothing like the Gryffindor Golden Boy we know from the dossiers. He's calm, astute and a planner. And I've looked into some of his actions this summer. It speaks of a seasoned political mind and business acumen. Merlin's beard, he even has the sense to evade eye-contact without being inconspicuous."
"If you're saying he's not—"
"I'm saying no such thing," Emmeline shot back. Then, she smiled. "You know how I am with mysteries. And this one promises to be endlessly fascinating. Granted, I'll probably find out half of his secrets from his mind, even though I can't share them. So really, it's all about you, Hestia. Prove your loyalty."
"Or what?" Hestia yelled, her grasp on her temper falling momentarily. She took a deep breath and reigned it back in. "You're going to deface me before the Order?"
"Nonsense," Emmeline waved her off. "I will do no such thing. But I might start poking things around a little more. Maybe ask Professor Dumbledore to take a closer look at things. Investigate how someone with zero political know-how managed to get into the good books of the DMLE Director herself."
Hestia bristled.
"Come on, Hestia," she said softly. "Tell me. What is it that you know about Harry Potter that I don't?"
Hestia frowned, a determined expression forming on her face. "Harry is… important."
"Of course he is. He's the Boy-Who-Lived. He —"
She shook her head. "Not the Boy-Who-Lived. Harry. Harry Potter is… important."
"How so?"
"You say I look at him as a lover. You are right. I do love him. Maybe not the way I love Tonks, but I do. I… believe he is worth the adoration. The things he has accomplished, is accomplishing, and will be accomplishing, all of them will change the Wizarding world. One only needs to look at his actions this summer to accept that."
Becoming Lord Potter.
Making waves in the wizarding economy.
A public tussle with Draco Malfoy, followed by a shady deal with Narcissa Malfoy.
His private dealings with the Bones family.
And finally, his meeting with her husband.
For someone that was a private person that didn't explore out of his friend circle, Potter had been quite the extrovert. Add to that his sudden playboy persona, his open and almost extremist stance against Voldemort, and finally, his ability with Necromancy, which he claimed to get from his scar. Something, Emmeline noted, not even Albus Dumbledore did not deny. Which meant that however improbable it sounded, Potter was speaking the truth.
That scar… it connected him with the Dark Lord.
"I imagine having someone of your talents and connections helped him a lot."
Hestia snorted. "Harry does what Harry wants. And he seems to want to play an economic battle, for now. I have barely helped him. At times, I think his skill at economics rivals, if not surpasses me, and I've been a solicitor in International affairs."
"That's ridiculous. You can't seriously think —"
"And when has anything to do with the Boy-Who-Lived fallen under 'reasonable' category? Tell me, did you know that he was the recipient of a second Trelawney prophecy right after the start of the summer? Or that he had his soul sucked out by dementors, followed by a magical reaction that made him an Incubus?"
"An incubus?" Emmeline blanched. "That's — are you freaking crazy? How can a dementor attack turn someone into an Incubus? They are literally —"
"Polar opposites, I know," Hestia admitted. "Dementors were created by the Dark Lord Ekrizdis during his insane experiments with human souls and necromancy. On the other hand, incubi are creatures of the flesh, of love, desire and passion. You couldn't get two things so obviously in contrast with each other."
"What are you trying to say, Hestia?"
"Did you know that Harry was actually attacked by dementors three times during his third year? The first when he was riding the Express to Hogwarts. The second, during a Quidditch match. And finally, the night when an entire horde of dementors, possibly a hundred or so, devoured his and Sirius Black's souls. Harry has mentioned this several times, in graphic detail, that he had died and come back." she met her eyes. "So tell me, why would dementors target one single individual like that, especially when they had an entire school worth of students available in the first two times? And an entire horde attacking him and Black? Do you really think that is normal behaviour?"
"So he has an extraordinary reaction from dementors."
"Yes. As if he is their antithesis," said Hestia. "It bears mentioning that he can manifest a fully corporeal Patronus."
Emmeline blinked. "At sixteen?"
Hestia gave her a lazy grin.
"I cannot believe this. An incubus of all things? I suppose that is why he embraced the playboy facade?"
"Actually," Hestia laughed. "I was the one who suggested it. He takes my suggestions seriously."
"I can see that."
She grinned.
Emmeline ran her hand through her hair. "This is supposed to be our supposed saviour? The Boy-Who-Lived is supposed to be Dumbledore's protege, the next Leader of the Light. Not some man-whore littering his sperm all over the country."
"Crude," said Hestia, scowling. "But I think you're being biassed, Emmeline. Unless you've forgotten your own Irish roots?"
Emmeline blinked. Ah, those. Maybe living a life as a British witch for all this time was clouding her own vision of reality. The British Ministry of Magic had long since classified Incubi, Veela and Sirens as 'beings' that employed sensory manipulation through sex magic. Given the absolute rarity of Incubi, in comparison to the relative common-ness of veela and sirens, the magical discipline was dubbed as Nymphomancy instead. And yet, all one needed was to look back to the legends of Cu Chullainn and Fergus Mac Roich. Cu Chullainn in particular, was said to be so lustful that they would tire out multiple women in one night, and yet, was infamous for his battle frenzy, in which he became a monster that didn't differentiate between friend and foe. Diarmuid Ua Duibhne, another warrior from the Fenian Cycle, was supposed to be irresistible to any woman that looked him in the face, and yet, was infamous for killing over three thousand warriors in a single battle.
"I've seen Harry move. His reflexes are nothing short of legendary," said Hestia. "Trust me, give or take a few years of spell training, and he can face a horde of hit-wizards and win. Defence has always been his best subject, and he is the youngest seeker in a century. Don't you think it fits?"
"I can see where you're coming from, Hestia, but just potential alone isn't enough for —"
"For what?" Hestia snapped. Clearly she too had strong views about the subject. "You heard him talk to the Professor. Makes you question, doesn't it? I mean, apart from being the Chief Warlock and the Leader of the Light, just what has Albus Dumbledore done for us?"
"HESTIA!" Emmeline gasped, scandalised. "That's Albus Dumbledore you're talking about. He has kept us safe from Grindelwald and the Dark Lord. he has been taking the stand before you were even born."
"And yet," Hestia shot back. "I had to spend my years at Hogwarts getting bullied because my pureblood mother found love in a muggle. If not for Tonks, I'd probably have my name among one of those lists of forgotten muggleborns and halfbloods driven to suicide by the rampant bullying and name-calling at Hogwarts. For all his talk and pro-muggleborn stance, just what has Albus Dumbledore done for us? Has he stopped the prejudice in Hogwarts halls? No. He has been Chief Warlock since his victory over Grindelwald. Has he stopped the discrimination on blood status? No. Severus Snape is allowed to bully other houses, and Dumbledore does nothing about it. Muggleborn and halfblood children are taken from their houses, promising them a world of magic, and instead they get shackled with a lifetime of debt and discrimination. I scored the highest in my year. I am a member of the Order of the Phoenix. So what did Dumbledore do to help me keep my job? Nothing. Instead all we get are fanciful words and speeches about doing the right thing, believing in a future that for all I care, will never come to fruition."
"And you think Harry Potter will give us that future?"
Hestia looked at her like a feral cat. "Do you know what Harry Potter is? He is Defiance. When he sees something that he considers wrong, he cannot help but take action. It goes deeper than his bones."
The Philosopher's stone. The Chamber of Secrets. Sirius Black.
"Hermione Granger has been the consistently the highest scorer at Hogwarts in the past three years. And yet because of an accident that only happened because Dumbledore was casual enough to hire a werewolf on campus, her entire life has gone down the drain. You know the Weasleys that are Dumbledore's greatest supporters? The youngest child, Ron, fancied her. And now, just because of her affliction, he's avoiding her. But you know what Harry did? He took her in, gave her house, hearth and home, and took her as a lover. Yes, he won't marry her, because no Ancient and Noble House would allow its Lord to marry a dark creature, but trust me, Hermione couldn't have gotten anyone better. Harry hired me, despite knowing that I was an Order member, and gave me a salary that any pureblood would get in my place. Penelope Clearwater was being slapped around at Floreans. He took her in and hired her as a researcher. Tracey Davis, the Abbotts — Harry has helped everyone. His company Moonforge is hiring muggleborns and halfbloods and giving them a prejudice-free environment with proper salaries. He's even trying to do something for Chiara's folk. All of that, in one summer. Think how much he can change if he has true power in his hands. The question isn't if Harry could give us a good future. It's how good a future he can give us if we follow him."
For once, Emmeline had no words.
"So yes, I have chosen Harry Potter. If that makes me a traitor, then fine. I can do a lot more good working for him, with him. If you want to put me before the Order for that, then go ahead. Hestia Jones isn't afraid of punishment."
Emmeline tried to reply, but was taken aback by the sheer hostility in her stare. She had a second to wonder exactly how badly she had read the situation.
"I see," she said at last. "Well, at least it's not just because he has a big dick."
"Why, Emmeline. You're awfully focused on that part. Does your husband have a tiny dick?"
Emmeline rolled her eyes, but didn't retort against the casual insult on her husband. Then again, Gideon wasn't exactly what she could call a good man. Honestly, hearing that the Boy-Who-Lived was involved in business deals with her husband had made her a little wary, but maybe she had been reading between the lines a little too much.
But hearing Hestia speak so passionately about Harry Potter, Emmeline realised that she had no idea what she was to do next about him.
It unnerved her. It set her on edge. Made her cautious.
It excited her too.
"There," said Hestia. "You asked, I answered. What are you going to do with this information?"
The words shook her despite herself, and it took Emmeline a few seconds to organise her thoughts. "I'm under a secrecy vow that covers everything that happens here tonight, so it's not like I'll be able to share it with anyone. Unless of course, I can convince you to give me permission?"
"No way," Hestia laughed, the first shades of elation returning to her features.
"I'll tell you this though," said Emmeline. "He's making waves too quickly. People are noticing him. Did you know he met with Gideon — of course you do."
Hestia grinned like a cherub.
"Gideon and his friend Broderick Greengrass are planning something, and I'm not sure what it is, but it's bad, and it's got to do with Potter. I think — I think he plans to rob Potter of his fortune."
"He can try, and Harry will teach him better. He is dangerous and terrible, and with every opposition, he will grow even more dangerous and more terrible. Honestly Emmeline, I don't see what you saw in that guy."
Emmeline sighed. "Marriage contract. I'm the last of my line, and Gideon was the younger brother of the Abbott heir. He married into my family."
"And yet, he goes by the Abbott name."
"Only because of Iacomus Abbott and his father Charles perished in a Death Eater attack. Since then, he's held the Abbott Regency, and goes by that name. The Abbotts might not be an Ancient family, but they are older than House Vance in blood purity."
"Of course," Hestia drawled.
Emmeline laughed. "I never said I agree with the views. Wouldn't have joined the Order if I did. Honestly, he's not that bad a person, just…"
"A nasty, greedy fucker?"
"A nasty, greedy fucker," Emmeline agreed with a laugh. "At least my son will grow up as a Vance. I don't want to steal little Hannah's fortune. What Gideon did to his mother was… harsh."
Hestia looked like she wanted to say something but chose not to.
"I suppose that's enough dilly-dallying. You can keep working with Potter, and I'll instruct him in the Mind Arts. But mind you, I will also keep checking for darker tendencies within him. Potter might have the potential to do good, but I know how easy it is to succumb to the lure of power. Too much power can corrupt even the purest of souls, can make even the best of our intentions into a screaming abyss hell-bent on tearing everything apart in its wake."
Hestia nodded.
"In that case," said Emmeline, "I will just get started with the dream extraction. Your lover has been asleep for quite some time, and we don't want him to enter a dream cycle. I will continue instructing him in the psychic arts, as he requested, but remember, if I see he's showing darker inclinations, I will report him to Dumbledore. Incubus or not. He is capable of necromancy. We cannot ignore that."
"Agreed."
"Well then," she said. "Time to get started."
She pointed her wand at Harry Potter's forehead and intoned.
"LEGILIMENS!"
Notes:
If you want to support me, find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Next Update is right away.
Chapter 79: Lecherous Shrine
Notes:
So you might've noticed that things in Seducing Destiny have been shifting slightly towards the darker side of the spectrum, especially with the Necromancer bit. I read the comments, and find myself a bit disappointed that no one really figured out HOW Harry got that lot of Necromancer skills from Voldemort and what it truly means.
Either way, things are going to get darker. So, enjoy.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 3 - THE INCUBUS AND NECROMANCER
Weaving through a psychic mindscape was more often than not, an arduous affair.
Not because it was difficult, since any idiot with a smudge of talent could throw psychic power at someone’s mind like a battering ram. But more often than not, it would induce extreme reactions, often resulting in a mind-melting pot of agony for the victim causing all of his psychic structures to go haywire.
The trick was to pass undetected, and guide the victim’s mind into thinking in specific directions without leaving obvious signs of manipulation. The inception of ideas was always a difficult thing since the mind was always quick to identify which thoughts were conceived naturally and which were induced by foreign stimuli. Most minds quickly recognized intrusions and sent out flares to their consciousness, causing the victims to scream in agony, again, destabilising the psychic structure.
One might as well find a thorn in a haystack after that.
For professional Obliviators like her, most jobs required a cluster of multiple tools, out of which Legilimency was just one. For instance, if she were looking for memories related to anger, rashness or perhaps, a crime scene, she’d force-feed the victim with two drops of the Draught of Rage. All she needed after that was focus on his memories of a single person, and his draught-addled mind would automatically guide her to relevant memories. There had been cases when she had to make the victim smell Amortentia to identify the victim’s greatest desires, which more often than not, had obvious links with the committed crimes.
There was a reason why the Obliviator office was often called to work with the DMLE.
If Potter was correct, then this dream would give her vital information about the people involved with the Dark Lord. And with his direct connection with the DMLE Director, Emmeline was hopeful that they could capture those people and Legilimize them to get the Dark Lord’s location.
Emmeline smiled. She might not share Hestia’s strong views about Wizarding Britain, but there was a reason she was an active member of the Order of the Phoenix.
But that for later. First she had to get to the damn dream first.
Cautiously, Emmeline made her way through the dark passageway, the steady thrum of power from her own psychic strands being the only dim source of light in this blackness. Despite having practised weaving and traversing through psychic matrices and mindscapes for close to two decades, she couldn’t help but feel that Harry Potter’s mind was… strange. Not because the teen had powerful defences or latent psychic powers, but because of how exceedingly easy it was.
Traversing through mindscapes was no different from trekking through a forest at night. You couldn’t see much, there were invisible distractions all around, and the ground kept shifting beneath you. If you weren’t cautious, you could trip into the wrong memory, or worse, be carried away into an entire stream of memories that could take you further and further away from your target. And that was excluding all kinds of creative defences that an Occlumens could conjure up.
Compared to that, Potter’s mind was akin to sliding down a pipe, as a feeling of weightlessness and ethereality consumed her.
Emmeline slowly felt the sensation of having a body come back, despite knowing such feelings were purely illusory. Closing her eyes for a moment, she allowed her other senses to come to the fore. Satisfied there were no hazards nearby, she looked around and —
—Blinked in surprise at the large, sprawling, glitzy city. Words such as surreal, fast-paced, and hyper-reality flitted through her head. Her work had often taken her out of the country, but Emmeline was sure that putting muggle London, Venice, Paris and New York together wouldn’t stand a chance against the grandness that she was witnessing. The sky was pitch dark, but the city seemed lit by things that eclipsed her imagination. She had never seen something so… grand, so fashionable before, and given the modern cars that sped through the city at speeds that would make broom-makers die of jealousy, this had to be a muggle town. Moving images of men and women in scantily-clad dresses, the citylights, and the casinos and nightclubs — this was a vision of the future. Emmeline tried to look at everything at all once, from the skyline to the skyscrapers to the blaring music, it was just… glamorous.
Just how could a young mind conjure a mindscape this futuristic in such great detail? Especially one that didn’t even have the slightest amount of psychic defences at all?
It simply made no sense.
Then she saw it.
A cloud, no, a sea of darkness. She had almost missed it with the bright lights and magnificence, but now that she noticed it, she couldn't help but see anything else but it. A wall of shadows. Titanic would be a good way to describe it. And the worst part? She had the eerie feeling that she was only seeing a part of it.
Its eyes were crimson. Its flesh, the darkness itself. A maddening, primordial light was glaring out of its sunken sockets for eyes. Dozens of little mouths lined with serrated teeth opened along its extended flanks, gasping at the world. Shadowy tentacles protruding out of its outer form were undulating in weird unison, the motion becoming more and more energetic, as the nasty thing moaned with a sound that felt both loud yet incomprehensible at the same time. An ocean of twisted protrusions were constantly branching off from its endless form, spreading into the grand city below. Malignant growths, like the diseased skin of a plague victim, they fell down on the city below. Emmeline blanched in horror as a shadow fell on a speeding car, turning it into an inferius-like state, corrupting it beyond recognition.
The noises it made… it was something no human should ever have to hear.
Emmeline realised what she was witnessing.
Armageddon. An Apocalypse. The end of the world. Whatever that thing was, it was feeding upon the city. Tearing it apart. Corrupting it to its very core.
What kind of twisted mindscape was this?
“Fascinating, isn’t it?”
Emmeline spun around, and found herself shakily pointing her wand at —
“... Potter?”
He smiled. “Guilty.”
“What… “she glanced at the world-devouring darkness above, and then back at him. “What is this? What is this place? And how — how are you here?”
And instead of answering his questions, the blasted teen just… snorted. “Where else would I be?”
“You have no Occlumency defences. How do you have a mindscape?”
“Is that what this is?”
“You’re telling me it isn’t? And here you are, a psychic avatar of your real self.”
“Is that what I am?”
“Are we going to keep answering each others’ questions with questions?”
His smile widened. “Would you like that?”
Emmeline gritted her teeth, and clenched her wand tiger, pointing it at his face. “Answer the damn question.”
“Woah!” said Potter, raising his hands in surrender. “Someone’s really twitchy.” Then he barked a laugh and dropped his hands. “Come now, Lady Vance. This place isn’t real. Neither are you, nor me for that matter. The real me is sleeping, and the real you is sitting next to him. And if you really hate being here, just end the spell.”
The truth didn’t make her feel better, but she lowered her wand anyway.
“What is that thing?” she asked.
“Hmmm, it’s never an easy question with you, is it?” He said whimsically. Emmeline observed how utterly laid back he was. The Harry Potter she had observed in the real world was tight as a knot. Oh yes, he could joke and laugh and be an arsehole, but he held his mask tighter than a niffler did its gold. This one though…
“I’ve been observing it for quite some time now,” he said, a strange humour lining his tone, like an inside joke. “I believe it is some kind of a living tempest, a creature that is able to consume this reality itself. As for what this is, it’s a shark tank, and that creature up there, it’s the shark.”
“This is your mindscape,” she said. “You created it.”
“It is my mindscape, yes,” he admitted. “But I did not create it. And neither did I create this creature. For Merlin’s sake, can you not see what it is doing?”
“It is eating the world —”
“A world crafted out of my memories. What does that tell you?”
Emmeline froze. “Your… your memories. You’re saying it’s eating your —”
“Yes.”
“Then this place is…”
“Yes.”
“And you —”
“Yes.”
Emmeline scowled. “You don’t even know what I was about to say.”
“Probably not,” he shrugged. “But the answer is probably yes.”
“What are you, Harry Potter?” She asked. “Your mind has no psychic defences. It’s obvious that you haven’t been introduced to Occlumency at all. Yet you can manifest as a psychic imprint? You have a mindscape of a futuristic world, and a meta-psychic construct that is consuming your memories?”
“A construct…” he mused. “No. I’m pretty sure it’s real. In fact, it almost swallowed me whole, but then she pulled me out of it.”
“She?”
A knowing smile formed on his face. “She.”
“Does she have a name?”
“Yes, but I don’t feel like telling you.”
She was getting annoyed now. Annoyed and wary and almost cursing herself for agreeing to extract his dream in the first place.
“I’ve been observing this creature,” said Harry, tilting its head languidly. “It has a distinct pattern. Those tentacles, they always keep fluttering, but the creature will not move any further, until… well, until something happens.”
“A trigger.”
He smiled at her. “Yes. A trigger. And then it will move really, really fast, and consume whatever comes in its path and then halt again, as if considering its next motion.”
“Waiting for the next trigger,” Emmeline translated. “Do you know what that is?”
“Anchors.”
“Anchors?” she muttered. “Anchors to what?”
“Reality,” he said simply.
“I — I don’t understand.”
That annoying smile showed up again. “This world…” He looked at the glamour city with sad, nostalgic eyes. “My world. My… Reality. What I have believed in. But Sharky over there doesn’t seem to like it. In time, it will replace this world with something else.” He laughed again. “At least I know it won’t be something horribly gauche like the Chamber of Secrets or my apartment’s dungeon.”
“Then what will it be?”
Emmeline shivered as he looked at her, something demonic glinting in his eyes. Was this a manifestation of his Incubus powers?
For a moment, she thought he was going to attack her. Instead, he just raised his hand and pointed it behind her.
“That.”
Emmeline turned around to see what he was pointing at and…
….Couldn’t look away.
Literally.
She saw seven large platforms, stacked on top of each other, constantly morphing their shapes and designs in ways that defied basic Euclidean designs. It was still, and it was moving. She could see effigies decorating the entire edifice, sculptures of women in various levels of nudity, offering their bodies towards the central dome, radiating submission and worship through their very postures. Relief panels covering almost the entire structure, from the large pillars to the wide walls and the archways, depicting women, sometimes single, sometimes in groups, with a single man, engaging in more sexual positions than Emmeline ever knew existed. Twisting, broad-hipped and high-breasted nymphs displaying their generously contoured and bejewelled bodies, running riot across the surface of the stone, putting up make-up, washing their hair, playing erotic games, dancing and shaking their girdles. And the only thing that stayed ever-constant was the massive doorway that lay at the peak of the stairs.
This… this was a temple. A shrine dedicated to a deity of lust.
A sex-god.
“What is this place?” She murmured.
“Lecherous Shrine,” said Harry, standing next to her. His eyes were filled with a sense of childlike wonder and something like jealousy. “The bastion of the God of Lust.”
“God… of Lust?” Emmeline smirked, and looked at him. “Is that what you see yourself as?”
He shook his head. “Not me. Not yet.”
Emmeline furrowed her temples. Something about that utterly nonchalant, absolutely indifferent behaviour rankled her. Why, she had no clue, but she hadn’t reached where she had in life by ignoring her instincts.
“Hestia told me about your nature as an Incubus.”
“Oh.”
Just that. No anger, no surprise, not even a smidgen of emotion. Just a casual acknowledgement.
“I’m not going to hide what I am, Lady Vance,” he said softly. “And this place isn’t for me. Not yet. When it’s complete, it will be a magnum opus that belongs to someone that I have not become yet.”
Emmeline glanced at the edges of the compound, which looked slightly hazy, as if she was seeing it through an old, faded mirror.
“A God of Lust?”
“Yes.”
She pursed her lips. “A futuristic town being demolished by a malevolent cloud beast, and a temple belonging to a sex-god under construction. A shift from what you were to what you are becoming, I suppose.”
“Correct.”
“If I might ask, what is it like being an incubus?”
She had never met one before. Incubi were practically as rare as metamorphmagi these days. Oh she had a lot of experience with veela and the nastiness they could pull off, but never dealt with a guy that could perform magic of a similar sort. Rumour was that Vlad the Impaler was actually an incubus before he got tainted with vampiric blood to become the monster he was. The great Merlin Emrys, was rumoured to be fathered by an incubus too.
“It’s… sudden,” he said after a sigh, speaking slowly. “Most of the time I don’t feel anything at all, or at least, I don’t think I do. But there are triggers, things that cause it to flare up. If something threatens me, all I can think about is how to destroy it. If some one threatens me, all I can think of is how to dominate them. And if I see someone attractive…”
He eyed her.
“I’m married.”
“Does that matter?” he asked, tilting his head in a most childishly inquisitive manner.
She snorted.
“It’s all instincts,” he said. “Like my hormones are dialled up to eleven, and I cannot think of anything else but to bed the woman. No matter how.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Even by force?”
A sly grin formed on his lips. “There’s where you are wrong. If I need to force you to have sex with me, I’ve already lost the game.”
“Potter…” she hesitated. “You’re being incredibly forward.”
A small smile played on his lips, as if amused by an inside joke. “I’m not. We are going to have sex, and you are going to ask for it. I’m not going to seduce you. You are already seduced. You just don’t know it yet.”
Emmeline swallowed and took a step back. “Potter, I — I’m married.”
Just what was it he was doing to her? Was it his allure? She fortified her mental shields.
That damnable smile reappeared. “I know. I’ll make sure to remind you of it, when you ask me to fuck you.”
His eyes left her face, and looked up at the majestic edifice soaring in front of them. “I am not worthy of this… Not yet. I’m still trying to understand it. Its triggers, its… fetishes. Identifying them, cataloguing them, determining what responses I would regret coming to, and what I should never suppress. It’s no different from being a werewolf, I suppose.”
“And what about your necromancy?” Emmeline prodded. “If your incubus nature has such a great effect on your mindscape, surely necromancy will have something similar?” She paused, and looked at the massive demonic cloud. “Is that thing…”
“Not a work of Necromancy,” Harry finished for her. “There are many shades of darkness, Lady Vance. Sharky there was created by Darkness, and it was made to take that reality into Darkness, but Darkness does not control it.”
“You speak like you know things,” said Emmeline. “But you have just three years of magical education. How do you know what you know, Harry Potter?”
He smiled. “That is for me to know, and you to find out.”
“Find out where, inside your Lecherous Shrine? I imagine this is the form your subconscious has crafted to protect its secrets.”
“It has,” he said easily. Then, his smile faltered. “Though, I’d appreciate it if you did not enter that place. It isn’t ready. Not yet.”
“All the easier for me to get what I am here for.”
His lips tightened. “Lecherous Shrine isn’t ready to welcome outsiders. If you force your way in, I’m afraid you will find more than just secrets there.”
“Flowery, but not enough to deter me.”
A shadow fell over his face. “ Emmeline, that is not a request. You must not go in. You will not like what you find.”
“You sound like someone with something to hide,” said Emmeline. “Which is doubly confusing because you wanted me to extract this dream for you in the first place. So why are you…”
She trailed off, and then, it clicked.
Suddenly everything made a lot more sense, the difference between the two Harry Potters. The confident nature of the former, and the hesitant, secretive nature of the latter…
“You aren’t Harry Potter. ,” she murmured, beaming at him. “. You are a manifestation of his subconscious. His inner-nature, the Incubus. This place holds your secrets, your dreams, your nightmares, and all this… you, it is just an elaborate defence, trying to keep me from accessing it.”
“Wow. Looks like you’ve figured me out, completely.” he said, that annoying smile reappearing on his lips. “But if that’s what you want…”
He extended his arm out, and the great doors that stood barring the entrance to the great shrine before them. Even from a distance, she could see giant satin curtains of purple and satin, with softly glowing torches and engraved artistic erotica on the walls.
“One last thing, Lady Emmeline Vance. Do you know what happens to people who go looking for trouble?”
Emmeline felt a shiver down her spine.
“...what?”
Emmeline swallowed, and looked at the now open Lecherous Shrine, and then back at Potter—
— And found empty air.
Harry Potter had vanished.
“In for a penny…” she muttered, and gathering herself, she stepped in.
….
….
….
Stepping through the door left her feeling sticky and wet, but as soon as her feet hit the other side, the sensation was gone.
As were her clothes. Like, completely.
Emmeline shrieked, then snapped her mouth shut, choosing to glare at the perversity of Potter’s mindscape instead. No doubt this was one of his psychic defences. Magical attacks on the intruder was one thing, but an attack on their modesty, especially if the intruder was a woman?
So below the belt, Potter.
Emmeline immersed herself in Occlumency, trying to shake away the feeling of humiliation raging through her. It was difficult, far more difficult than it would have been in real life. That made sense, for she was after all, just a psychic impression of herself. It’s not real, she told herself. My real body is still clothed, and all of this is happening inside his subconscious. Not even he’ll remember this. Worst comes to worst, you can always obliviate him.
Yes. That felt like a reasonable way forward.
Waving her wand, she conjured some light clothing for herself. The fabric tore away by the time she had managed to put them on. She tried again, and ended up the same way. Confused, she tried conjuring different varieties of garments and undergarments. Every single one of them stayed intact, only to tear away the moment they touched her skin.
“The bastard!” she cursed. “He’s doing this on purpose. Hestia can say whatever she wants, but I’m going to curse him six ways to Sunday the moment I get out of this Merlin-forsaken place. Why this—”
The rest of her words died in her throat, as the door opened again, showing her the way out.
Emmeline clenched her teeth. She had come this close to finding out the secrets within his mindscape. She would not be beaten by a third-year passout, incubus or not.
Scowling, she continued to walk through the empty halls. If she was wary before, her fear and humiliation were on red alert right now. The entire manse was eerily quiet with a sexual undercurrent that shocked her like someone was constantly hitting her with a Renervate charm. There were nude mannequins everywhere depicting sexual acts and large portraits of naked women in compromising positions hanging from the walls. Even worse, they were moving and actively participating. Emmeline tried her best to ignore them, and passed through a large living room with a giant chandelier and curved, gold leaf couches and oversized wingback chairs.
As she walked past one of the chairs, she noticed hooks sticking out of the folds. She had entered an open, spacious foyer with a grand three-tiered staircase, intricate iron railing and marble steps. Emmeline tried to cover herself with her hands as she walked stark naked through the enormous place. The dark purple carpet on the floor and the smaller chandeliers above filled the place with a mysterious seductiveness. As she walked, she heard muttered noises that became louder and louder. One of the doors was cracked open. Her skin prickled, and unable to control herself, she grabbed the knob and twisted it, opening it just enough to get a peek of what was happening inside….
….And the world changed.
Meanwhile in Reality…
“It’s been fifteen minutes already,” muttered Hestia, as she dispersed the tempus charm. “This shouldn’t take this long, should it?”
She was sitting in the same room as the others. Emmeline was sitting next to Harry’s bed, her posture ramrod straight, her wand tip touching Harry’s temples, while he lay on the bed, utterly asleep and unmoving. Emmeline too was imitating a mannequin, eyes open, lips pursed, and if not for the subtle movement of her chest, one would think she was dead.
Hestia was no stranger to seeing Legilimency in action. This was however, the first time that someone was doing it on an unconscious subject, and that too, someone she had grown to care for to an extraordinary degree. Harry Potter was her Master, her lover, her employer and… her Lord, not that she would ever admit it out loud. Sure she had sworn an Unbreakable Vow to keep all his secrets, and be on his side, but it was perhaps a little too early to let him know just how deep her devotion ran.
Hestia had long-since determined that this young man, whoever he was, was not Harry Potter, or at least, not the Harry Potter they knew. Yes, the dementors might have unleashed something that night, and might have transformed him into an Incubus, but that didn’t explain his sudden maturity, his business acumen, or his knowledge of things, both magical and muggle. He tried hard to hide it, but Hestia saw through it. Harry knew things. It showed in the way he hobnobbed around with people twice or thrice his age like a seasoned politician, and the casual subtlety with which he went along, making his moves like arranging chess pieces, preparing for an eventuality that would happen twenty steps later. It showed in his casual denigration of British policies and his acute disdain for the bigotry that ran deep in its political system. His three years of experience in the Wizarding world involved Quidditch, learning the wonders of Magic, attending classes and trying to survive whatever dangers fell his way. And in the summer, he was either living with his muggle relatives or being smothered by Molly Weasley. None of which could have explained the genuine anger he felt at British society. It was too raw, too deep, and not something that could be developed through second-hand experience or learning through books. Hestia didn’t know how, but she felt like he had lived through this and a lot more, that he understood what muggleborns and halfbloods like her went through, and the more he learnt of it, the more it horrified him. Merlin’s Beard, he had gotten the Iron Lady herself on his side, and didn’t that just boggle the mind? Amelia Bones, whom Albus freaking Dumbledore had failed to recruit in the last sixteen years, Harry Potter had convinced her to work with him over a weekend.
A fucking weekend.
His knowledge, his disdain, his spellcasting and his prowess in the bedroom — none of that could have been borne from the dementor attack. Being an incubi could have granted him a godly stamina, but his experience in bed — that spoke of experience.
Hestia had the sneaking suspicion that there might have been Time-travel involved somewhere. After all, such a device existed in the deepest vaults of the Department of Mysteries, despite being a technology only in its infancy at the moment.
But what of the future? Could it be… that the person she was serving, the man that was her lover, whom she had pledged her undying loyalty to, was a Harry Potter from the future?
And if she had arrived at this conclusion, then Emmeline Vance, one of the most talented psychic masters she had ever met, would definitely realise the same.
And she was currently perusing through Harry Potter’s mind.
Yes, Emmeline was a friend, and a member of the Order. She had her heart in the right place, and yes, she was oath-bound to keep Harry’s secrets. But Hestia knew very well that while oaths blocked a lot of information from direct transmission, peripheral information was okay to share so long as it didn’t invade the specific knowledge protected by the oath itself.
Merlin, Emmeline was the one that had taught her that. To hand out a particular bit of information in order to manipulate them but not tell them directly, lest the knowledge that it came from her affected their responses, or break her own oaths in the process.
The question was — what could she do to keep Emmeline from wreaking havoc? Vance was a Dumbledore-follower, and while Harry’s recent tactic had painted Dumbledore in a less-than-glamorous light, it wasn’t enough to convince her to shift loyalties. She needed an ace, a game changer, something that would bind Emmeline for good, something that would ensure that she would do nothing to derail Harry’s plans.
Her fingers twitched.
She glanced at her associate and friend, watching her dilated eyes, and the utter lack of expression on her features. Whatever she found inside Harry’s mind, it was taking up her undivided attention.
Legilimency was a double-edged sword. It paved the way for mental attacks by the caster, but it also weakened one’s own barriers while they did so. Offence at the expense of defence. If she wanted to do anything to a psychic master like Emmeline, she would never get a better opportunity than this.
Slowly, cautiously, Hestia stood up, and placed the tip of her wand inches away from her skull. The seconds ticked by in agonising slowness, and Hestia closed her eyes, and let the self-loathing pass through her. Now that she was about to cast it, she knew exactly why the spell was considered Unforgivable.
Her fingers clenched the wand tighter, as her sense of purpose filled her. She whispered.
“Imperio!”
Notes:
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Next Update is on 16th November.
Chapter 80: In Memoriam
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 3 - THE INCUBUS AND NECROMANCER
Emmeline stood in front of her dressing table, combing her hair. She fluffed it out so it framed her pretty face sensually, the lustrous black locks looking wild and sexy, as she knew Harry expected. She had chosen a red lace-up bustier, something she knew looked spectacular on her. And now looking at herself in the mirror, she knew she had chosen wisely. The satin glistened alluringly as it moulded itself to her curvy body, yet she knew the fabric was sinfully cool to the touch, and she expected him to touch her in all sorts of ways, and was getting wet just thinking about it. It was like a deep-seated wantonness that had been lying dormant inside her, something that the mudbloods at Twilfitt could never bring out, and yet Harry could unleash all of those troubling desires, that submissiveness that she suppressed all these years. She had those mudbloods worship her like a goddess, when all she truly wanted was someone to treat her worse than a Knockturn Alley whore. Then again, it wasn’t like she could tell anyone, after all, who would believe that Narcissa Malfoy, the proud Lady of Malfoy clan, was such a wanton slut?
She blinked.
Narcissa Malfoy?
She looked into the mirror again—
—And shrieked out in surprise.
Dark hair, contrasting deeply with her alabaster skin, lips lined with a light lipstick of the colour of frozen mulberries, and a smooth, poisonously lovely face with stormy grey eyes, and a natural arrogance that came hand in hand with aristocracy. The face of Narcissa Malfoy looked back at her from the mirror, and it took all her psychic training not to be petrified with the sheer horror she was feeling within.
How— What— what was happening?
Then she remembered.
She was in Harry Potter’s mindscape. She had entered that twisted mind palace — Lecherous Shrine, he called it, a monument crafted for the incubus part of him. She remembered walking through the halls, naked, and hearing some voices. She remembered her curiosity getting the better of her, and peeking through a door and then…
It clicked.
“This… is a memory,” she murmured. “I’m in a memory. No wait, that can’t be.”
Memories were psychic projections of the past events that the human brain had perceived through its senses. It was possible to construct these psychic projections in a three-dimensional structure using the pensieve, or directly view them through Legilimency. A Level-4 or higher could even experience the memory through the victim’s own perspective, and follow through with his thoughts and emotions that he had felt when the event had happened.
But it was impossible to live a memory from the perspective of anyone else. So why was she experiencing this from Narcissa Malfoy’s perspective?
It was impossible.
It was absolutely impossible.
Just like her nakedness from earlier, this was a psychic trick that this mind palace was playing on her. It had to be. It had to be.
But the thoughts that had crossed her mind earlier… They weren’t hers. They belonged to Narcissa Malfoy. Narcissa had sat in this room, in front of this mirror, wearing this exact clothing, thinking thoughts of Harry Potter. Narcissa had thought of Harry Potter fucking her! She had been wet just by thinking of what he did to her.
Emmeline thought back to Harry Potter’s altercation with Draco Malfoy, where Malfoy had allegedly cruciated him in public. And then Harry Potter had agreed to settle it out of court and help Draco avoid prosecution after a one-on-one meeting with Narcissa behind closed doors. Was something else going on that she didn’t know?
Emmeline swallowed.
Was Harry Potter, the incubus, fucking Narcissa Malfoy of all people?
It was surreal beyond belief, and at the same time, nothing else made sense. She could always reject the theory by calling all of this as one giant illusion that this place had placed on her, but Emmeline couldn’t think of one legitimate reason why Harry Potter would do so. If this was a crude attempt to let her know how good he was in bed, he could have done it with any other person — Hestia, Hermione Granger, and whichever other girl he was currently involved with. There was no reason to implicate himself with a memory associating him with Narcissa Malfoy of all people. Especially knowing that Emmeline was an Obliviator and a member of the Order.
That implied that this was a true memory. This place, this room existed somewhere in the real world. Narcissa Malfoy sat here, before this mirror, wearing this dress, and thought about her sexual escapades with Harry Potter. And in a way that just didn’t make sense, Emmeline was able to experience what she felt while traversing Harry Potter’s mindscape.
Was this Incubus magic? She didn’t know, but she’d be damned if she didn’t find it out.
She looked around. The room looked imperial, like a noble lady’s master suite. An enormous, oval bed turned down with shiny gold sheets and a headboard made out of vining white iron and pink tufted satin. Decorative moulding covered the walls and high vaulted ceilings, giving the decor a very Parisian feel. A large circular mirror hung directly in front of the bed and the armoire right next to it is impossible to ignore. It was stark white with huge ornately decorated doors. But as magnificent as the space was, it’s the table with thick leather straps and stirrups on the side. Underneath it were several metal drawers. Emmeline was no expert, but it took little to imagine what could be in them. A crop, a flogger, and a wooden paddle were hanging on the wall next to the table. Her stomach clenched.
And that brought a second, far graver realisation that chilled her to the core. If she was living Narcissa’s memories, and experiencing what she did, then it would mean that she would continue to experience everything that happened to her in this particular memory.
I… I should get out of this place.
She looked at the bed again, and that reminded her of Harry’s cock. Oh, that cock! It was something even the most frigid bitch would do anything for. That was a cock you grabbed onto and didn’t let go of. One look at it would make any girl want to stroke it, just so she could get her feminine fingers on a piece of such throbbing manhood. It was a cock that you were happy to choke on, just so you get to experience the pleasure of warping your lips around its impressive thickness. It was a suckable, fuckable, perfect piece of cock that any woman would be lucky to have inside her. And she had. So many, many, many times.
She thought back to that one time when Draco had nearly seen her fucking him. Oh, that was such a close save. Her little man knew of her predilections, and despite his desire to be like his father in every way that mattered, he kept her one little secret. He knew exactly how much she craved physical intimacy, and the idea of her using mudblood boys to worship her body like a goddess fitted perfectly in his world view. After all, in an ideal world, purebloods would have been gods and goddesses. Why the number of times she had seen him masturbate at the thought of face-fucking that mudblood Hermione Granger was enough to confirm that. But still… covering Harry with her own voluptuous form, and fucking him like a demon possessed while her son watched from afar was one of the most exciting moments of her life. She knew it was bad to think that way, since Draco hated Harry with a passion. But she couldn’t help it. The idea that she was fucking her son’s self-proclaimed arch-enemy who was giving her pleasure unlike anything his father could even imagine was just so stirring.
Emmeline clenched her teeth and staggered back, wanting to gag right then. What kind of debauchery was that? She… she couldn’t bear this. She couldn’t bear this any longer. She needed to get out of this place before it was too late. The door — the blasted door was right in front of her. All she needed was to step out and she’d be rid of this impending nightmare for good.
Or.
Emmeline took deep breaths, absolutely horrified that she was even contemplating it. This event was a memory. Not real life, but a memory. Narcissa’s memory, not hers. Not Emmeline’s. Whatever she was feeling, and would be feeling was what Narcissa had felt, and that would give her first-hand information about the relationship between Potter and that snake. If Narcissa’s nasty, whispering tongue was corrupting Harry Potter, then she needed to know. She needed to warn the others before it was too late.
Even if she had to live through it all.
Her hands adjusted her girls one more time, her voluminous tits barely contained by the bustier. She liked the way her big tits cast a pronounced shadow on her midsection, and the way the cinched-up waist emphasised her shapely hourglass figure. The ribbon-like laces that adorned the front were drawn taught, forcing her huge tits together and up. They were as tight as they could be, and she knew that one tug on the bow would release her breasts from their containment. If that happened, she wouldn't be surprised if the bustier went flying right off from the strain.
Revealing her nipples that lay just beneath the lacy tops of the bustier’s cups.
She smiled. All her life she had men of all ages look at her with lustful gazes, and she knew that she was above them all. Her allure was enough to turn most people into loose-mouthed idiots that would do anything to please her. And to think that with all her allure, with all her feminine wiles, her charm and everything her body had to offer, she would find herself meeting her match in a boy her son’s age, and would have to contemplate on how best to hold his undivided attention.
Then again, Harry Potter was no ordinary young man. He was an incubus. A future god amongst men.
She reached down and wrigged her hips, adjusting the tiny waistband of her matching thong panties. Harry had been quite pleased when she had shown him her lingerie collection. ‘I want to see those on you,’ he had said. ‘Even though they won’t stay on for long.’
Having left the panties till the very end, she carefully adjusted the front panel, making sure her juices weren’t seeping through. She turned and looked at her plump rear end, nicely displayed in the tiny red thong. She was happy she had spent all that time practising yoga. Witch or not, it did wonders for her curvy arse.
“I see you’re ready,” said Harry Potter as he stepped into the room through the door just like she had. Her palpitations grew, and she stood up, or maybe, Narcissa did. It was difficult to tell the difference. She watched with growing anxiety as he stepped closer, and touched her skin. Goosebumps erupted across her whole body at his touch, as his fingers crawled all the way to her neck. The married woman in her was yelling curses and demanding to leave right away, but Emmeline the Obliviator stayed silent, and let the charade continue.
“Is that a different lipstick?”
His words drew her out of her inner conflict. “...Yes. I — I’d forgotten I had this one. I’ve never worn this before.”
A big smile came over Harry’s face. “I love it. I love how shiny and wet it makes that perfect mouth of yours look. Perfect for sucking cock.”
“Your cock,” Emmeline’s mouth spoke.
Emmeline blushedt. She had put the lipstick on for that very reason. Use her mouth for a place to cum, to dump multiple loads of thick, savoury, boy-cum.
The urge to gag overwhelmed her again. Luckily, Harry did not notice it. Or maybe, he just wouldn’t, because he too, was part of the memory. None of this was real.
No matter how real it feels.
Suspending all disbelief, Emmeline decided to operate on the presumption that this was Narcissa’s memory, which she was somehow accessing from Harry’s mind. And if that was true, was her mouth speaking only what Narcissa did at that moment? And if that was so, could she even walk out of the room, despite the door being right up there, if Narcissa did not do it? Would she have to play the memory all the way till the very end, no matter how insane things became?
It was a terrifying realisation, which led to something even more terrifying.
Was this magic, if it was even magic — was this how Potter was able to see things from Voldemort’s perspective? Could the same magic that was affecting Narcissa Malfoy affected Voldemort as well?
It was a possibility, however strange. But one nightly experience with Harry Potter had already taught her that nothing was too strange or too fantastical when it came to the Boy-Who-Lived.
“C’mon sweetheart,” said Harry Potter. “Get down on your knees for me.”
He didn’t even need to force her to follow, for her body was doing it on her own. Not her body, Narcissa’s. The distinction had to be made.
Remember it. Not yours. Narcissa’s.
But it was easier said than done. The feeling of her knees bending, touching the floor, and her face moving closer to his pants, mere inches away from his stiffening cock was simply too overpowering to discard as mere illusion.
Especially because she had seen this cock in real life just before they had begun this Legilimency attempt.
She didn’t even know what she was doing, for her hands worked faster than her mind. She had never been in this position before, and Gideon never had the balls to ask her to do something this demeaning. Their sexual encounters had been limited to missionary, as infrequent as they had been.
Her hands were already pulling his belt, releasing it. His fly was next, and she pulled his pants down, and then his underwear.
His cock sprang free.
And smacked her in the face.
Merlin’s bones! She gasped. It was truly magnificent. Yes, she had seen it before, but this close, it looked even more impressive and wide, with that large, bulbous tip. Veins burst out of it. His balls hung below, each as large as limes. Desire and fear bubbled within her.
Before she knew it, the head stretched her mouth, but she managed to open it wide-enough. All her disdain for something this demeaning was pushed beneath the floors as she tried to bob her head, but the tip bumped against her throat before the whole head was in her mouth. She pulled back. There was an audible pop as her lips released it, and she noticed a frown forming on his face.
Emmeline wanted to spit it out. She wanted to scourgify her mouth, no, her entire body, inside and out. She wanted to fucking scrub her skin with scalding, hot water and forget about this derogatory experience. Her insides were searing with rage at his debauchery. She was a pureblood lady, an aristocrat. She was brought up to be treated like royalty, to be adored, kissed and caressed. She was not supposed to be on her knees and suck some bastard’s cock like a street whore. She opened her mouth to snarl—
—And ended up plunging her head down on his cock.
“Oh, that’s better,” said Harry Potter. “That’s so much better.”
Emmeline racked her brain, trying to think of everything she knew from those Playwitch magazines about what it meant to give a good head. She knew tongue was important. She could only take his top, but she started to swirl her tongue around him. He grunted in appreciation, and pushed his cock further, stretching her cheeks. They were already starting to feel so sore, and she was struggling to keep her teeth off his girth. What was happening? This was Narcissa’s memory, and she doubted that the bitch would suffer from the same issues that she did.
Then… why?
Her thoughts were running a mile a minute, but her tongue wasn’t far behind. She pulled his cock in, and by Merlin, it tasted so good. It felt right, being like this. He was right. This was her place.
NO! Emmeline thought furiously. WHAT AM I THINKING? THAT’S NOT ME—
She started to bob her head faster, trying to take more of him. She had handled his width, even though it took all she had to fit him in her mouth, but his length still seemed impossible. He was brushing against her throat, and she still had so much more to go. As if he hadn’t demeaned her enough already, his hand clamped down on her head, holding it in place as he fucked her mouth. Each brutal thrust forced more of that cock down her throat. She was gagging loudly, her eyes watering and tears dripping out, but Potter kept up his ferocious pace. He was breathing loudly now and grunting, enjoying the feeling of her mouth on him.
As was she, to be honest. Pleasing him felt so good, but to be used by him like this was the best. Physically it hurt, but being treated this way turned her on. She was wet, really wet. And dripping. Emmeline’s eyes widened in growing horror as her hands crawled down there, and began to finger her folds. It was clumsy, but it was so good. She had over half his cock in her mouth now, and he kept hammering away, driving more of his stake in. it was getting hard to breathe. Her womanhood was burning, and her fingers were rubbing frantically. She— she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but stretch her lips to take him further in.
Her vision was blurring. Didn’t matter. Needed more of him. He pushed her down, darkness was creeping into the corner of her vision, his swollen balls slapping against her chin, as most of his cock was now in her mouth, trying to ram into her throat. A wave of pleasure exploded out of her, juices soaking her hands, and quivering her entire body, the force of the orgasm coursing through her.
“Cumming from sucking a cock? Only you, Narcissa.”
Emmeline looked up and glared daggers at his grinning face, or at least she intended to do so. Instead Narcissa’s cock-sucking lips moved on their own and said —
“It’s your cock, honey” she cooed, “what do you expect?”
“Heh!”
His plunging spike muffled any further of her words. Emmeline struggled to get air in-between thrusts, but even when he was pulling out, there was at least an inch down her throat. Dizziness was gripping her, and he was driving even harder. Sweat was dripping off him, trailing along the edge of his cock and trickling into her mouth. The salty taste made her want to push back and throw up, but instead he gripped her head tighter and his cock pulsed, and she knew what was to come.
NO— I NEED TO PULL MY MOUTH OFF—
He came.
Cum seemed to pour out of him, dumping down her throat. She wasn’t trying to swallow it all, or maybe she was, it was hard to tell. It was just so much that it filled her mouth, as she pulled her lips off it.
That was a mistake.
A thick wad fell on her forehead. Another one covered her cheek, and one shot into her left eye. Each glob was the size of Gideon’s entire orgasm. A copious amount drizzled all over her hair. Blinking, she opened her mouth, not even realising what she was doing, and a bit of her cum trickled down her lips, seeped down her chin and fell upon her breasts.
“Lick my balls, whore!” he said. “Clean me off.”
IN YOUR FUCKING DREAMS, I’LL CUT YOUR FUCKING—
“Yes, master,” her lips said, and she crawled ahead, and grabbed his hips, gobbling up one of his balls. The musk was overpowering and her head spun, but she kept swirling her tongue around it. She wanted to scream, to push him back, to grab her own throat and twist it and kill herself, but all she could do was keep licking his sweat and cum-lined balls and the sides of his cock like it was the world’s tastiest dessert.
Then she noticed it.
A familiar stench. One that she had sensed earlier. Something dark and foreboding and evil beyond comparison.
Necromancy.
Something wasn’t right. Debauched as this place was, it reveled in the cruelties of life, of procreation. It was the world of an Incubus. In mindscape Harry’s own words, this was the temple of the God of Lust. Necromancy was the antithesis of everything in here.
So why was she sensing Necromantic energies around this place?
She looked around, and she finally saw it. Tendrils.
Black, ribbon-like and squiggling along the walls. They were climbing upwards, towards the centre of the ceiling. Emmeline looked up, and found an ornate, circular mirror planted on the ceiling, perfectly aligned with the bed. Before any further thoughts could hit her mind, Harry pulled her up like a bride, and threw her into the bed like a caveman.
Was he going to —?
She shivered at the thought, but consoled herself. She had already suffered through so much, what was a little sex compared to being face-fucked? And more importantly, she needed to find out what those tendrils were up to. If her hunch was right, then that mirror was the gateway to that dream, and if not, then at least a gateway deeper into his subconscious. She had borne through so much, she could deal with the rest.
Narcissa’s memory. Narcissa’ body. Not mine.
Not mine.
Repeating it made her feel a little better. It did nothing to prevent her scream out like a banshee as he pushed his giant cockhead into her slit.
His first thrust smashed at least six inches in her. His width alone caused her to wail out like her body was being torn in half, not a far-fetched imagery since she was already being stretched to her widest. He continued to brutally jackhammer into her, forcing more of his spear into her. Her eyes were bugging out of her head. He was splitting her. Emmeline wailed in agony, tears freely falling from her eyes. If she hadn’t been so well lubricated from the orgasm earlier, he might as well have ripped her womanhood into two. Emmeline’s breasts bounced up and down with the force of his thrusts, and attracted his attention. Like a hungry wolf, Harry Potter pounded on them, squeezing, twisting, maulding, slapping, and pulling them to his heart’s content. The pain was subsiding slowly, and each thrust was leading to more and more pleasure. She was moaning. Her orgasm, mounting. He raised her legs, and her eyes rolled back—
Emmeline came.
It was painful, it was pleasurable and it was nothing like the sex she knew.
A torrent flooded out of her folds, coating his still l pounding rod. She was screaming, her legs shaking violently. Her eyes were rolling back. Her nipples were roughly twisted and being pulled and her mind melted. His sweat fell all over her face, her body, her breasts. Emmeline looked up, and saw Narcissa reflected in the mirror, saw Harry’s body hovering over her and pistoning into her. The tendrils were increasing by the second, crawling to the mirror’s periphery.
Just a little more, she told herself. Exhaustion was seeping into her bones, and she wanted nothing but to sleep. To forget all of this and surrender to oblivion. She — she wasn’t built to take this kind of fucking, her body wasn’t capable of going through this debauchery. Her mind was melting, and no matter how much she screamed to herself that what she was feeling was an illusion, the sensations were too real, too powerful to just ignore. Harry grabbed her hips, and grunting and grimacing, forced his entire length into her. Emmeline relaxed and gasped, as he pulled back and speared the entirety of his rod into her folds.
Breathing deep, Emmeline held her breath, gritted her teeth and wiggled slightly, manoeuvring herself. Finally flexing her hips, she began to twist her folds around his cock, taking it in like a corkscrew.
“YES!” said Potter, smacking her breasts. Emmeline bore the humiliation and kept twisting her hips, until the entirety of his cock was in her again. He smacked her breasts over and over, and twisted her nipples as he kept drilling his corkscrew into her, her womanhood going crazy around his shaft. She couldn’t help it. She hated having to suffer this, but she loved the feeling of being filled like this, feeling that hard, virile cock tearing into her folds, thrusting into her deeper and deeper like a piston engine.
“Fuck, Yeah! Here it is!” Harry grunted, burying his cock inside her just as she began to cum again. Streams of cum burst forth, firing both from his cock and her own tight, wet pussy.
“I feel it!” She babbled. “I feel it! I feel you cumming within me! It feels so goood! ” Emmeline couldn’t care if that was Narcissa speaking or just her own belligerent self moaning, as waves of orgasms ran through her. Her body quivered against his, riding out their orgasms together. He just kept cumming, firing stream after stream of cum into her pussy.
Then the strangest thing happened.
Golden chains began to erupt out of his body — from his hands, his legs, his chest, and pierced into her, vanishing into her skin. There was no pain, but an intrusive sensation pervaded through her entire body, like she was discovering a sense that she didn’t know she had. Like a third arm, or a second heart — something that was always there, but she was only now realising it.
It’s all right, she told herself. Don’t panic. It’s a memory. This happened to Narcissa, to Narcissa’s body, not yours. Narcissa, not Emmeline.
Harry Potter lifted himself from above her, their faces just inches apart. And he smiled.
“Feels good, doesn’t it?”
“Sure does,” she said, smiling as she realised that her trials had come to an end. Plus, he wasn’t wrong. Yes she was unused to taking a cock that size, and had never been fucked like that, but ignoring all the exhaustion and pain, it felt really good.
“I bet,” he said, still smiling. “With a body like that, it’s a shame that your husband doesn’t put it to good use. Makes me wonder, is that because you’re too busy being an Obliviator, or is your husband just that unsatisfactory in bed?”
The silence that followed his words was immediate and deafening, as horror, fresh and terrible, sank into Emmeline’s entire body like sharp knives. She — she wanted to scream, wanted to push him away, wanted to yell and throw all kinds of deadly curses at him. She also wanted to shut her eyes and pretend that she had misheard it, that it was still a….
“I told you,” said Harry Potter. “We are going to have sex. And you are going to be asking for it.”
As if guided by some higher will, she looked up.
At the mirror.
On the bed lay, not Narcissa, but her, Emmeline Vance. She looked an absolute mess, with a mix of sweat and cum painting her face, hair and breasts, and Harry Potter lying over her, his cock impaled into her womanhood.
Emmeline screamed.
Meanwhile In Reality…
Hestia watched as Emmeline, now completely bereft of her clothing, straddled the sleeping Harry Potter, and placed her hands on his defined abs, and crashed down upon his turgid cock.
“FUCCKKKKKK!” She screamed, arching her back, yet her eyes stayed blank as before.
Hestia knew the feeling of being impaled by Harry’s long, thick, big dick, having too much first-hand experience with it, and knew exactly what it could do to someone that was unused to taking cocks bigger than the average Joe. From the way Emmeline’s expressions kept changing, she was flipping between rivers of pleasure and rapturous pain.
Harry, bless him, didn’t even shift.
Emmeline screamed, and screamed, and raised herself up, only to slide down as powerfully as possible, until she had taken at least half of it into her moist pussy.
Hestia clenched her wand tighter. Her vision began to swim, and for a moment, she felt she was in danger of passing out. Or perhaps merely throwing up. Then she shook her head, and focussed on Emmeline who had paused her actions, utterly content to stay like that, with half of Harry’s cock rooted into her pussy. Bloody buggering hell! The woman was in her most vulnerable state, her mind adrift in another’s consciousness, and she was still trying to resist. A small part of her felt proud of her friend’s ability, before she squashed that feeling and redoubled her focus.
“Fuck him,” She commanded. “Fuck him as hard as you can, and get him to cum. Forget that I ever Imperio’d you. Believe from the depths of your heart that you want Harry’s cum, and get it. No matter what it takes!”
“OH FUCCKKK!” screamed Emmeline again, as she pushed her pussy all the way down to the base of Harry’s cock. She raised herself back and forth, back and forth, and kept bouncing on his cock and screaming like she was being torn in half. Every moan sent a shiver of excitement through Hestia’s body. Just the idea of watching her fucking herself so ruthlessly on his cock— it was just so easy to imagine it was Nymphadora that was bouncing in her place. The dirty eroticism, the sluttiness was getting to her. Her pussy clenched, and her fingers itched to finger it.
Hestia ruthlessly forced the feelings down, and kept her wand levelled. The Imperius curse was taxing to hold on for extended periods of time, and she was already keeping it on for more than two minutes now. If this continued for another minute, she’d need to summon a vial of Wiggenweld potion for a pick-up.
Hestia had long since determined that Harry developed a form of magical connection with each and every person he fucked. She didn’t know the technical aspects of how his brand of magic worked, but she knew that the Dark Lord branded his followers like cattle, and used the Dark Mark to perform a variety of effects. The recipient of the Dark Mark could feel their Master’s presence, and use it to summon him, or be reverse-summoned to him, and the worst part, be tortured by him. Hestia doubted that anyone, even Death-Eaters, would be so stupid to willingly be branded with something that basically tagged their magic and made them the Dark Lord’s plaything. No, it was more probable that the Mark also allowed them certain benefits, which was why having the Mark was considered an absolute prestige inside Death-Eater Central.
The point was if the Dark Lord, known and feared as one of the greatest Dark Wizards and Necromancers in recent history, could use the Mark to manipulate people, there was no doubt that his antithesis — the power of Love and Life, could also reach across hearts and minds and souls and establish links between them. At first, she had thought that perhaps just fucking someone was enough to do it. But then she remembered something Harry Potter had mentioned the first day she had met him.
"Sex is a powerful metaphysical force, Hermione. It's an act that creates life, a new soul. During it, the partners leave a mark on each other. The effect is magnified if the partners truly love each other."
Her instincts told her that he was saying a lot more than what Hermione understood that night. If Hestia had grabbed the subtext right, it meant that Harry was forging connections with people he was having sex with.
—The partners leave a mark on each other —
Like… cumming, perhaps? Or perhaps an emotional mark? One of not just physical satisfaction, but emotional as well?
— The effect is magnified if the partners truly love each other —
And wasn’t that true? Ever since she had developed feelings for Harry, so much had changed. Hestia had begun taking decisions of her own, acting in ways she would have never even imagined. For fuck’s sake, she had just cast an Unforgivable on a friend, because she was paranoid that Emmeline might derail Harry’s plans. The same Emmeline she knew for years, who had trained her, and made her into the versatile and talented witch she was. It was for this bond that Hestia was manipulating her oldest friend and the love of her life Nymphadora Tonks into getting into bed with Harry.
Maybe she was terribly wrong about this. Maybe all of this would yield nothing. But her instincts had never guided her wrong, and those instincts were yelling at her that if Harry came inside Emmeline, it would forge a bond between them.
And if she knew Harry right, he would deepen the bond. After all, Emmeline would come back to train him in the psychic arts. A woman that was already in a dysfunctional relationship with her husband, and had already experienced the joys of Harry’s cock. Add in the information of how her husband was actually raping Hannah Abbott all this time, and she’d be a devastated wreak. It would be child’s play for Harry to charm her into fucking him again.
And again.
And again.
Until the bond was so deep that she wouldn’t even think of Albus Dumbledore, or the Order of the Phoenix without consulting Harry.
Harry had made Hestia his. And she would ensure that both Nymphadora Tonks and Emmeline Vance became his.
“YES! YES! YES!” rang Emmeline’s voice, repeating that one word like it was a mantra she was hanging on for life. “Yes! Give it to me! Give it to me! Give it to me! YES!”
And Harry came, painting her insides with his pearly cum.Hestia smiled.
Notes:
If you want to support me, find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Next Update is on 20th November.
Chapter 81: The Price of Secrets
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 3 - THE INCUBUS AND NECROMANCER
This… This was not supposed to happen.
This was Narcissa’s memory. She had been living Narcissa’ memory, and experiencing everything as Narcissa had. No matter the humiliation, the pain, the rage, the… the pleasure, she was just a passenger in Narcissa’s body, and all of this was a memory.
Not real.
Absolutely NOT REAL.
It couldn’t be real.
And yet, it was. The face in the mirror had changed from Narcissa’s to her own, and Emmeline didn’t know how or why that had happened. All she knew was that this wasn’t a memory. Or at least, it had been a memory, only to transform into a reality more nightmarish than anything she could imagine.
“I told you,” said Harry Potter. “We are going to have sex. And you are going to be asking for it.”
Emmeline looked at the small, smug, fucking self-assured, egotistical smile on Harry Potter’s face as he gave her the biggest scare of her life. For that moment, she lay staring at him, her eyes wide as if her brain had been utterly fried and unable to process any further. All she knew was that she was on the bed, naked with Harry’s cum dripping all over her face, her hair, her mouth, her throat, and oozing out of her freshly-fucked pussy.
She looked worse than a Knockturn Alley whore.
“You! You fucking arsehole! How dare you! How dare you trick me?” she half-screamed and half-shouted, her eyes dangerous and her hands clenched tightly into fists.
Harry Potter looked at her… amused. Amused! Rage flared violently inside of her and she slapped his face as hard as she could. It felt like hitting a rock. She winced, and lay on the bed, staring at him with hate.
“What — what magic is this?” She demanded, unwilling to play games any longer. “I told you,” said the cocky bastard. “Lecherous Shrine is not ready to welcome outsiders. If you go in, you’ll find more than secrets there.”
“Yes, like how you’re fucking Narcissa Malfoy?”
This time, his smile wasn’t so self-assured, at least for the briefest of moments, which as she could remember, was the first time she had ever seen that arrogant facade stumble. He didn’t reply though even when his smirk returned to its usual indifferent and irritating self, and Emmeline waited for him for a moment longer for sighing exasperatedly and moving to push his cock and him off her.
At first she tried to get through forwards, however the arsehole hadn’t left much space for her to move. It didn’t help that her legs felt like jelly, or that his cock was spearing through her folds all the way to her womb. For a moment, she thought he was going to press his entire weight against her, or grab her waist or something… but he simply watched, apparently amused at her obvious defensiveness.
Arsehole.
“Mmm… you never did answer,” he said after a moment. “You have such an amazing body, but it's obvious you don't have much sex. Which is it? Lack of work-life balance, or is your husband simply that unsatisfactory?”
“You’ve met my husband,” she retorted acidly. “Why don’t you tell me what he’s like?”
He frowned. “I have…?”
“Gideon Abbott,” she said, pushing herself further up the bed. His cock was still partially inside her pussy, and that was the farthest she could move away. The bastard didn’t move back though.
“You are… Gideon Abbott’s wife,” he said slowly. “Interesting. I suppose that makes so much sense.”
Emmeline narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms across her chest. She looked around for her wand, but couldn’t find it anywhere. “What do you mean?”
That damnable smirk returned. “I’m saying that your husband is much more interested in thrusting his tool into little girls than his beautiful wife. How interesting! Both Lucius Malfoy and Gideon Abbott are into the same thing.” He frowned, as if disturbed by something. “I wonder if that is why Narcissa’s memories came to you. Perhaps the common factor resonated between you two… Hmmm, how curious!”
“What? Are you implying…!” Emmeline trailed off, her cheeks flushed with indignation and disbelief at his words. She knew Gideon wasn’t exactly a nice man by any measure, but he wasn’t a—
A—
“Paedophile?” asked Harry Potter, making her wonder if he could read her mind. Which was impossible. She was a sixth-level Occlumens. No, he must have read it from her expressions. She gritted her teeth at the annoying smile floating on his lips. The nerve of this motherfucker! He was still lying on the bed, unmoving, just inches from her pussy. She could feel his cool breaths on her nipples, and it was making her squirm! Bastard was doing this on purpose. Treating her like a piece of meat… No, like ‘his’ piece of meat. She should slap him again for that!
“Hannah,” he said, and Emmeline felt her world shatter. “Gideon has been fucking Hannah under the pretext of training her to be next Lady of Abbott.”
Her eyes widened, and an icy sensation settled down into the pit of her stomach. “You — you’re —”
“Not lying. Not, about this,” he said simply. “You can ask Hannah. Or Cynthia. They’ll tell you. I promised them vengeance on your husband, and reclaim the fortune he has stolen from them. And Harry Potter always keeps his promises.”
Emmeline just sat there, knees bent, legs spread apart, with half of him resting within her. She sat like that for another…. Minute, or hour, or eternity… it didn’t matter. She didn’t know what to think anymore. To think that her husband was capable of something so demeaning, that he was such a treacherous sonofabitch—”
“Speaking of treachery,” said Harry Potter, shocking her again. “Cynthia thinks he was the one that betrayed her husband and father-in-law. The attack on Abbott mansion…”
She froze, her thoughts going into overdrive. Was she being manipulated?
“I know my husband. He isn’t a—’
“A lying two-faced bastard?” asked Harry. “He is Broderick Greengrass’s best friend, and that man is knee-deep in illegal shit with Lucius Malfoy. And Gideon is Broderick’s Man Friday as far as selling illegal potions ingredients on the continent is concerned. Malfoy, Greengrass, your husband… it’s one big racket.”
“How—” She paused, and controlled herself. “How can I believe anything you say? You’re the kind of scum that sleeps with Narcissa Malfoy and tricked me into fucking you.”
“Tricked you?” laughed Harry Potter. “Did I ask you to step into Lecherous Shrine? Did I tell you to open that door? You knew exactly what the memory was, and you knew exactly what was going to happen. You could have ended it before it started. But you didn’t. So no, I did not trick you. Whatever happened, you chose to do it on your own free will.”
Emmeline gritted her teeth.
That amused smile reformed on his face. “And you don’t need to believe anything I say. Amelia Bones believes it, and that’s enough for me.”
She sneered, not replying back. He would not get a rise out of her. She would investigate things and if it turned out he was telling the truth then…
“Let me go,” she said. “I want out of here.”
“Oh,” he said, utterly nonchalant. “Not interested in getting that dream anymore, are you?”
She stilled.
“It’s really sad,” he went on. “After all the suffering you went through… just to walk away when you are this close to your prize…. How unfortunate.”
It took all the willpower she had not to try to wring his neck. Instead she met his green eyes.
“If you know what I want, then why don’t you just hand it over? And if you could always do that, then why this charade? Or is this your way to trap unsuspecting women, like you trapped Hestia?”
“Me? Trap Hestia? You’ve inverted the concept. I pegged Hestia for an Order member before she even entered my house. Before I so much as touched her. She is with me by her own accord. As for the dream, I see you’re confusing me with the person lying on the bed, asleep. Neither am I some kind of demon. I’m simply his primal essence, his subconscious. The one most concerned with such matters as food. Survival.” His eyes flickered idly all over her naked form. “Mating,” he said, a lazy growl to the tone. “The important things in life.”
“So the Harry Potter in the real world…”
“Doesn’t know what happens inside Lecherous Shrine. Not yet.”
That… was slightly better. It meant that he wouldn’t remember what happened here, or that he had fucked her like a whore.
Harry smiled again, as if amused by an inside joke.
Emmeline frowned. “You said not yet, which means he will. Later.”
He idly shrugged. “Anything is possible. I told you. But he is not ready to take over my magnum opus. But soon. Very soon.”
Well, thought Emmeline. That’s all kinds of fucked-up.
She was acutely aware of the subtext behind his words. He had all but told her that the way to acquire the dream memory was to finish what she had started. Only this time, she wouldn’t be able to pretend that she was living Narcissa Malfoy’s memory. This time, it would really be her who’d be getting fucked.
She would not do that. She was a married woman, a Lady, and she would not intentionally sleep with someone else. She would not let him take her pride from her. Even if she had to just sit there until she… until she…
GAH! She felt like screaming at him.
“What do you want from me, Emmeline? Do you want to feel my cock ram up your sweet arse? Perhaps you want me me to fuck you standing?” He gave her a leery smile. “Have you wondered how Parseltongue feels on your pussy nerves? It’s beyond anything you have ever imagined, I can promise you that. You can even wrap your sexy legs around me.”
Emmeline clenched her fists.
“Or perhaps you want to walk out?” He offered, pushing himself back up. He held his hand out, and a wand materialised in his palm. One cleaning charm later, Emmeline was perfectly fresh, the sweat and cum all over her body and face having completely vanished. Even his cum oozing from her pussy had vanished, though the pain was still there.
The bastard. He was playing with her. Playing her desire to avoid humiliation against her desire to get the dream. Either way, her pride was getting crushed. She had not expected this kind of Slytherin manoeuvre from the Golden Boy of Gryffindor.
“Potter…. Harry,” she tried, toning down her voice to a level that wasn’t quite demanding, but not quite a pleading voice either. “Do not make me do this. You — your conscious self wants this memory just as badly as I do. It’s important we know what happened in that memory to fight Voldemort.”
“I cannot break the rules of this place, Lady Vance,” he said simply. “I warned you. I am not deserving of Lecherous Shrine, not yet. You chose to enter by your own avail. You must choose what happens next.”
Her eyes widened at his words. Harry just grinned broadly, enjoying her inner conflict. The bastard.
A hundred thoughts ran through her head, weighing both sides of the argument. She absolutely did not need to willingly submit herself and her body to his wicked ministrations. She could just walk away, and no one, not even Harry Potter — the real one, would ever know a hair about this. Hell, she could always say that she couldn’t find it, or that it was too risky. She didn’t even have to teach him the psychic arts. Hell, she didn’t need to see his stupid, arrogant face for the rest of her life.
All it would cost her would be that dream.
It’s— It’s not my responsibility, she told herself. If Albus Dumbledore himself can walk away from this, so can I. Whatever happened, happened. I was tricked once, and he humiliated me like that. I cannot, will not let myself be humiliated any further. I will not become his bitch and be fucked like a whore. I will not! It’s all his stupid fault! If he cannot control his own subconsciousness from being such a lecherous predator then it wasn’t my fault that I have to walk away! As for that memory, it can be lost for all I care—
A memory rose in her head. Some words, that she had heard this bastard speak just hours earlier…
“Take the high road if you want to, Professor. Choose to walk away from this opportunity to delve into Voldemort’s mind and help me control this power. Call it your principles, call it doing the right thing, as you’re so fond of. But after all that, when the people lie dead, people that could have been saved if we acted on this information… every one of those lives will be on your head…”
Emmeline fumed. Curse Harry Potter for putting those words in her head. Curse him and Albus Dumbledore and Voldemort and every fucking person responsible for putting her in this dilemma. Curse Hestia for contacting her, and triple-curse herself for agreeing to attend to her needs. The bloody bastard had even joked about how it wasn’t his responsibility after Albus Dumbledore had point-blank refused him on his face. Why? Why was she being put through this? Why was it her job to suffer? WHY?
For a long moment, she just sat there, trying to calm the anger inside her. No decision made out of anger had ever gotten a positive outcome. She needed to focus. Her thoughts slowed down, and her inner turmoil slowly settled into a gentle simmer before she suddenly realised that Harry Potter was still sitting there, watching her like a hawk.
A whole hour of uninterrupted silence passed between them. Or at least, it felt like that.
“Well?” asked Harry Potter.
“You’re such an arsehole.”
“You might have mentioned that a couple of times.”
“Jerk!” she grunted irritably. “You’re a fucking arrogant pig, Harry Potter!”
He grinned, even going so far as to chuckle gently. His audacity sent fresh waves of rage coursing through her.
“I — I can’t fucking believe I’m considering this,” she growled angrily. He was looking at her with a ‘player’ smile on his face, as if she was his conquest and… Fuck it! She was, wasn’t she? He had just face-fucked her and cum over her face and hair and mouth and drilled into her pussy like no one else had. The urge to fly off the handle was still there, but she held her emotions under an ironclad control. This was just sex. She had already been fucked in ways she had never been before, by this guy no less. Hell, he was sitting in front of her naked, admiring her naked body like it was a piece of cake he intended to eat up. He… He…. Words couldn’t define the feeling that was surging through her. Emmeline didn’t know what kind of mindset one needed to cast Fiendfyre, but she was sure that her current disposition would be a close fit. Unbelieving, immensely hurt, incredibly angry, shocked, indignant… thoughts and fury raced through Emmeline, and then, an unbidden thought came to her.
What if it’s all true? Was Gideon really… was her husband really fucking, no, raping her niece? Could she trust Potter’s words? Was her husband truly a swine like that? A criminal? And if that was so, why was she holding to her pride as a married woman, despite knowing how depraved he was?
“If we do this, then that’s it? No more traps?”
Harry smiled. “Absolutely not. If you choose to do this, you can find what lies beyond the mirror. Will you get the memory you came for, yes. But Lecherous Shrine hides many, many more secrets. And secrets… have a price.”
Tears rolled down Emmeline’s cheeks. This— this was all Gideon’s doing. It's all his fault. You reap what you sow, arsehole, she thought furiously, as Harry watched her.
“You’re a conceited, cocky, arrogant bastard, Harry Potter,” she whispered angrily. “And I hate you, I hate you for doing this to me.”
“I can live with that.”
The cocky response should have flared anger in her. Instead, her lips twisted in amusement. Emmeline gave in, pulling him by his neck, as he rose up to her, with her trapped between his hands, the walls and his body. She pulled him closer and pressed her own soft, luscious lips back against his. Her mouth followed his as Harry parted his lips and their tongues entwined, as she pulled him closer. Harry’s hands slid downwards and grabbed her by her waist, and pushed himself firmly against her soft body, pressing his rock-hard chest against her own soft, firm breasts, their lips and tongues smacking and dancing in a hot, passionate kiss.
Her body was still suffused with anger, but at the same time, she felt butterflies in her stomach at the thought of what he was going to do to her, what she was willingly allowing him to do to her. Her — Emmeline Vance, Head Obliviator and Lady of House Vance, was willingly letting herself fucked by Harry Potter, without any coercion from him — just like the bastard had claimed. Her hands entwined around his neck, and she shoved all her hate and disdain for him in a display of intense passion, as his hands roamed all over her body. Unlike previously, he wasn’t just treating her like a cum-bucket for his sperm, but actually having sex with her. He was enjoying her, and she was enjoying him, the eroticism burning all other thoughts from her mind.
“What do you want me to do?” He asked in a sweet whisper.
“Anything you want, remember?” She answered in a tone that matched his. “I won’t stop you, if it means getting that memory.”
A smug smile formed on his lips. “All this for the memory, is it?”
She frowned. “...yes.”
She sounded way more unsure than she should have.
“Okay,” he shrugged, and his fingers rose up. His palms squeezing her big, heavy breasts. Emmeline let out a moan this time around, her heart pounding in her chest as she ran her right hand up his arm… her body instinctively, and primarily, reacting, like she couldn’t kiss him hard, deep or fast enough. Her nails raked gently down his toned chest before her hands slid under his arms and round to grab his back, pulling him against her and pushing herself back against the wall, her tits pressing hotly against his chest, and his cock rubbing against her moist folds. She growled like an animal as he grabbed her and fell back on the bed, with her over him. They kissed, as she straddled his waist, ready to lower herself down the straining length to have sex with him. Harry Potter, ever the bastard, did nothing, obviously intending her to do the honours of impaling herself on his big cock, which made Emmeline smile inside slightly.
Arsehole till the very end.
Shaking her head to flick her hair from her face, she kept her eyes on his and she slowly began to descend down on that huge dick, until the sudden contact with her burning pussy sent an impressive shiver down her spine and her breathing deepened. Yes, she had just been fucked by this dick sometime ago, but that was different. There was no feeling, no emotion, just a constant struggle between humiliation and pride with pain and pleasure thrown in for a side dish.
This… would be different. So what if it was happening inside Harry Potter’s mind, she was still choosing to have sex with him. With that thought, she sank down, speared upon his cock, with his unprotected, hard, mammoth dick inside her. Her eyes closed tightly as she took a deep breath, raised herself back up slightly and pushed down again, getting another inch or so to stretch her pussy. Another pull, and another inch.
Wait. She only got half in? Just how big was this monster?
“Wiggle your hips a little more,” he suggested. “Let yourself get used to the girth.”
Emmeline couldn’t believe how full she felt, and she was only halfway, She stared down at their connected regions and her eyes went wide at the tube-shaped bulge visible through her skin. How could someone possibly be that big? How could anyone take in so much cock? Narcissa could do it, obviously, if the memory was any proof, and Hestia was probably a veteran at this job. Just as she was pondering, another inch slid deeper into her core and Emmeline let out a wail before clamping her hand over her mouth, feeling a wave of euphoria wash over her and realised that she had just orgasmed.
How pitiful was that? She had cum before she could take his cock into her. And that was discounting her previous orgasms. She wondered if her pussy would ever be tight again, after experiencing this monster.
“Did you just cum, Emmeline?”
“N— no!”
He said nothing, but looked at her in a cocky way that just made her livid.
“Well I’m the one doing all the work!”
“Oh… why didn’t you say something before?” he asked with a smirk, and gripped the sides of her wait. Giving her a roguish grin, he pulled her down, spearing the remainder of his length inside her. Emmeline threw her head back in pleasure as his massive erection spread apart her inner walls and thrust itself directly against her womb.
“It’s in my womb!” she yelled, arching her back in ecstasy as her body struggled to adapt to the large appendage.
“Can’t wait! I’m thrusting!”
Before Emmeline could do anything, Harry picked her up using his grip on her waist, pulling his cock out, with just the head resting inside her, and then pistoned back, meeting her mid-thrust. She immediately let out a loud scream, as he mercilessly pounded upwards into her pussy. She couldn’t keep herself upright, not with him thrusting so furiously, and fell over him, barely able to keep herself up using her arms for support. That had the added benefit of her breasts dangling teasingly over his face, and he sucked on her nipples, and bit into them. Emmeline stretched back in ecstasy, while he continued his upward thrusts, wet, smacking sounds reverberating through the entire room, as she tightened again with a new orgasm.
Harry smirked, and Emmeline exhaled, thankful for the pause.
The bastard had no such plans, for he just went faster!
While she was orgasming!
“UGH! NO! WAIT! PLEASE!” Her pleas fell on deaf ears, as his extra-large sausage plundered every inch of her pussy, in and out, in and out. It took her several moments to realise that she was drooling, and lying over his hard chest while he gripped her hips and kept pounding like a machine.In and out, in and out it went. Really, she hadn’t known that something so pleasurable was even possible! Her legs were feeling like jelly again, and her entire body shook up and down with every thrust, but she couldn’t bring herself to care.
And it showed in her next words.
“I love it!” She screamed. “I LOVE IT! I LOVE IT! FUCK ME HARDER!”
Her juices were dripping so copiously that his entire crotch was lubricated, and smoothly pistoning in and out of her tight, squeezing cunt. With a strength she didn’t know she didn’t have, she lifted herself up and began bouncing relentlessly. Up and down. Up and down. Their sweaty flesh kept smacking harder.
THWACK!
THWACK!
THWACK!
His hands were all over her fleshy tits, trying to force as much of her breasts into his mouth. Emmeline reached up and forced her nipples into his mouth, smirking at the gleeful expression on his face. That went on and on, her bouncing unyielding as she rode her. She grabbed the headboard and began driving her hips down upon him as hard as she could, nearly taking the wind out of him.
“Oof!” he groaned out, surprised.
In a normal situation this should have, would have hurt. It wouldn’t have felt this pleasurable and she certainly wouldn’t be losing control like this.
And yet…
“Move faster .”
Fucking incubus! He had turned her into this! Into this cock-hungry slut that was bouncing on his rock-hard tool. He had put her through so much mental and emotional dilemma, and played her own pride against herself. If she was to get fucked, then she’d be a fuck unlike anything he had ever experienced. She wanted to get fucked, to really drilled, and she would take that from him.
THWACK! THWACK! THWACK!
Her arse kept slamming down his thighs, and she was unrelenting. Nothing else mattered now, only his cock driving into her pussy.
“You like that, Potter? Huh? You like that pussy? Oh, this is what you wanted, right? Trap me and fuck me like a bitch? How does this bitch fuck you, Potter? Fucking answer me!” She spat, her tone getting nastier and meaner the closer she got to cumming.
“How do you fuck me? Like a frail lady. I’m used to fucking whores, Emmeline! I’ve been holding back on you, afraid I’ll break you.”
“Bollocks!” She screamed into his ear, as she sank down again. “You fucked me like an animal earlier, and I bore through all that! All of this, and you still claim you’re taking it easy on me! I’ve never heard of anything crappier than that!”
“Big world, Emmeline, and you’re about to find out! That is, if you want!”
“YES!” She snarled. “SHOW ME! SHOW ME HOW YOU FUCK YOUR WHORES! SHOW ME HOW YOU FUCK NARCISSA MALFOY!”
He smirked, and then without mercy or care, he lifted her arse up and drove back as hard as he could.
“Gahhh!” she grunted out, as he buried himself all the way to his balls into her. Before she could even recover from that, he drove into her again. And again. And again. He really was giving it his all. Before this, she was getting the chance to slide it in and out, and take a breath in the process. Now? It was just a blur, with him pistoning in and out of her, leaving her unable to do anything but stare at him, her mouth hanging open as he drilled her.
“Uh… uh… It’s… Fuck! Shit! Fuck! Ugh!” She was barely able to get the words out.
“How’s that for a change? Or do you want me to amp it up?”
Amp it up? There was more?
“Ugh… ugh… this! Fuck! This is… ugh! Hnn! This is! Ugh! Better! Ugh!”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I can barely understand you. What kind of lady are you, if you can’t even! Hnn! Manage basic eloquence?”
And then he pounded even harder.
“I can do this all day, Lady Vance! Here in Lecherous Shrine and there, in the real world! My stamina is endless! Can you imagine how that feels? Do you know what it’s like being pounded like this every night before bed? Do you know what it’s like to be fucked asleep?”
She didn’t, but if this continued for longer, she was sure to find out first-hand. She doubted her pussy could take this pounding for much longer.
“UGH! No! I don’t! Uff! Fuck! I can’t! Take it! Any! More!”
“Do you want me to cum in you?” He asked. “You’re a married woman, Emmeline! Do you want my raw cum inside your pussy? Do you want me to breed you? Make you my cock-whore? Tell me! Do you want to come to my house, teach me psychic arts, and go home with your stomach full of my cum?”
Her hips kept bouncing, driving his cock in and out. In and out.
“Look at you!” He spat. “Lady Vance! Head Obliviator! Proud, pureblood lady! Jumping on my cock like a whore! Is that what you are, Emmeline? Are you a whore? Or is this just for the memory?”
“The— ugh! Memory!” she wailed. “I need that memory!”
IIn and out. In and out. In and out.
“And is that the only reason?”
“....Yes!” she was about to cum again. Just a little more! Just a little more! Just a little more and she’d —
Harry Potter slid his cock out of her pussy, and pushed her back. Emmeline gasped as the sudden emptiness she felt in her pussy and rushed forward to get it back.
“Ugh! Wha— ! What are you doing? Get — get that back right! Ugh! Right now!”
“No can do,” said the cocky bastard, pushing her back. “This is over! Take the memory and walk off! It’s done!”
“Wha— No! I was about to cum!” She complained, blushing as she realised what she was saying. “I was just —”
“Your desires mean nothing,” he said, that ‘player’ smile back on his face. “You said you were doing this for the memory. Well, so be it.”
He raised his hand, and something bright and silver oozed out of the mirror — an orb, similar to the ones used in Divination. It slowly floated down until it rested on his palm.
Go on,” he said. “Take it.”
What? Just like that? She stared at him in incomprehension. What was happening? He was just giving it to her? What was the catch?
“No catch!” He said, smiling. “You came for the memory, didn’t you? Then take it, and fuck off.”
“But I—” Emmeline paused, her cheeks burning in embarrassment. “I need to cum! Can you not… just two more minutes?”
He threw his head back and laughed. Emmeline wanted to dig a hole in the floor and die in it. This was so embarrassing! She was actually begging him to fuck her for two more minutes and make her cum. That she was doing it after he had just handed her the memory was even more mortifying. She had never been so humiliated in her entire life. But she couldn’t — not now, not when she was so close.
As quickly as it was possible, she grabbed his cock with her hands and wrapped her lips around it, and started bobbing her mouth up and down, running her tongue all over his shaft. That she absolutely despised using her mouth on anyone, that she considered it completely degrading and demeaning to the woman did not matter now. He had already shoved that massive prick into her throat, and facefucked her before. If another repeat was what she needed to get him to get her to cum, she would do it.
“Fucking hell, what a slut!”
“Mmmmm!” She moaned around his big, juicy cock as she took him deeper down her throat, wanting to please him. She wanted to gag and throw up, while his masculine musk was making her completely dizzy. She couldn’t think straight, except that she had finally gotten the memory and all she needed was an orgasm, and she’d not leave this place before she had gotten it.
“Mmm, you are quite a talented cocksucker,” he said, running his hands over her hair.
“Please Harry,” she said, growing more and more desperate. “Please fuck my tight cunt. Please give me my orgasm.”
“He gripped her hair and leaned in close. “Are you doing this for the memory, or because you want to be my slut?”
“The— the memory!” She replied. “I want to know every secret this place hides! I — SLURP! I want to know what those chains were! I — MMPPHH— I want to know what you are hiding! I — GAG— I don’t want to leave!”
“And not because you love my cock?”
“No! No— I—” she claimed, and contrarily, bobbed deeper upon his cock.
“Good,” he said silkily. “Then get out.”
And pulled his cock out of her mouth. Her lips smacked with a pop sound as he did that.
“Here, take your memory,” he snapped, throwing the orb at her. Emmeline caught it absently, but she was too busy staring at Harry in shock and confusion. “You —”
“Get out!” He said. “I’m done with you!”
“No. Please! Please don’t,” She begged. Begged? What was wrong with her? Anger and hate rushed through her veins at his attitude. She had never felt so humiliated before, not even when he was facefucking her like she wasn’t even a living being. She— she fucking hated him!
“No,” she snapped. “No fucking way! I haven’t gotten to this point to just walk away like this! You have no right to treat me like this! You fucking arsehole you —”
Her lips froze as his eyes gained a nasty edge in them. “I told you, Emmeline. You’ll find more than just secrets here. You came for that memory, you got it. You want more, then hand yourself over to me willingly. Submit. Until then…. We’ll just play.”
“Play….”
“Mmmm hmmm….” His fingers crawled over her face, upon her right cheek. Emmeline couldn’t help but moan at his touch.
“I’m going to have so much fun….”
He pulled his fingers, and Emmeline just knew what was about to happen.
“....Breaking you.”
SLAP!
The sheer force snapped her head to the left, and Emmeline fell down —
— Right atop someone’s chest. Between the stinging pain on herburning cheek, the shock of being slapped in the first place, and the sudden disorientation, she couldn’t exactly understand what had transpired. Then she looked to her right, and saw Hestia — HESTIA — looking at her with something like confusion, and then down at her own naked form. She was straddling — STRADDLING — a half-awake Harry Potter, naked from the waist-down, looking at her with an equally confused look on his face, and his massive cock was embedded into her pussy.
Emmeline screamed.
Notes:
If you want to support me, find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Next Update is on 30th November.
Chapter 82: Blind-sided
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 3 - THE INCUBUS AND NECROMANCER
I was confused as fuck.
One moment I was having the weirdest dream, in which I was in my cottage in Alfriston, the one Narcissa had signed off to me as ‘thanks’ for saving Draco’s arse from serious prosecution. I was facefucking a half-naked Narcissa, before throwing her on the bed, and drilling her pussy.
No, there was nothing weird about that bit. I mean, if anything, it was my subconscious telling me I should go fuck the feisty bitch. No, the real weird shit followed when Narcissa’s pretty little face morphed into Emmeline’s, and then the bitch screamed bloody murder into my ears. The next thing I knew, I was in my room, on my bed, and the lights on the ceiling were being obnoxiously bright. I winced, and tried to slowly adjust and open them. My head was pounding and it felt as if I had just woken up from a feverish dream, one that couldn’t possibly be based in reality.
Then I noticed the weight on my chest. There was a body resting on it, a soft, naked, and female one, with jet black hair and comparably voluptuous than anyone that lived in the house with me. Her wild stray hairs tickled my nose, and her scent was intoxicating. I realised that she had held my right hand against her breast, clenching it tightly. My cock went instantly hard, and then I realised that the hot, wet feeling was from it being inside this hot woman’s pussy.
And then the Screen flickered into existence, with the most unexpected notification.
You've just gained a World Anchor
Emmeline Vance - 26%
Current World Anchor Analysis
World Anchor — 646
Required World Anchor — 535
Meta-Luck — 2.6
Gained Affinities from World Anchor — Emmeline Vance
Psychomancy (Legilimency) +9%
Psychomancy (Occlumency) +7%
Magical Sensing +1%
I blinked. Emmeline? How did that happen? As I lay pondering, I glanced to my right and found Hestia standing, wand in hand, her posture stiff and regret painted all over her face… wait, regret? As soon as her eyes met mine, she schooled her features, and was about to speak when Emmeline twitched and pushed herself up from my chest and met my confused eyes. She looked utterly flabbergasted, and actually pulled herself up slightly, letting a little cum drip out of her wet hole, and slid down my cock. Then she met Hestia’s eyes, and then mine, and screamed like a fucking banshee.
“FUCK!” She panicked, utterly hysterical as she pulled out, only to discover that her legs were still asleep, and ended up falling down on my cock, her hips slipping on the lubrication from her own juices and my cum. Her arsecheeks slapped against my thighs loudly, and Emmeline threw her head back and screamed, as my cock drove all the way into her, and slammed into her womb. She screamed in absolute ecstasy, her body shuddering violently as wave after wave of orgasm flooded through her body.
And right then, I knew what was about to happen.
Forge Orgasm Contract?
FUCK YES!
Contract Forged with Emmeline Vance
Binding Spell — Orgasm Denial Active.
As she came down from her throes of exquisite pleasure, Emmeline looked down at me, her eyes still open with horror and humiliation, and tried to get off again, only to fail and slip down my cock. Tears were rolling down her face, as she kept trying to push herself up, only to skewer herself over and over. It was pitiful and pathetic and amusing at the same time, watching the regal lady, the Head Obliviator of the Ministry, try and fail to get off my cock, but at the same time, the constant skewering was also making me harder and harder. I couldn’t help myself. The next time she came landing down her balls, I gripped her waist, and blasted load after load of sticky, potent cum deep into her unprotected pussy, shooting deep into her womb and filling her well-fucked pussy full of my potent seed, which incidentally, set off another mind-ripping orgasm tearing through her body.
World Anchor – Emmeline Vance has gone up by 2%
Gained Affinities from World Anchor — Emmeline Vance
Psychomancy (Legilimency) +1%
Yeah. That settled it.
“Help…!” Emmeline bawled, tears running down her cheeks. “Help! Hel — Help me!”
That spurred Hestia into action, who grabbed her, and Emmeline practically dropped her weight on my lithe secretary. Hestia staggered, no surprise there, since she was on the lean side, especially compared to Emmeline, who easily had at least ten pounds more in her. Still, Hestia braved on and helped the obliviator get off my cock, and dragged her towards her own room. I heard the bathroom door open, and only then exhaled, pushing myself up and asking myself the most important question.
“What the fuck just happened?”
The silence that followed wasn’t helpful at all.
….
….
….
With Hestia taking care of a catatonic Emmeline, and no one available to give me any answers to my ponderings, I decided to look around at the best place I could find.
I was proved right the very next moment.
Name — Harry James Potter
Age — 16
Sex — Male
Race — Incubus Lord
World Anchor — 648
Required World Anchor — 535
Meta-Luck — 2.8
AFFINITY
Transfiguration — 71%
Charms — 79%
Martial Magic — 72%
Dark Arts — 71%
Psychomancy (Occlumency) — 53%
Psychomancy (Legilimency) — 20%
Alchemy — 21%
Spatial Magic — 57%
Magical Analytics — 23%
Magical Sensing — 34%
Runecraft — 33%
Phytomancy — 12%
TITLE: RULE-BREAKER
DOMAIN: LECHEROUS SHRINE (Dormant)
AFFLICTIONS: INDOMITABLE LUST (Dormant)
So far, everything looked exactly as expected. I had gotten a massive boost in Occlumency affinity from Amelia, and by the looks of it, both Occlumency and Legilimency would receive comparable boosts from Emmeline. I checked the rest of my stats.
Displaying Existing Perks…
Tether, Horcrux, Defiant, Child of Prophecy, Librarian of Knowledge, Malevolent Release, Devil’s Charm, Subversive Activist, Orgasm Binding, Culpability.
No differences. I had yet to dive deeper into the workings of the Tether perk, or try out the Malevolent Release. The former I needed some free time which I hadn’t honestly gotten, what with the Horcrux acting out. The latter… I simply didn’t get the opportunity or the optimum place to try it out. Maybe… maybe I could try it within Grimmauld Place? Or perhaps somewhere private with Narcissa to watch over me? Come to think of it, I also needed a second opinion about my newly gained and utterly toxic Necromancer power. Who better than the daughter of the Blacks with an understanding of the Dark Arts like no one’s business?
Speaking of…
Show me the Necromancer Path.
RACE — NECROMANCER (Dormant)
AFFINITY
Hemomancy — 21%
Possession — 17%
Demonology — 8%
Inferi Creation — 23%
Voodoo — 8%
Incarneum — 18%
Death-force Manipulation — 13%
Again, no changes. The Necromancer was still dormant, which meant that I hadn’t possessed Emmeline in any form whatsoever. No surprises there, since I doubted the necromancer would want her to fuck me, of all things. That fell in the Incubus category.
Hmm. Still, I should talk about this to Narcissa. She wouldn’t ask me too many questions. And who knew? Maybe seeing the future Black Lord developing prowess in Necromancy would get her loins stirring and shoot her anchorage past ninety this time?
She was crazy that way.
There was also my most recent addition to my list of Perks — Culpability. It was something that I had gained from Susan after her anchorage shot all the way to 87%, and Motherfucking Christ, it was as twisted as they came.
Perk — CULPABILITY
Because there is always blame to pass around!
EFFECTS
Induces culpability in the victim. Activates through direct eye contact and physical contact only.
It was why I always acted so unpredictably and irrationally whenever Susan was concerned, why I went out of my way to get what Susan wanted from me, despite everything that Amelia was willing to do for me?
Reviewing my interactions with Amelia about Susan led to other memories that rose to the forefront of my mind, memories where I had interacted with Susan and almost always behaved like I had been overdosed with Hufflepuffian tendencies. I remembered apologising to Susan in front of Tonks, Hestia and the others for using her as a pawn in my game against Malfoy. I remembered feeling incredibly bad about sleeping with Susan after powerfucking Amelia that first night, despite my own choice to bed both aunt and niece from the very beginning. I remember trying to convince Amelia over and over to consider Susan’s feelings, and doing my best to reject Amelia’s own conclusions about how I ‘cared’ for her niece. I thought back to the moment when I decided to give Susan a soft and enjoyable deflowering, and how I kept giving her chances to use the safeword to make me stop hurting her.
This power…. It was dangerous. And subtle. Which made it even more dangerous. Obviously I couldn’t use it against Death Eaters or the like, but against good-hearted people, it would be deadly. While Devil’s Charm was terrifyingly effective against the female populace, it required subtlety and wasn’t always effective, especially if the other person was suspicious of my actions.
Now Guilt-tripping on the other hand, could be a very efficient means of manipulating people. And if what I understood was right, Subversive Activist — the perk I had gained from Hestia — enabled me to analyse the words, reactions and body language of my victim, and synthesise those observations to make remarkable, intuitive leaps. Combining both of them would give me a deadly arrow in my arsenal against people that were inherently on the good side, or at the very least, neutral to me.
Good God! Had Susan Bones inadvertently handed me over the power I needed to manipulate the Order of the Phoenix?
I rubbed my hands gleefully. Still, that didn’t explain exactly what led Emmeline from being the suspicious Obliviator to a cock-hungry slut that had fucked herself to exhaustion on my cock, while I was sleeping.
It made no sense, but I was determined to figure out what it was. And the best way to do that was to rip the bandaid off right away.
Making up my mind, I stood up, and cast a cleansing charm on myself, put on my pants, and began to walk towards Hestia’s room. This night just kept on giving, it seemed.
….
….
….
“She’s in the shower,” was all Hestia had to say. A strange, conflicted expression floated on her face, something I couldn’t place. Hestia had been playing guard the entire time, so obviously she was the best person to clarify what had transpired.
“Hestia—”
My secretary let out a deep breath. “I’ve already explained this to Emmeline before, and I’ll say the same thing to you, Harry. One moment she was casting Legilimency on you, and then she just got up, and began to undress herself. I tried to ask her, but she was in a trance. She removed your boxers, and she straddled you and began jumping up and down on your cock. She kept doing that over and over, until you woke up.”
I noticed how she said the entire thing in a single breath. Something about her behaviour tickled the back of my mind, but I didn’t pay it much attention. For all I knew, she was just as surprised at what had happened. Or maybe she was just pissed off at having to deal with another Order member while keeping my secrets. Or maybe she just didn’t like Emmeline all that much.
“Why did you try to stop her?”
“Why?” she shot back, an undercurrent of anger lining her tone. “She was in your mind, Harry. Extracting your dream. Both of us went over several times how it was extremely dangerous and if she wasn’t careful, you’d turn into a vegetable for the rest of your life. How was I to risk that?”
I was almost taken aback by the ferality in her tone. Something about it just didn’t feel right.
“Hestia—”
“No, Harry,” she put her foot down, crossing her hands across her chest. I noticed it didn’t come across as someone denying me, but an act of self-defence, like she wanted to curl up into herself. Whatever had transpired during my sleep must have traumatised her to a degree. Maybe watching another Order member, someone so well-versed in Occlumency, fall into a trance and act like a puppet did not sit right with her?
“You know me! I didn’t know what was going on. What if I stunned her, and something terrible happened? Compared to that, her fucking you is… nothing!”
“Hestia, if she did without her knowledge…. I mean, she’s married—”
“So what?” She yelled. “If it’s between letting her accidentally fuck you, and your life, I’ll choose you every single time.”
“Hestia—” I began, but she marched off, crying, unwilling to give me even a second more of her time, leaving me alone in her room, with the sounds of the shower running in the bathroom. Exhaling, I moved to her bathroom. The steam from the hot water had fogged up the glass capsule walls of the shower, though I could see Emmeline’s silhouette through them. I watched as the shadow of her body ran her fingers through her long, dark hair as the water poured onto her. Even with everything going on, my incubus mind jumped to imagine every single drop running down the curve of her breasts and down to her hips and arse. Under a trance or not, Emmeline had gotten awfully familiar with my cock, and part of me wanted to crawl into the shower and lap up the water cascading off her body. I watched as she grabbed the bottle of soap and lathered it onto her loofah and watched as she rubbed it all over her body.
I could see the soap bubbles accumulating through the hazy glass. Emmeline rubbed under her tits, and around them, holding them in her hands softly. Given how catatonic she had been earlier, this calmness was a drastic shift in behaviour, something I’d consider impossible if not for Occlumency. The way she was caressing her body was almost innocent. There was absolutely nothing sexy about her showering, and yet, it oozed an eroticism on par with fucking a girl into oblivion. I have always said that some women have this intangible and indefinable quality about them, that makes them almost supernaturally alluring. It was true with Ginny Weasley, and it was definitely with Amelia and Susan. Narcissa probably had it too, but it was difficult to say how much was her natural sensuality and how much because of veela blood infusion.
I had found a new person that was like that, and she was currently in the shower before me.
I stood in front of the shower cubicle, before deciding otherwise, and was just about to turn back to the room, when the door parted, and she walked out, with nothing but a towel wrapped around her hair, and another lazily stretched around her body. She met my eyes, and froze with a dear-in-the-headlights expression. I could see a thousand thoughts running through her head in that one moment, and gained a new respect for Occlumency if that was what helped her still maintain her overall composure.
“Uh —” I began. I was usually a lot more suave than this, but this was the first time I had sex someone without seducing them first. Come to think of it, I didn’t even fuck her. She fucked herself using my cock while under a trance. It was a gray zone so close to mind-controlled rape, that I wasn’t feeling very comfortable about it. Then again so was Devil’s Charm. Though the part of me that was an incubus considered that natural hunting instinct. Of prey . Just like humans attracted others with physical appearance I had the charm of an Incubus.
It was surprising how little considering myself non-human bothered me.
“Look I just —” “Potter, what happened was—”
Both of us had spoken out at the same time, and awkwardly paused, waiting for the other to finish.
“You first,” she said.
I wanted to refute that, but I presumed speaking first would give me the chance to clear the air from my end. She was an Order member, and she had already seen some pretty damning things in one night, from me performing Necromancy to accessing Voldemort’s mind, to trash-talking Albus Dumbledore. She already knew of my playboy facade, and it would take little to presume that I was the one that had coerced her into… getting fucked like that.
“Look,” I said. “I don’t know what happened, and Hestia isn’t being too helpful either, and I guess I understand where she’s coming from. But whatever happened, I swear I had nothing to do with it. You put me to sleep, and then when I woke up, I found you… well, on me. You woke up barely ten seconds later and started screaming and….”
“Bouncing on your dick?”
I blinked twice. I had not expected that kind of crass talk from her.
“Err… in not those exact words, but essentially, yes.”
Emmeline gazed at me, and I felt a slight intrusion in my head. I knew what she was doing, and a slight furrowing of my temples told her she wasn’t being subtle. I tried not to fight her despite my apprehension, focussing my thoughts on Hermione, Hestia and Penelope — characters that were safer to think about and didn’t carry potential blackmail material, or in Amelia or Narcissa’s case, endanger my plans. I found myself thinking about how I had encountered Emmeline, and how she had sent me to sleep using her charm, only for my mind to recede into darkness. Finally, she withdrew, and I asserted my calmness, suppressing the sudden burst of anger I felt over her forcing me to think something without my permission.
“You were telling me the truth,” she said at last.
“And you just mind-raped me,” I said coldly, crossing my hands across my chest. I had expected some surface Legilimency, and would have happily ignored it if she was being subtle. Instead, she had been direct and unapologetic in her attempts to invade my mind. So much for trying to be considerate.
“I also fucked myself on your cock like a street whore, so I guess that makes us even.”
“Not quite,” I snapped. “I didn’t ask you to fuck yourself on my cock.”
“Well, you didn’t. Not ‘you’ you anyway. But it was… a prerequisite to getting the memory.”
WHAT? “What did you just say?”
“Tell me, do you remember it now?” She went on. “The memory, do you have it?”
The sudden shift in topic caught me off-guard. Cutting off a reply, I closed my eyes and thought back about the dream. And you won’t believe it, but I could vividly remember it all. Every single moment of it. Voldemort— he was in that baby form, just like in the books. But Alecto Carrow? Where had she come from? And Lucius Malfoy? That came out of nowhere. Lucius Malfoy in the books went out of his way to stay out of Death Eater business until Voldemort summoned him using the Dark Mark in the cemetery post his resurrection. But if Lucius was playing an active role, alongside Pettigrew then…
I swallowed.
“Well, Potter?”
I took a deep breath and nodded. “I do.”
She didn’t leave my eyes. “Good. At least it wasn’t entirely useless.”
I took in her entire posture. Something had changed in her. I didn’t know if that was because of the world anchorage or the fact that she fucked herself to exhaustion moments earlier on my cock, but something between us had changed.
“What do you mean?”
Emmeline hesitated for a moment. “Is… Hestia out there?”
I shook my head. “She left the room, if that’s what you’re asking. She’s… I don’t want to say traumatised, but I think she blames herself for whatever happened. After all, she was the one that called you to help and then this… happened.”
Emmeline let out a dry snort. “Whatever. There are… things we need to discuss.”
“Should I call Hestia—?”
“NO!” She yelled, surprising me. “I mean, I’d appreciate it if this stays between us. You need to know what happened inside your mind. Especially if we are to continue your psychic instruction.”
I narrowed my eyes. “I don’t understand. Hestia said you were in a trance, and then you started… you know, straddling me and everything. What happened inside? And why would you want this kept secret? After all, Hestia is an Order member.”
She snorted. “I think we both know where Hestia’s true loyalties lie, Harry Potter.”
I stiffened and cursed myself for my reaction.
“But don’t worry, I am not going to reprimand her for her actions. It would be utterly hypocritical at this stage.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You will,” she said. “Come with me.”
She walked out of the bathroom, and I followed suit, anxious and confused. She cast a plethora of diagnostic charms half of which I didn’t know existed, and believe me, I’ve done my research. Finally convinced that we were alone, she spelled the door shut, and cast advanced locking charms and privacy wards, the kind that I had seen Narcissa use. It reminded me that despite my Incubi powers, I was in a world where the adults were actually competent at magic, and not dullards that needed to be taught how to disarm despite being in their Newt-years.
“You know it’s considered bad manners to be casting spells inside a wizard’s home without the host’s permission.”
She snorted. “I’m a Lady. I know all about pureblood protocol, Harry Potter. But I think we both need to understand that things have rolled a little too far from conventional host-and-guest roles.”
I cocked my head. “I don’t understand.”
“Clearly,” she drawled, her eyes still not leaving mine. “Tell me, does the name Lecherous Shrine mean anything to you?”
I froze. How in HELL did Emmeline Vance get to know that name? It was… it was something that he had kept to himself. Not even Hestia, Hermione, or even Amelia — his hundred-percent solid anchorages that knew of his nature as an Incubus, knew anything about it. Lecherous Shrine, the Domain that belonged to the Incubus Lord, the domain that was yet inactive, was something only he knew existed. What it was — what it could do, he had no idea. Nothing except a name that appeared on his Screen, and the knowledge that he needed to gain +300 world anchorage to activate it.
I stayed silent for a good quarter of a minute before sighing heavily. “It is my power. Or one I will have, eventually. How do you know about it?”
“Can you access this Shrine?”
I blinked twice. Access it? What was she talking about?
“The Shrine… isn’t a physical location, Lady Vance. To be frank, I don’t know what it even is, yet. I told you, it’s a power I will have, but not one I have acquired yet.”
“But you will,” she went on. “Upon becoming the God of Lust.”
She had phrased it like a statement, but I knew an interrogation when I saw one. “I wouldn’t describe it in that particular term —”
“Then what would you describe it as?”
I considered the situation. Vance obviously knew something about my nature as an Incubus. Which, everything concerned, wasn’t exactly something that would send red flags. I mean, she had seen me perform necromancy in front of her own eyes, and was able to all but shrug it off. At the same time, she was a wildcard that knew more about my powers than myself.
Emmeline Vance was a threat. It was up to me to determine her threat level before it was too late.
“Why must I answer you?”
She stared at me for several seconds, seemingly regarding me as she would a criminal suspect.
“Okay, here’s a different question. Do you have a mindscape?”
That caught me by surprise again. Not enough to lose my composure, for this one was comparably benign, all this considered.
“I don’t,” I told her honestly. “At least. I don’t think I do. Why do you ask?”
Emmeline exhaled loudly, and summoned one of the chairs from the corner of the room with a flick of her wand, and collapsed down on it. After ten more precious seconds that felt like an eternity, she met my eyes again.
“Right. So let me see if I have a clear understanding of the situation and in case there are any holes, I’ll request you to kindly fill in. You’re an incubus, whether through genetic reasons or through a freak act of magic caused by that dementor attack that happened to you before the end of the school year. You have a cursed scar from your encounter with the Dark Lord back in ‘81, which everyone and their mother believes to be a lasting sign of your survival against the unstoppable, unblockable killing curse. Instead it is some kind of metaphysical link that ties your mind, and possibly soul, with the Dark Lord himself, a door that can open one way or both ways, for all we know, and one through which you can gain both insight into His mind as well as draw from his own powers and make them your own.”
I digested all that, and waited for her to continue.
“The magic of an Incubus is antithetical to that of a necromancer. In fact, it is widely believed that necromancers find the mere thought of procreation ‘disgusting’. And yet, somehow, you are capable of doing both and are still intact, with a fully functioning magical body and sane, relatively speaking. You have a mindscape that is divided into two forms — a futuristic muggle city crafted out of memories, with a shadow demon trying to swallow it whole, only that it does so in small and triggered moments. Oh, and on the other hand, there is a vast and impossibly complex shrine dedicated to the God of Lust, which you will inevitably become. And when that happens, the city will be consumed by this shadow demon, and the Lecherous Shrine will become your new mind palace.”
“How do you know all that?”
She smirked. “Would you believe it if I said that you told me?”
I crossed my arms and scowled. “I’m not interested in your mind games, Lady Vance.”
“Good, because I ain’t playing either. I had a pretty chat with your… subconsciousness, for lack of a better term. The Incubus. He told me things. Lots of things. He —he tricked me into entering your Lecherous Shrine, and I found a memory of you —”
Anxiety rose in me.
“ —fucking Narcissa Malfoy.”
“...”
Give me a noose to hang myself with.
Notes:
If you want to support me, find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Next Update is on 6th December.
Chapter 83: A Most Unorthodox Deal
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 3 - THE INCUBUS AND NECROMANCER
She knew!
She knew!
She fucking knew about Narcissa!
I… I'm a fucking fool. I should have known that there would be problems with me letting someone else in. But I hadn't cared. I wanted the dream memory so bad, that I fucking sent an accomplished Legilimens trekking into my memories. And whatever this subconscious form of mine was, he must have been dying for some normal conversation, because there was no other way he'd be chatting up Emmeline Vance, and blurting my secrets like they were on clearance sale before Christmas night. He doubted he'd need to come to blows with Emmeline, and even if he did, they were trapped in the room and she obviously had a far greater experience and arsenal of spells. I wasn't any slouch either, and could draw upon my own knowledge of dark spells I had picked up from the Black Library. Worse came to worst, I could always draw some help from Natural Demon and…
Bugger! I didn't have Natural Demon anymore. It was Malevolent Release, and I had no idea just how dangerous and uncontrollable something like that could be. Especially when facing someone I wanted to contain but not kill.
Options… options… She had anchorage, even if it was just 28%. Not even halfway. Using Devils' Charm wouldn't work either. She was too strong an Occlumens for that. Obliviation? Hah! Good joke. Perhaps I could blackmail her? She was a Lady, and I doubted she'd want the world to know that she fucked a sleeping schoolboy. No wait, I couldn't do that. Anything and everything that happened here tonight was protected under confidentiality oaths. But between the two of us, she had a better chance of twisting the oath to her privilege.
I had really cursed myself in the foot with this one, hadn't I?
But perhaps I was considering things the wrong way. The conventional methods of wizardry wouldn't work on her. Emmeline was my superior in spellcasting, knowledge and experience. My Incubi powers would run into a roadblock forged by her Occlumency defences. And I doubted she would cast the Imperius at me, so my Defiant perk was just as useless in this case. Maybe if I hadn't used up all my Meta-Luck, I could have used it to enact a minor miracle and make her forget it all.
But I wasn't just a Wizard or an Incubus, was I? I was an Outlander, someone capable of travelling through all Paths of Magic, and I very conveniently had a Path that she would be extremely vulnerable to.
The Necromancer.
We had fucked just some time ago. Her fluids were still in the other room. Worse came to worst, I could use those as a symbolic connection to Emmeline's body, and use Voodoo on her from afar. It would be dirty, but it would work. I could also radiate raw Death energy into the room. If I was fast, I could hit her with it, before she could unlock the wards she had placed and get out of the room, and none of the conventional shields would work against necromantic energies. I could always keep her like that until I had discussed things further with Hestia.
Hestia, who was already pissed because of whatever happened with Emmeline earlier.
Damn it. Stupid Child of Prophecy perk. I swear it's more trouble than it's worth.
"Are you done?" she asked, snapping me out of my thoughts faster than a cold bucket of water ever could as I was reminded of the bigger issue facing me.
But it also helped me set my head on straight. I wasn't just… anyone. I was Harry Potter. The Boy-Who-Lived. And more importantly, the partner of Narcissa Malfoy and the love of Amelia Bones. Both were women of considerable power and connections. And most importantly, if Emmeline tried something, I would know that she betrayed me.
The pounding of my heart began to abate with that thought, slowing till it approached something that I could at least pretend was normal.
"Yes."
She let out a small, refined snort through her nose. "I had estimated at least a sixty percent chance of you attacking me. I could almost see the thoughts speeding through your head. It's ironic, I suppose, but you really need to develop formidable Occlumency defences, if you want even a tenth of your plans to succeed."
"Thanks for the advice," I kept my voice level and polite. "Why don't we stop dancing around each other and address the elephant in the room?"
An obnoxious smug smirk lifted the corner of Emmeline's mouth. "Very well. I don't know what you are, Harry Potter, but it's obvious that you aren't a wizard, incubus or a necromancer. The powers you play with are mutually antithetic and yet you use them almost as casually as if they bend their own natures to follow your command. And neither is your knowledge of our world, your extreme reactions to British policies, or your business acumen something that third-year passout Harry Potter can naturally have."
"Are you accusing me of being an imposter?"
The smug look fell right off her face. "As much as I want to, I cannot. Not after what I just went through. Honestly, I had several theories in mind, some of them even featuring something as outlandish as Time travel, especially after you played Albus Dumbledore. But now I know that isn't the case. You are an enigma, Harry Potter, and I'll figure you out."
I tried not to look puzzled. Just what had she experienced in my mindscape?
"I wish to propose a deal," she said finally.
"What deal?"
"It's obvious that you do not know about the developments of your own powers, which means that your subconscious is way ahead of you in doing… whatever it is up to. Almost like a… split personality. And that can be immensely dangerous in the long run, which is why…." She took a deep breath. "I'll continue teaching you the psychic arts, and help you reach your mindscape, understand it, develop it, and control your own subconscious. And you will help me access the Shrine, and whatever I find within, I will share with you."
"And why should I agree to that?"
"Well for one, that is the place where your dreams, and your little excursions into the Dark Lord's mind are hidden."
"Maybe," I retorted. "Doesn't mean I have to grant you access to all my secrets for that. Just stick to teaching me Occlumency, and I'll figure out how to get those dreams myself."
"Potter…" Her voice gained an edge, and I sensed she was walking a fine line between compromise and desperation. "Try to understand. That place is… alien. It's not a mindscape, it's… so much more. That place cares for no rules but its own, like a micro-reality shipping across the greater reality, a distortive magic I have never seen before, one that beckons me to grasp it. I…. I…." Her eyes had almost turned glassy as she spoke, as if she was entering another trance. "I need to find out its secrets, and whatever I need to do to get there, I will."
She stood up and grabbed my hands, her forwardness taking me by surprise. "What do you want me to do? Swear an unbreakable vow? Because I will. Hestia is already your informant in the Order. Two are better than one, right? And I'll obviously teach you everything I know about the psychic arts, and my oaths keep everything secret."
What the fuck was going on? Her actions were… bizarre. Yes, she was entranced with the Shrine, whatever the fuck kind of magic it was, but more than anything, it was like she was obsessed with it.
Or perhaps… I mused, enthralled by it? Like a compulsion charm?
But she's an Occlumens, a part of me pointed out.
So was Amelia. Another part of me whispered. Didn't stop the Throes of Ecstasy from getting through, did it?
It was a valid point. The Throes of Ecstasy was a condition imposed by my Devil's Charm, in which I bombarded the victim hundreds and thousands of moments of orgasmic pleasure, frozen and layered atop one another, each of them a promise, a prediction, and every one of them aimed right at the most base, the most primitive parts of the victim's brain. It wasn't just limited to visual imagery. Each layer of the flash had its own round of sensual memory, every one of them only partial but intense — touch, taste, scent, sound and vision — dozens and dozens of dreams and fantasies, each of them being their own moment of absolute ecstasy, a memory that was just as real as reality itself, all of them compressed into that one instant of dark inspiration.
And the best part? It was transmitted directly through physical contact, flesh against flesh, injected directly into her body, into her very nervous system, completely bypassing whatever defences Occlumency could conjure.
But even that didn't explain why the real Emmeline began to bounce on my dick and end up with my cum in her pussy. The Throes of Ecstasy would only work with physical contact, and I knew absolutely nothing that could command Emmeline's mind, and treat her body like a puppet and make it act my whims out.
Unless… that was what Lecherous Shrine was capable of?
But it's inactive, whispered a part of me.
Didn't stop Emmeline from accessing it.
"What are you thinking for so long?" Emmeline demanded. "What have you got to lose, Potter?"
"Potentially everything," I told her blankly. "Being my teacher in the psychic arts means looking into my memories, yes. But you don't just want that. You want to invade my subconscious, and know my deepest thoughts. My darkest secrets. I cannot trust all of that on something so easily twistable as a vow."
"You think you're the one who's risking…." Emmeline began heatedly, but held her temper midway, taking deep breaths. "You have no idea what it took me to get that memory, Potter."
"Oh?" I crossed my arms across my chest. "Like what?"
"Like getting fucked like a whore by your subconscious."
"..."
She sagged. "I swear you cannot make this shit up!"
What followed was…
I wasn't sure what to call what followed. It was like someone meshed up a Stephen King novel with extreme BDSM erotica, and threw in a pinch of absurdity for good measure. A mindscape that most definitely looked like Las Vegas as I knew it, and a large shadow demon the size of Godzilla swallowing it from above? A more laid back version of 'Me' that was both far more cryptic and at the same time, far more straightforward than I could ever imagine myself being, and who was very much aware of what I knew and did not know. A 'Me' that had used Reverse-psychology on Emmeline, and tricked her into entering the Shrine, where she had somehow merged with Narcissa's memories of our recent fuck-session in Alfriston, which was, incidentally, what I was dreaming about prior to waking up. And somehow, Emmeline had to live through Narcissa's experiences only to change midway into herself, and then willingly let that 'Me' fuck her, just so that she could get the dream memory. And then he had left her on an orgasmic high, and slapped her back to the waking world, without letting her cum.
Now I won't pretend I'm not a lecher, but that was an arseholish move, even for subconscious Me.
Still, virtual nookie or not, I was kind of pissed that my subconscious self had enjoyed Emmeline's booty before I could. Then I realised that it was 'His' actions that probably led to Emmeline's real body bouncing on my cock until her legs were all jelly.
You know what? I forgive myself.
"Let me get this right. He slapped you awake, and now you want to follow back into my subconscious again, prying for my secrets?"
Emmeline blushed all the way down to her neck. "Well, not 'now' now. But soon."
"Knowing that I — He will put you through something similar all over again?"
"Similar?" She retorted scathingly. "That You is a monster. If anything, he will humiliate me in new ways, just to get a rouse out of me. He… He will always ask me for my permission, not because he values my consent, but because I won't have any moral ground to complain about later. He will let me walk away with what I want, not because he doesn't want to hurt me any more, but because he wants me to willingly crawl back into that hellhole, wanting to explore more secrets. He will not hide things from me, not because he trusts me, but because he knows exactly how to string me along."
"Impressive," I couldn't help but say. "You learnt all that from one single meeting?"
"That one meeting is one more than I'd have liked in my entire life," she murmured.
"Then why go back at all?"
"Because I… Because I have to."
"Why?"
"Wh— why?" she sputtered. "What do you mean why? You're a melting pot of mysteries, and are the Boy-Who-Lived. Your powers are unprecedented, and if there's something wrong or dangerous about it, I'm the best person to inspect that, ain't I? I'll let you know that I'm a Level-7 Legilimens and a Level-6 Occlumens."
And yet for someone of your calibre, you're being awfully… strange. Almost compulsive.
I wondered. If I were to hypothetically believe that the subconscious Me, who I had begun to believe was a manifestation of Lecherous Shrine — or perhaps it was the other way around? No matter, even if the Shrine had corrupted Emmeline with a variant of the Throes of Ecstasy, would she even know that she was compelled? For all I knew, she was already under my thrall and I didn't even know it. Perhaps the Shrine had instilled certain triggers in the back of her mind, and Emmeline couldn't tell if she was free from its influence, or if she was already trapped under its power and becoming a puppet of its will? What if it was commanding her to not notice its influence? And even if she did register, her mind would be holding two contradictory notions. The first was simple: she was a Level-6 Occlumens, and nothing could penetrate through her shields. The second too, was simple: she was being compelled by the myriad powers of Lecherous Shrine.
Two contradictory ideas could not reside together. One had to surrender. Either her rigid belief in the superiority of her mental defences, or her belief that she had been compelled and needed help.
Her pride had won out, resulting in… well, this.
"You realise you just told me that the next time you're in there, you might have to endure a lot more humiliation?"
"I'm well aware," she murmured. "Which is why I also need you to help me get over it."
I tried not to gawk. I wasn't misreading the situation, was I? This was just like being in the bath with Amelia all over again.
Emmeline blushed.
…. Bloody Hell!
"Emmeline, I'm sorry but I'm going to take the caveman approach here. Are you telling me that you want to have sex? With me? After all that my subconscious did to you?"
The blush deepened, before she composed herself. Her hands were on her hips, with that towel showcasing her long smooth legs and a tease of her incredible cleavage, she stared at me, lips tightened, eyes narrowed, glaring daggers at me as if it were all my fault.
Which in a sense… wasn't far from the truth.
Subconscious Me was still Me, I suppose. Still, I needed to teach the lecherous bastard to keep me in the know about his plans. Or else, Real Me would become Dead Me.
"Look," she said emphatically. "There is no need to make this complicated. I'm a sixth-level Occlumens, and there's very little that can penetrate through my mind's shields. I've resisted veela allure, undergone Imperius training, and fought through constant legilimency attacks to hone my skills. No matter what I've faced in the past, I've always been in control. But inside that Shrine, your subconscious self made me lose control. The pleasure I felt…" she blushed, "it overcame my defences and took over. And that… that scares me."
"Ah," I deadpanned. "And your grand plan is to feel that pleasure and lose control again. Makes sense."
"Yes," she stressed. "Familiarity is the cornerstone of mastery in every discipline. I'm assuming even your Incubus power is no different."
She was wrong. Horribly so. She wasn't facing an intrusive force like veela allure, or the Imperius. The more she had sex with me, the greater her anchorage would rise. The more she was exposed to the Devil's Charm, the greater it would warp her mind. It was a vicious cycle and the only way out was to abstain from sex or even being in my presence. Hell, you need to avoid thinking about me, if that was an option. Emmeline needed to obliviate herself and stop all contact with me and mine, and maybe after a couple of months, when her anchorage had fallen down to zero, she'd be safe from its malicious effect.
"Emmeline… the pleasure that my power can make you feel is addictive. I'm not sure if you'll be able to prevent yourself from falling deeper."
"Why don't you let me worry about that?" She all but snapped. "All I'm saying is that I'm willing to give you one shot. Surely this isn't anything new for you, bedding women? After all, you are sleeping with Narcissa Malfoy."
I cocked my head to one side. "Yeah, but you're married."
She scowled. "And that's supposed to stop you? Why, because of your moral code?"
"No, because it's a pain in the arse."
"Didn't stop you from bedding Narcissa."
"Yes, which evidently proves my point."
She blinked. "Does Lucius Malfoy know about —"
"Of course not."
And hopefully will not before I end him for good.
"But that's different. You're a married woman, and unlike Narcissa, are not fed up with your marriage. You don't look like someone that'd happily embrace infidelity."
Emmeline gave me a death-glare. "I fucking hate you, Harry Potter." She gritted her teeth and clenched her fists. "You — the Other you told me that he — that you would remind me of my marriage, when I ask you to fuck me. And you're doing exactly that!"
I couldn't help myself and snorted.
Her glare doubled, which only made me laugh harder.
Understandably, she was unamused. Then, her expression fell and was replaced with something like rage. "Besides, it's not like my marriage means anything. All this time I thought Gideon was just a cold-hearted businessman, but now I know better." She looked me in the eye. "He's fucking Hannah, isn't he?"
My eyes widened. "How do you— Let me guess. The Other me told you."
She smirked. "I told you. He was quite chatty."
"Yeah," I grumbled. "I really need to sit him down and explain the concept of privacy."
"So it's true," she said in a low voice. "My husband is a child-predator."
"Yes."
"And Cynthia thinks that he had something to do with the attack on Abbott Mansion."
"...Yes."
"Then why didn't she tell me?" Emmeline snapped. "I'm a Ministry personnel, and a member of Dumbledore's Order. My father-in-law and brother-in-law both served the DMLE, and were part of the Order. Surely she could have told Dumbledore about what happened?"
"Albus Dumbledore has a strange fascination with offering second chances to people that do others wrong, believing that they deserve to be saved from the Dark side. Ironically, he also has a strange way of ignoring the plights of those that fight alongside him."
"You're talking about Sirius Black, I presume."
I laughed. "Sirius is just the most obvious one. Look at Hestia — thrown out of her job because of Lucius Malfoy. Look at me, Boy-Who-Lived, yet thrown to magic-hating abusive muggles during my formative years. Look at Hermione — turned werewolf because Lupin, a man he hired, was careless enough to not take his potion on a full moon night. Look at Tracey Davis and Penelope Clearwater, and all those muggleborns and halfbloods that are suffering from the tyranny and oppression of the pureblood regime. The Boy-Who-Lived won wizarding Britain a losing war, and what did the great Albus Dumbledore do? He let the losing party regain control."
I was shouting at the end of it.
Emmeline just… watched.
"So yes, I am absolutely unsurprised that Cynthia Abbott said nothing. Maybe she already knew the result. That nothing would change."
"And yet she told you."
"Yes, because I promised her vengeance," I shot back. "I cannot return Hannah's innocence, or return the lives of her husband and father-in-law. I cannot return her those years of slaving at her eatery, or her tears at watching that deviant force himself on her daughter. But what I can do is ensure that she and Hannah will get her fortune, and the name that she deserves."
Neither of us spoke for the next several seconds.
Finally, Emmeline let out a brief chuckle.
And then another.
And then one more.
"Are you laughing at me?" I asked, annoyed.
"No, no," she said, chuckling some more. "I guess I'm finally seeing what Hestia saw in you. No wonder she switched teams."
"Why, Emmeline," I teased. "Are you offering?"
She snorted loudly. "Get yourself a side first, and then we'll talk."
"You're the one saying that, really, you?" I asked, arching an eyebrow. "You, who's seen me in secret cohorts with Narcissa Malfoy; me, who has a direct contact with Amelia Bones; me, the Boy-Who-Lived, Lord Potter and soon-to-be Lord Black if I have my way; me, who you saw perform Necromancy with my own two hands, and possessing a power that can corrupt even the strongest of minds; and me, who you saw manipulate Albus Dumbledore himself. You're telling me that I don't have a side?"
"Yes. I am."
That brought me to a pause.
"Wizarding politics does not operate the way you think, Harry Potter. I understand you have a decisive, if somewhat extremist approach to things, favouring the oppressed. I understand that you have access to a very large wealth, and probably will get your hands on much more. And I know that you've deep pockets and connections on both sides. But don't forget, you are still a student. You haven't even passed your OWLs. The Boy-Who-Lived may turn heads, but unless you have sat on the Wizengamot, your words mean nothing. Yes, House Potter and House Black are nobility, but without coalitions, without alliances, without deals and compromises with other factions, you are nothing but a voice and fourteen votes on the Wizengamot. You are nothing."
For once, I had nothing to say. I mean, I could have argued that Amelia and House Bones were on my side, but could I really expect Amelia to reject everything she believed in, and blindly follow my commands? No, it was more likely that she'd try to satiate the incubus with me with more and more sex, and perhaps help me build the alliances I need, while attempting to indoctrinate me with her own beliefs. Same with Narcissa.
So I just smiled at her. "Well, situations change."
She smirked back. "I'm sure they do. And when they do change, we can revisit this topic. For now, are you in, or not?"
And just like that, she had swerved the conversation back to sex. I swear I'll never understand the feminine ability to steer through multiple conversations and reach exactly where they want it.
"You're serious, aren't you?"
"Dead."
"You actually want me to…."
"Take me in your bed, and show me every single thing that you do to the women you're shagging. Give me the Narcissa Malfoy treatment. I want you to put me through everything that your subconscious can imagine. Use every trick you know, make me experience pleasure like I've never experienced before."
"And you'll try to fight it."
"Fight it. Ignore it. Keep myself from giving in. I'm sure it'll be difficult. Maybe I'll even fail several times in the beginning. But mark my words, Harry Potter, I will conquer this power. I won't rest until I do."
"And if you don't? I don't want any problems later."
Emmeline glared daggers at me. "You… you know what?" She flicked her wand, and one of the windows flew open. Another flick, and her bag came flying in. She summoned a wad of Ministry-approved contract parchments, and writing began to appear on one of them.
"I, Emmeline Vance, Lady of the Ancient House of Vance, willingly submit myself to the mercies of Harry James Potter. I voluntarily consent to any physical, emotional or carnal relationship, including sexual intercourse between myself and Harry James Potter. I swear on my magic to swear this knowledge to secrecy."
She lifted her thumb, and performed a tiny incision on it, as two drops of crimson fell on the contract, instantly activating it. She threw the contract at my face, and I deftly caught it.
'There! That contract absolves you of whatever happens to me. Will that suffice?"
I exhaled, inwardly wondering if this was just my good luck, or if she was just that prideful. Either way, I wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth.
"I suppose…" I began hesitantly.
"This is how we're going to do this. We've already discussed how you're going to return to your house from Hogwarts on weekends. I'll be here to train you in the psychic arts, and you'll help me learn to resist your allure, or whatever it is you have. And you'll swear to keep this an absolute secret."
I blinked.
"Potter," she grimaced. "I'm the Head Obliviator and I'm helping you with so much. Surely asking for a little discretion isn't too much?"
"Uh, no, that's fine. But you realise Hestia's already seen you jumping on my cock, and she's going to be present during our sessions?"
"Ugh, fine!" said Emmeline. "You can tell her, but no one else. Our deal also falls under those same secrecy vows we took earlier."
"Fine by me."
"...Okay. I can come visit in the evenings, every Saturday, and I can spend the night here at your place. It will give you a lengthy period to help… train me?"
I smirked at her pathetic attempts to save face and grasp on to whatever shambles of control she could get her hands on. Honestly, it was hard controlling my excitement at bagging such a useful world anchor. With Emmeline's anchorage and support, my psychic affinities and powers would shoot past the fucking roof. And once she was past the halfway mark, I could begin extracting details about her husband. And honestly! Gideon Abbott? What were the chances? At first I was confused why my subconscious had fed her the information but knowing everything, it was a perfect hit. Using her own husband's indiscretions and criminality to weaken her own emotional walls was a masterful way of getting into her knickers.
Now I am an arsehole, and quite naturally, the urge to needle her, even at this moment of triumph was just so overwhelming. I exhaled, crossed my arms, and opened my eyes.
"Okay. See you on the weekend then."
"...what?" she called out, confused, taking a step forward in desperation. "Are we not going to do it now?"
I gave her a look of mock surprise. "I'm just obeying the terms of our deal. We just had sex, even though you were in a trance. And you got nicely reamed and humiliated by the other me, so I guess we're already set for now. So, I'll see you for my first Occlumency class on the upcoming Saturday, right? I'll keep my schedule free for the entire Saturday night for your training after that."
"But… don't you want to… you know, formalise our deal from today?" Her skin was practically glowing, she was so in need.
"Eh, not really. Lots to do. Catch up on sleep. Visit Amelia and give her the memory. Plan for Professor Dumbledore's Christmas present…"
She stared at me, unamused. Her eyes narrowed as she stepped closer to me, arms crossed. She wasn't backing down.
"Do not pretend, Harry Potter. If it wasn't obvious, let me put it in crystal clear terms. I want you to ravish me. Right now."
I gave her a level look. "You realise it's about to be morning in a few hours, right? Go home, Emmeline. You've already gone through a harrowing experience. Get some rest. Sleep on it."
"Oh," she said coolly, her eyes never leaving mine. "You want me to beg. Is that it?" As she asked this, she undid the towel off her head, and let her half-wet hairs fall all over her face.
It was an alluring sight.
"Listen," she began impatiently, "this doesn't have to be too complicated. Let's keep this simple. You're not my husband, or my boyfriend or even my lover. I don't need any kind of foreplay or any other bullshit. Just give me your dick and whatever nastiness you can think of."
Personally, I felt the lady doth protest too much. But honestly, I am an incubus and even I think that's seriously crazy. But hey, life was seriously throwing 'lemons' at me. So why the hell wouldn't I make lemonade?
"I guess I could entertain your request," I began. "But there's a problem. Call me old-fashioned, but I like to be wined and dined before I get fucked." I leaned back against the wall, languidly grinning at her, unbothered by her annoyance. "Otherwise it feels like all I'm good for is my body. I mean I am an incubus and sex is my art. But to just get rutting is something dogs do, and as much as the idea of having you as my bitch is flattering… it feels more like paperwork, instead of a moment of blissful rapture."
Emmeline stared daggers at me, tired of my bullshit. "Potter, I swear to Merlin I'm inches away from hurling curses at you. Play your twisted games with someone else. Now, will you get started or not?"
Nope. You're too uppity for your own good, woman. Let's see…
Activating Culpability
Victim is 49% ridden with guilt
"Not a twisted game," I told her. "In case you forgot, your friend and fellow Order member Hestia is absolutely traumatised with what happened to you. Knowing her, she probably blames herself for all this. Don't you think that attending her first, and getting this memory to Amelia holds greater priority?"
Emmeline flinched.
"And if you can't even keep yourself from succumbing to your desires despite knowing all this, what chance do you have of surviving my incubus powers? Maybe you've already lost, only your pride isn't allowing you to accept it."
"You take that back!"
"No," I told her. "I don't think I will. Talk is cheap. You claim to be a sixth-level Occlumens, then act like it. Wait till next Saturday, and we'll see."
The look on her face was just too beautiful to ignore.
Notes:
If you want to support me, find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Next Update is on 11th December.
Chapter 84: The Naked Truth
Notes:
Sorry for the delay, folks! Suffered from some serious burnout issues. Took a long trip, and got my head back into the game. Made some awesome changes to my writing style which the read-ahead chapters will now showcase. Either way, back to posting like before.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 3 - THE INCUBUS AND NECROMANCER
Hestia slowly opened her eyes and found herself staring up at the bathroom ceiling. She had fallen asleep soaking in the tub. Not exactly uncommon for her after some of the long days when Harry sent her on something especially tiring, or he had power fucked into exhaustion, but she was amazed she had been able to fall asleep at all.
Maybe it was a case of her mind mercifully deciding to shut itself down before she went into yet another crying jag, or began mentally berating herself for deciding to go through with something that had become the biggest mistake of her life.
Emmeline Vance wasn't just a fellow member of the Order. She was also Hestia's mentor when she had been inducted into the Order. The aristocratic woman had been the one that had taken in an extremely dissatisfied and bitter young woman, and moulded her into a spy for the Order of the Phoenix. She had taught her how to sink her emotions beneath a slab of Occlumency, trained her in the art of illusion, disguise and warding, and helped her create perfect, charming facades to impress and fool others, and extract precious information for the Order.
Turned Hestia, the drunk and angry slob shacking up with a werewolf escort in Knockturn Alley into a talented spy.
And now the same spy had turned against the same Order, and cast the Imperius curse upon her mentor. She had always considered Lucius Malfoy and his cohorts as the worst kind of scum that walked the earth. Could she really hate them now, when she had dropped to their level? She had used an unforgivable, for which she deserved Azkaban.
"Help!" cried Emmeline. She pushed herself up, but slipped and fell, skewering herself upon Harry's cock. Again she tried, only to fall. Tears ran down her cheeks. "Help! Help me, please!"
She had seen Harry's surprised eyes. He had probably thought that Emmeline's legs were jelly after skewering herself over and over, which was why she was slipping every single time. But Hestia knew better.
Fuck him as hard as you can, and get him to cum. That was what she had commanded her. Believe from the depths of your heart that you want Harry's cum, and get it. No matter what it takes!
Yes, Emmeline was exhausted. Yes, her legs had probably fallen asleep. Yes, she was slipping, and yes, waking up and finding herself like that was traumatic. But more than that, she couldn't have stopped herself from bouncing on Harry's cock, because that was what she had imperiused her to do. Seeing her bawl her eyes out, completely confused and utterly, utterly traumatised at what she was doing — the sheer humiliation hitting her in the face as she met Harry's eyes while jumping on his cock….
She had never seen Emmeline break down like that.
Never.
Emmeline, who had been her mentor. Emmeline, who had Floo'd in at her request, despite it being midnight. Emmeline who had been understanding enough to listen to her reasons for choosing to support Harry over the Order, Emmeline who had been willing to keep her and Harry's secrets from Dumbledore…
She had imperiused that Emmeline.
What did that make her?
Dragging her into her bathroom had been hard. Emmeline's heart was raging with such shock and shame from the humiliating episode that she was burning. Hestia had seen her smash her fists into the water and against the walls, yell and cry her heart out like an insane maniac. She was going through all that pain simply for the sin of being requested by Hestia to come help Harry Potter. For Merlin's sake, Harry had willingly asked her to help him extract the memory, and Emmeline had even agreed to teach him the psychic arts. But one single moment of extreme paranoia on Hestia's part had absolutely destroyed everything.
Seeing Emmeline like that, knowing that she was the reason behind her pain, was unbearable. Her own heart was overflowing with so much grief, that for a moment, Hestia was almost willing to kill herself, just so that it would stop hurting. And then, as if that weren't enough, she had seen the woman do something she had taught her to never do.
Emmeline had used her Occlumency and shut down those feelings. She had burned them out of existence. One moment she was a despondent mess, the next moment, she was perfectly calm, in control and had gently excused herself to bath and the nastiness off her body. Hestia had mutely returned to her bed, her fingers clenching so hard that it was a surprise they hadn't drawn blood already, and then Harry had walked in.
The acute discomfort in his eyes had been absolutely unbearable to witness.
Harry was an incubus. A creature that was supposed to get into every woman's knickers. Someone that could charm even the most high strung, uppity harridan into becoming a screaming slut. Granted, she hadn't quite seen him fucking any older ladies or married women yet, but that was only because he was barely three months into exploring his Incubus side, and half that time was spent in making moves on the business and political world and establishing himself as a proper power broker in the Wizarding World.
But even he felt worse for what happened to Emmeline. It made Hestia question just what kind of foul fiend she truly was, to do something to her mentor.
Why so serious? Asked a part of her mind. It's not like you haven't done it before.
No! Hestia told herself. What happened with Tonks was… different.
Different? You compelled her—
"NO!" Hestia yelled. "That was different! STOP! PLEASE STOP!"
"Hestia?"
She blinked, and turned to her right, and found Harry sitting next to her. He was down on the wet floor, still in his shorts, his back resting against the wall as he watched her intently. Seeing him made her heart pound, and her stomach churn.
"Harr—"
She twisted her head to the other side of the tub and threw up.
"Hestia!" He exclaimed, and rushed to her. Quickly summoning water with his wand, he helped her wash it off. Getting into the tub, he pulled her to his chest, and began to draw circles across her back.
That broke the dam. Hestia burst into tears, and he held her while she sobbed into his chest. The fact that he was the shocked teenager, while she, the criminal, adult woman was acting like a teenage drama queen served to make things worse.
But Harry didn't say anything. He just held her, while stroking her hair. It was a sweet gesture, but one that had her thinking of their relationship. After what she had done to Emmeline, it felt like she didn't have a heart anymore, just an organ that lay dormant in her chest, a decoration, incapable of pumping life that could make her feel. Feeling Harry's care, his affection irritated her, and absolutely baffled her in ways that she couldn't even comprehend.
Yes, he was her employer and her lover in the bedroom. Yes, she had originally started off as his handler, only to devolve into his spy for the Order, and yes, they were almost like friends and he trusted her in nearly almost everyone of his byzantine plans. More than any other person anyway.
But that was it.
They were a working team of people that trusted each other, and just happened to find conjugal compatibility with each other. There were no feelings involved. Sex between them wasn't something born out of love, but out of a physical need, an inch that needed scratching, a desire to be sated, a distraction they willingly surrendered to, in hopes to forget the harsh realities of life.
Then why was she feeling that strange tightness in her chest as he pressed her against him in that tub? Just what was it he was doing to her?
And what would he think when she revealed everything to him? Would he still trust her? Or would he call her a criminal and condemn her? She tried to imagine how Tonks would feel, arresting her for casting an unforgivable. She imagined the looks the rest of the Order would give her while she would be dragged away in chains to that island fortress haunted by those fiendish demons.
All because of that one mistake.
Then don't say it.
And hide it from him? From Emmeline? Watch her suffer because of this? She deserves to know.
And then what? Does she forgive you after that? No. She'll hate you. Just like Nymphadora will hate you. Harry will hate you.
Better than me hating myself.
The dark whispers in her mind laughed. Really? In that purgatory surrounded by dementors where you'd be tormented by your worst memories? You think you'll find peace there?
Hestia stayed silent.
Keep it secret. Hide it. It's just another skeleton in the closet. Nothing new.
It won't be right.
No, said the dark voice. But it will be safe. And everything you have will remain yours. Like before.
Hestia gasped, and pulled her face from his now tear-and-worse-soaked shirt, and met his confused look, clearly having no idea what he wanted or should do to help her. Realising she had dropped the ball, Hestia tried to say something, but all that came down was a bunch of stammering nonsense. Then he slowly kissed her forehead, shocking her faster than a stunning spell, and then got out of the tub. Before Hestia could even articulate her thoughts, he bodily pulled her out of the tub, and bridal-carried her in his arms, all the way towards her room.
Hestia didn't even have the strength in her to protest. She couldn't even trust her voice. She hadn't been able to trust her voice ever since she had imperiused Emmeline.
"Harry—" she said, after a lot of mental attempts. "What— what are you doing?"
"Huh?" he asked, giving her a really, really dumb look. "I thought that was obvious. I'm taking you to your room."
"I — I can see that. I mean what were you doing in the bath?"
He gave her a Don't-be-Stupid look. "What's gone into you, Hestia? It's obvious you were saddened by what happened with Emmeline. You just ran away like that from your room earlier. I know I should have come after you instantly, but I had to talk to Emmeline. She err… raised some privacy wards and locked the room, and didn't allow me exit before we were through."
"O— Oh, what did she say?" She asked, using her Occlumency to compose herself. "And where is she?"
"She, uh — left. Actually, I told her to leave."
"You—"
"Don't worry," he promised. "It's not what you think. Even I'm not that insensitive."
Of course not. Even as an incubus, you're more human than I am.
"Emmeline told me about what really happened," he said. "Inside my mind, that is. It's a weird, twisted thing but no less real. Trust me."
Hestia blinked. She had never really gotten the chance to ask Emmeline about that. Not that she was in any condition to. Come to think of it, she had all but forgotten the real reason why it all started in the first place. "Harry, the dream—"
"She got it all right," he said with a grin, which instantly faded. "That dream is the reason for all that fuckery that followed."
She narrowed her eyes. The dream? Whatever happened was because of the curse. What was she missing? "Tell me. Tell me everything."
"Hestia, you need to rest now. We can—"
"Harry!" She all but snapped. "Please. I need to know."
Harry looked like he was weighing his options about whether to reveal it to her or not. It reminded her that no matter how close they were, or how much he trusted her with his plans about Britain, he had always maintained a guard about the nature of his own powers. Part of that was probably because he himself was still exploring his Incubus powers, and that the Black Family Magic — which she was sure he was studying at the Black townhouse, was proprietary to the family, and he couldn't share it with her for obvious reasons. But despite all that, a part of her believed that he did that, because she was after all, no one to him. Just an employee, and a trusted confidante, not his family or his wife.
…Wife?
Woah. Where had that thought come from? All the recent, if entirely bent, domesticity? Her heart did a weird rabbit-like manoeuvre, beating way too fast for a few seconds. Merlin's beard, had she just had a panic attack? At the very notion of being considered his wife? Though… Now that she considered it, he wasn't sure if she had ever used that word in connection with herself and somebody else at the same time. Not explicitly, anyway.
Careful, Hestia. Careful.
"I haven't shared this with anyone, and probably won't have any time soon, but recently, I had a breakthrough in my Incubus powers. And part of that breakthrough was gaining access to a dormant power known as Lecherous Shrine, the personal domain of the Incubus Lord."
"Incubus… Lord?"
"It's the next stage of evolution for incubi. All this time, I was just a fledgling. I suppose I must have done something right and hit the correct buttons, because I got access to this new power. Actually that's not entirely true because I cannot access that power. At least not voluntarily, not until I have fulfilled… a few conditions."
"Like participating in a mass orgy?" Hestia asked, unable to help herself.
He grinned. "Actually, participating in an orgy would probably go a long way in getting the conditions fulfilled. "
"Noted," she said dryly. "Shall I put it on the list before or after the Quidditch World Cup?"
"Uh… after, please," He played along. "I don't think I have time for it before the Cup. Not with everything else going on."
"Pity," she drawled. "But it can't be helped, I suppose."
Both of them chortled at that.
It felt slightly better.
"Thanks," she said at last. "I needed that."
He gave her a winning grin. It made her heart skip a beat.
She shook her head and filed that observation away to be examined later, when she didn't have an emotional breakdown she was trying to cope with.
The smile on his face slowly faded, replaced with something grim. "When Emmeline intruded into my subconscious, she found three impossible things. The first was a…" he paused, his hesitation obvious. Hestia could almost see the wheels running in his mind. Obviously if Emmeline knew about it, there was a chance that she would tell her. But at the same time, he probably had made some private deal with Emmeline in her room before she left.
Either way, she'd know of that soon enough.
"A what?"
His expression turned slightly sour. "A futuristic muggle city. My mindscape."
Hestia widened her eyes. A futuristic muggle city? If that wasn't evidence that her time-travel theory had merit, nothing was. Was that it? Did Emmeline by chance, stumble into his — his memories of the future? Had she seen something precarious? Was that why she had locked the rooms to talk to him privately?
But she didn't ask him anything about those. And what would she ask anyway? Hey Harry, did you perchance forget to tell me that you're actually from the future? Just asking because it'd help me place bets on the upcoming Quidditch World Cup.
Shut up, me!
"How do you have a mindscape, Harry? You need to be at least a Level-3 Occlumens to even begin constructing one."
He blinked. "I — didn't know that. I suppose that's one of the perks of being the Boy-Who-Lived, I guess. I have a mindscape and I don't even know it."
Liar. Hestia thought. Though, a convincing one. His poker face is perfect. Which is strange, since he's usually quite bad at lying. What's going on?
"She also told me it was being eaten by a shadow demon. The city was supposedly constructed out of my memories, and the demon was… eating them. That was where she found the second impossible thing." He paused again. "Me. Or rather, my subconscious, appearing in a psychic construct that looked exactly like myself."
She blinked. "You're just having me on now."
He grunted. "I'll tell you what Emmeline told me. Quote. I swear you just can't make this shit up. End Quote."
She giggled, feeling a little tipsy. Maybe trying to drown herself in alcohol before going to the tub wasn't that great an idea. At least her Occlumency was helping her stay in control.
"Okay. Go on."
The smile faded from his features. "She said that the Other Me was quite chatty. That he didn't mind that you," he gave her a pointed look, "told Emmeline that I was an incubus. That he has no reason to hide his identity, something I find more than mildly annoying, but I guess he's called the subconscious for a reason."
Hestia at least had the decency to look sheepish. "It was… necessary. Emmeline figured out that instead of working you, I was working the Order. I had to give her something, and explain to her why I was doing what I was doing."
"What? That you love my cock more than Dumbledore's lemon drops?"
"Eww!" she cried at the mental image that came with it. "That was just crass, Harry. And no, Emmeline told me that she'd hex me if that was the reason. But 'nuff about that. Tell me about the Other You. What happened?"
"The third impossible thing happened. Emmeline told me that my subconscious is changing. As that shadow demon is consuming the city, another construction is reaching completion. A vast temple, filled with elaborate carvings and effigies dedicated to the art of sex. A bastion of the God of Lust."
He paused and took a deep breath.
"Lecherous Shrine."
Hestia opened her mouth, and closed it. She repeated the same actions several times over, but with no change in results.
"Yeah," he grunted. "That was my reaction too, more or less."
"I'm guessing that's more than these three impossible things?"
"You haven't even heard half of it."
"Bugger. I should have gotten butterbeer and chips."
Harry curled an eyebrow, and waved his wand, summoning a pack of chips and a bottle of butterbeer from the kitchens. Hestia snorted at his reaction, but gladly accepted his hospitality with a nod.
"The Other Me… forbade Emmeline from entering the Shrine. Told her it's dangerous.I guess she thought he was just trying to use reverse-psychology on her, and went in anyway. Inside… she found… memories."
Hestia unconsciously moved a little closer. "Memories of what?"
He pursed his lips, annoyed. "Me fucking Narcissa Malfoy."
"You fucking — what did you say?" Hestia stood up, and met his gaze. "Harry, you — you— The DMLE office wasn't the first time you met Narcissa Malfoy. Was it?"
"No," he said resignedly. "It was the second. The first was in Twilfitt & Tattings. Incidentally, that was where I met Tracey too. Narcissa… she kind of ran into us fucking inside a loo. She scared Tracey to death, and downright told me that because I was a Black by blood, only other Blacks deserved to have my… cum."
"..."
"You can't make this shit up."
"..."
. "'m not kidding. This actually happened. One thing led to the other, and I was fucking her. Well, let's just say stuff happened, and I had reason to believe that she found me… interesting."
"That's an understatement if I've ever heard one," she sniffed. "Lemme guess. That's how you knew you'd survive in that private meeting with her at the DMLE? Because she found you interesting? What happened? She blackmailed you to keep Draco Malfoy safe from prison in exchange for letting you keep fucking her saggy tits?"
"Jealousy is so not your colour, Hestia," he chided her. "And just so you know, her tits are absolutely perky, and she's got a body that can put almost anyone to shame."
"Way to lift a woman's spirits, Harry," she mumbled, looking away with a scowl. She knew very well that her tits were quite average-sized.
He shrugged. "Just so you know, she did blackmail me. With a counter proposal, that I'm not willing to talk about just yet. All I can tell you is that two things happened. The first will help me deal with my Malfoy problem for good, and the second…. Well, the second was that she let me fuck her arse."
"She let you fuck her arse," Hestia repeated blankly.
"Yes."
"Inside the DMLE."
"Yes."
"During a private out-of-court settlement meeting to get her son out of prison."
"You can think of it as giving up her arse to save her son's."
"I'm going to hex you, Harry Potter!"
"Sorry, sorry!" He said, chuckling. "But yes, that's what happened."
She scowled, and crossed her arms. "I am just waiting for this to finish."
"Believe me," he muttered. "I've just gotten started. Remember that place Narcissa signed off to me—"
"Let me guess, that's your private sex-tent with Lucius Malfoy's wife."
"Any tent I have is a sex-tent."
She rolled her eyes. "I'm sure I don't need to say it, or perhaps I do, but I can see at least a hundred and sixty different things that could have gotten you screwed, if not killed you so far. Ah, who am I kidding? It still might get you killed! Like, what were you thinking? What are you thinking? That's Narcissa freaking Malfoy, you absolute buffoon! She'll sell your underwear and you'll be thanking her for it."
"Actually in this case, I'll take that bet. I have reasons to believe that Narcissa is on my side."
"Why? Because she swore an unbreakable vow to help you over her husband and son?" Hestia replied scathingly.
"Yes."
"..."
"..."
"You know what? I'll just postpone my desires to wring your neck later. Finish your fucking story, before you give me a heart attack."
"Aye.I suppose there is no way to put this in a less… crass manner, so I'll just go and rip the bandaid right off. When Emmeline gained access to the memory, she wasn't just observing it. She was participating in it."
"Hestia couldn't help herself. She snickered. " So she now has a memory of herself fucking Narcissa Malfoy? Priceless."
"No. The memory was from Narcissa's point of view."
"...That doesn't even make sense. Memories are always objective, and seen through an observer-point of view. A rare Legilimens can see it through the victim's perspective. But the memory from Narcissa's perspective should not exist in your mind. What you are saying—"
"Makes no sense," he agreed. "I told her that. Apparently it's some kind of glitch or part of my Boy-who-Lived weirdness."
"Or Incubus weirdness."
"Or that," he nodded agreeably. "And because it was the memory of me and Narcissa… well, rutting…"
Hestia palmed her mouth. "You mean to say, Emmeline —"
"Yes."
"All of it—"
"Yes. But somewhere in the middle, the memory, I guess, vanished, it really was Emmeline. Not Narcissa. And the other Me fucked her. Emmeline wanted the dream so bad, that she willingly let herself get fucked. And when she woke up, well, you know what happened."
Hestia felt a dagger pierce through her heart. "Do you know," she asked softly, "why the memory changed like that?"
He shrugged. "Beats me. My power to influence others is supposed to skyrocket once I can fully actualise my powers as an Incubus Lord. Power to influence people to extreme levels, to the level of say… an Imperius curse. Maybe more."
Hestia flinched. Luckily, Harry was too immersed in reflection to notice. "But I don't have that power yet, at least, not until I manage to fully realise Lecherous Shrine. And even then, I cannot think of any way to control the victim's body to… you know, act according to my whims, if their minds are trapped inside the Shrine."
Her fingers were digging deep into her palms.
"... some power, huh?" she managed to say.
"Yeah," Harry frowned. "A power that I…" he laughed, as if amused by an inside joke. "A power I know not. A power that's not even supposed to exist, but I suppose it does, deep in my subconscious. And when Emmeline touched it, she was affected. At least, that's the theory."
The conflict within her grew. "And Emme— she believes it?"
"It's her theory actually."
"...I see."
He was wrong. They were wrong. It wasn't some power that belonged to his subconscious. Whatever the Shrine could do, manipulating the body like a puppet wasn't it. That was because of her Imperius curse. But Emmeline believed that it was the Shrine, because that was also where she had lived a memory from Narcissa Malfoy's perspective.
Wasn't it only natural to suspect the Shrine as responsible for her body moving against her will? After all, if it was capable of breaking one rule of magic, how surprising was it to think that it could do something else as well?
Both Harry and Narcissa were blaming it on the Shrine, on Harry's Incubus nature. And since neither knew the true nature of his powers, there was no reason to suspect anyone else, least of all her.
Just like Nymphadora never suspected….
SHUT UP!
"There is… something else too," he said after a momentary pause, and Hestia felt a pit of trepidation reform in her gut.
"She told me that she's a sixth-level Occlumens, but despite that, my incubus power got through to her. And she knows that the next time she enters my subconscious, she'll face the other guy again."
"I see," said Hestia, frowning. "I guess that means she won't be teaching you."
"Actually, she made an official contract to teach me."
Hestia blinked. Then blinked again.
"You realise that means that there's a chance that she'll be forced to go through worse than she did today?"
"She was very clear about that.l. Which is why she wants me to help her train against it. She err… wants me to use every Incubus trick I can, on her, and help her train to resist it. That way, she won't lose control the next time she's in my subconscious."
Her hand went to her mouth, and her eyes widened like saucers. "No fucking way— She… asked you to have sex with her?"
"Yes."
"Multiple times."
"Yes."
"Until she's —"
"Yes."
Her chest felt cold. She knew what this was. Maybe Emmeline was just being her prideful self, and maybe she was really trying to learn how to resist Harry's charm, but Hestia knew that deep down, it was because of the Imperius curse. She had cursed her to believe that she wanted Harry's cum, that getting fucked by him was something she truly relished. The Obliviator could tell herself whatever story she wanted, but the underlying truth that Hestia had twisted her head wouldn't change.
And now, she had led yet another woman — a married woman — into Harry's arms. Just like she was doing to Tonks. Not that she feared what Harry would do to them. Honestly, she really believed that they would be happier with Harry than with their own lives, but she had robbed them of their choices, while pretending to act in their best interests. And the worst bit — Harry thought that it was a side-effect of his own power, and would probably blame himself if something went wrong.
A good person would have probably confessed their sins and pleaded for forgiveness. A good person would have had the decency to tell Harry that he wasn't the reason behind Emmeline's twisted train of thought. A decent person wouldn't have even considered doing what Hestia was thinking right then.
But Hestia wasn't a good person. She had long ago accepted that. She might work for the Light side, but she had more than enough of her share of darkness festering within. And tonight has been proof of that.
After all the evils she had committed, what was one more? After all, it wasn't like she would get a better chance than this to pry at her employer's secrets.
"Harry, you realise that all this might just be your incubus allure affecting her?"
Her employer turned to look at her..
"I — I brought her here. I requested her aid because you wanted that memory. She — she is my mentor, and she's married. She — And now she's— she's your —"
"Hestia, trust me I had no idea —"
"Really, Harry," she pressed. "You had no idea? Just like how you had no idea you had a mindscape? Or how you have a business acumen or knowledge of spells and society that you shouldn't have?"
"Hestia —"
"No, Harry," she said empathically. "I dedicated myself to you. I swore an unbreakable vow to never betray you. I switched from being an Order spy to spying on the Order for you. And you — you've always kept secrets from me. Whether it be what you're doing at the Black Manor, or what happened with the Bones, or how you know what you know,you've been cagey with me from the very beginning, and you're being cagey with me right now. You are. You're lying to me."
"Not today, Hestia. I'm already dealing with this. Just not —"
"Then what day, Harry? Because there's always something. It's always some secret, or some story, or some lie. How can I be on your side when you don't even trust me? Tell me how you know all this! Tell me why your mindscape is a futuristic city—"
"I don't know! I really don't know! I—"
"Yes, you do," she yelled back. "You can try to hide it, but it shows. I could tell that you knew more about the Order than you pretended. I could tell that you knew what you were doing, because you knew those people, and you knew what was going to happen. Everything you do, it's always a calculated move planned for one step, two step, seven steps ahead, because you know what's to happen, don't you?"
"I don't understand! What the fuck do you want me to tell you?"
"You're from the fucking future, aren't you?"
Notes:
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Next Update is on 25th December.
Chapter 85: The Naked Truth Part 2
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 3 - THE INCUBUS AND NECROMANCER
"You're from the fucking future, aren't you?"
…
There,she said it. So many times had she thought about questioning him, so many plans she had made to coax the information out of him, so many… attempts she had made, most of them after an exhausting fuck, lying in bed with a satiated Harry Potter, but none of them had ever proceeded to this question. Sometimes it was because she was afraid of his reaction, at other times, because of how ridiculous it sounded. But listening to him proclaim about that futuristic muggle city as his landscape had been a bone that she just had to grab, and she knew right then, that this was her best chance at finding those answers.
Doubly because Emmeline would be finding them out anyway.
"From the future…." he trailed off.
"Yes," snapped Hestia. "I know for a fact that the Unspeakables have such a thing called a Time-turner that can currently go back for as far as twelve hours. But witches and wizards in the future will hardly suffer from the same constraints as we do now. Nothing else about you makes sense. So tell me, Harry. Are you from the future?"
She saw him stand there like a statue, mentally debating on whether or not he should answer, but in the end, she hadn't quite given him any reason not to trust her. At least, she didn't think she had. Hestia was under an unbreakable vow to preserve his secrets, and with Emmeline's involvement, it was only a matter of time before she knew the truth, and by extension, so would Hestia. Attempting to evade the truth would be foolish and only prove that he didn't trust Hestia at all. In which case, she supposed, she'd downgrade him from someone she'd willingly follow, to yet another person that had disappointed her. The vow would make her keep his secrets, but it wouldn't force her to be with him.
She had walked away before. She could do that again.
But, on the other hand, he came through….
Harry exhaled. "Yes."
"..."
"...Yes?"
Hestia couldn't believe her ears.
"Yes," he confirmed again. His voice was calm but firm. "That's what you wanted to hear, wasn't it? Yes. I'm from the fucking future. Go ahead, ask."
"I knew it!" She whispered. "I fucking knew it! You were too different. Too smart. Too knowledgeable about things. You — How are you here? Why are you here? Do you not know that terrible things happen to those that—"
"Meddle with time?" He snapped, taking her by surprise. "I doubt it would. After all, where I am from, there is nothing left."
He stopped right there, offering no further elaboration. Hestia quirked her mouth slightly in annoyance at his reticence. No doubt he wasn't happy about having his deepest secret forced out like that, and had steeled himself to deal with it.
That was fine. He could get as angry as he wanted on her. She'd be willing to let him release all his frustrations in a long and continuous bout of intense hate sex. And then make-up sex afterwards.
Her fingers trembled.
Damn it. Diverting her thoughts to sex was usually enough to keep her mental shields from buckling. Too many stressful events all happening at once were taking a toll on her mental state. But she couldn't panic. Not now.
"I have so many questions…." Her breath hitched. "This… it sounds so outlandish, but I always knew you were different. And now I have proof."
He grimaced. "This — this falls under your oath. I'll consider it betrayal if you ever share this with anyone else without my permission."
"My lips are sealed, Harry," she said, feeling offended that he even thought that she would betray him. Which was quite hypocritical given how she had just betrayed Emmaline.
"It's not something I've told anyone, not even Hermione. And despite my mindscape, even Emmeline doesn't think I'm from the future. And… I'd like for things to remain as they are."
She narrowed her eyes. Emmeline didn't think he was from the future? What was she missing? Unless —
"You've set traps in there, haven't you? To trick her into believing otherwise?"
He didn't answer.
"Come on, Harry. Tell me. How are you here? Why are you here?"
He exhaled, and flicked his wand, summoning a chair as he sat down beside the bed. With a second flick, he summoned a cigarette and lit it, taking in with a tiny flame charm, and took in a long and deep whiff.
Hestia laughed. "I almost forgot about that. The first day, you were feeling the urge to smoke. I never saw you do that afterwards. Goodness, that alone should've been a sign."
"What?" he snapped. "Seeing a sixteen-year-old smoke is a sign for future time-travellers?"
She snorted. "No. But you're no normal sixteen-year-old, are you? Your relatives were supposed to be strict, and there wasn't any detail about you being an addict to anything. Except for… maybe, treacle tart."
"Bloody hell," said Harry, taking another whiff. "You people seriously need to learn the meaning of privacy. Makes me wonder if I was just oblivious back then, or if you people are just that much worse this time around."
She furrowed her brows. "I imagine there's got to be a reason for you coming back and redo-ing it all over again."
He laughed. "Coming back, yes. Redo-ing it? I doubt it. As of now, things have changed so far that apart from the most significant events, I can't even be sure if my own knowledge can be trusted any longer. Besides," he paused, looking at his cigarette with a pensive stare. "I told you. There wasn't much left back there. I didn't plan on travelling back in time. It just kind of… happened, I guess."
"How do you just… happen to travel back in time?"
"Beats me," said Harry. "One moment I was fighting Voldemort, and the next moment, I was lying next to the Black lake, with an invisible elephant on my chest, and a horde of dementors hovering around me, pulling my soul out of my body. Next thing I know, I was in the Hospital Wing, with Snape looming over me. Not sure if I preferred him over the dementor, but you have what you have."
Hestia giggled. "How — how old are you exactly, Harry?"
He paused. "Twenty — twenty-eight. I was twenty-eight."
Her eyes widened in shock. "All this time, you were making me feel like shit for spreading my legs for a younger guy, when I was enticed by an older man, how scandalous…" A small burst of laughter escaped her lips. "I ought to hex you for that."
"Good to know you have your priorities straight."
"At least now I know how you're so experienced in bed. Twelve years as an Incubus… no wonder you knew what you were doing."
He laughed. "No, I was just a normal wizard in my timeline. Well, normal for me anyway. This incubus thing kind of hit me out of nowhere after I travelled back and found myself in my sixteen-year-old self. It's one of the mysteries that I'm still trying to make sense of."
"But then, the girls you go for. And Narcissa Malfoy — I thought —"
He laughed. "I didn't even know what Narcissa looked like until I saw her in the summer before sixth year, and believe me, she was far less charming, and far less dangerous than she is now. I might have interacted with Susan a little in fifth year,but that was all. Tracey, Penelope, Hannah — I knew them by face, but nothing more than that."
She frowned. As weird as that sounded, it made a surprising amount of sense. His experience in bed notwithstanding, there was little to show in his abilities as an incubus. Hestia had theorised that he was simply using his knowledge and experience to compensate for the magical change his body had undergone that night due to the dementor attack. But if he truly hadn't been an incubus before then…
"I'm assuming that's why you've been taking all these actions? Gaining your Lordships, establishing connections, poking your nose where it doesn't belong…"
He laughed. "Actually, I kind of stumbled into that. The entire stuff about the Most Ancient and Noble House of Potter. All I knew was that my father was from an old pureblood family, and that my parents left me a vault with a reasonable fortune. It was only this time around that I realised that it was my trust vault. Not that I ended up using it anyway. Why would I, when I was supposed to die at the end of my seventh year?"
The almost casual surety with which he delivered the line chilled her.
"You — dying?" Hestia couldn't make heads or tails of whatever she was listening to. "Protecting the Boy-Who-Lived is the highest priority for the Order of the Phoenix. The way you're talking, it's like you were being raised like a pig for slaughter."
He barked out a mirthless laugh. "That's not far off. I was being raised like a pig for slaughter. Maybe I still am. A pawn. A weapon. A symbol. A sacrifice. Makes no difference. But this pawn has seen the end of the board, so this time, things will be different. I'll make sure of it."
"Maybe you should start from the beginning."
He closed his eyes, and took another whiff. "Back in my original timeline, things were a little different. For one, Hermione was given access to a time-turner." He paused. "Speaking of that, how do you know about it?"
"About Time-turners?" she asked. "We have an Unspeakable in the Order."
Harry narrowed his eyes. "Who?"
"Sturgis Podmore," she said, noticing the spark of recognition in his eyes. "I assume you know him?"
"Only by name, I think. I know he was — is, I suppose, part of the Order, and that the Death Eaters imperiused him during the second war with Voldemort, but apart from that—"
But Hestia wasn't listening anymore. A second war? She already knew that the Dark Lord was alive, and sooner or later, would be back. But she had expected it to take some time. But if Harry was just twenty-eight, then that meant in twelve years —
"This… war. When did it start?"
A cruel smile formed on his lips. Somehow, Hestia knew that this was Harry punishing her for forcing him to reveal the truth.
"Lord Voldemort, in my time, regained a body at the end of my fourth year. He played a game of shadows, with Malfoy and Fudge trying to discredit me, and Dumbledore and weaken the DMLE, while Voldemort made his plans and freed his Inner Circle from Azkaban. The skirmishes began in my sixth year, and it was over in my seventh."
Hestia blinked. "That doesn't make any sense at all! You said you were fighting Voldemort at twenty-eight. That's eight years after the end of the war."
Cold, callous laughter rang in the room. "I said the war ended. I never said we won."
She clenched the bedsheet tightly, and looked at Harry, who was observing her like a hawk. If not for her Occlumency, she'd have been shivering in shock and fear. Imagine her surprise when he stood up, and walked up to her, and pulled her towards him. Hestia put her arms across his waist and just sat there, little shivers quaking through her body every now and then.
Meanwhile Harry just stood there, like a rock, her bastion against the tumultuous future.
It made her wonder. Exactly what kind of relationship did they share back then? Did he know her well? Was that why he had agreed to trust her and give her the secretary job, despite knowing that she was an Order member? Was that why he was so casual around Tonks? Because he knew and interacted with them in a different future?
Bugger. All this time, the Order had been treating him like a sensitive labrat, keeping track of him, studying him, and at times, interacting with him, when the truth was he was the one doing the same to them. He had information about them, about their future selves. He knew who would do what, knew if there were any traitors in their closely-knitted group. He knew what fate would befall them.
The puppet was the real puppeteer all along.
"Better?"
She nodded. "You — you were telling me about Hermione?"
"Yes," he said, calmly observing her. "She was given a Time-turner from the Department of Mysteries. She told me it was to help her take multiple classes at the same time. Yes, that's rich, I know. Playing with time just to take extra classes. I'm not sure if she was lying or telling the truth, or if that's what she thought she was doing while the Unspeakables were running some experiment on her, but anyway, back then, Hermione wasn't slashed by Lupin, so she wasn't turned into a werewolf. Moving along, Sirius and I were surrounded by dementors near the Black lake. I — we were dying. And then, someone with a stag patronus forced those dementors to leave, saving both of our lives."
"Someone with a stag patronus?"
He chuckled. "When I woke up, I was in the Hospital Wing, and I — we told Dumbledore about how Sirius was innocent, and he told Hermione to use the Time-turner. That's how I knew what it was. We went back in time, saved Buckbeak—"
"Buckbeak?"
"Err, the hippogriff that — whatever, we saved it, and took it into the Forbidden forest with us, and waited for everything to happen just like it did the previous time. I thought at first that it was my dad that had saved my life — his animagus form was a stag, you know. But as I waited and waited and watched the dementors hovering around me and Sirius, I realised that I hadn't seen my father. I had —"
"Seen yourself," Hestia murmured, looking at him in awe. "You cast that patronus."
He smiled. "Yes. It was a stag, just like my father. Me and Hermione, we flew on Buckbeak's back, we freed Sirius from Flitwick's tower where he was kept, and set him free."
He finally met her eyes.
"That's… surreal," said Hestia, picturing the image. She had, of course, heard of the trial of a hippogriff that had supposedly attacked the junior Malfoy. His blasted father had gotten the Ministry to sanction its killing, describing it as a violent creature. McNair had been the one to carry out the deed.
Then it clicked.
"Your patronus," she whispered. "It's Buckbeak, isn't it?"
He chagrined. "Yes. It probably is. I failed it, just like I failed Sirius, and Hermione. I don't know why things were different this time around, but it's already started off worse than before. And without me doing a thing."
Weird. "Tell me what happened after."
He exhaled and let out a chuckle. "After. Like every other year, Dumbledore sent me to live with the wretched Dursleys, which is weird, because my parents had left properties in my name. This one, for instance. This year, Dumbledore told me that the Dursleys had left Privet Drive, and gone abroad. That certainly didn't happen the last time around. I'm not sure if it was because of my time travel or not, but I'm not going to complain about it."
He caressed her hair. It felt strangely intimate and at the same time, made her wary of what he was making her feel. Sex between them was a physical thing, two people satiating their physical needs. There was no emotion in it.
But now…
"Harry?"
"Hmm?"
"What was I to you? Did you… you know, know me personally?"
"Strangers," he said, his bluntness taking her by surprise. "We were strangers."
"... Strangers?" As much as she wanted to deny it, it hurt.
"Yes, you too were part of the Advance Guard that came to get me from the Dursleys to Sirius's place. After Sirius's death in my fifth year, the Order of the Phoenix started using his house as Headquarters. I think I might have exchanged a word or two with you back then, but that was all there was."
"Strangers…" she repeated, looking down. If he hadn't taken charge of things back then, it meant she was still a member of the Order, working for Albus Dumbledore, while fighting a war against a resurrected Dark Lord. Yes, she had known Harry for three months, but the idea of them being strangers now felt…
Wrong.
"Hestia, please, look at me," he said and she did. He had a sad smile on his lips. "Remember what I told you earlier? About how I was going to change the world completely, even if it means throwing it in another war? I was being serious. The last time, we were fighting a losing war. This time, the other side will share that fate."
She swallowed. "Tell me more."
"The first thing you need to know is that Voldemort returned to power at the end of my fourth year. After the Quidditch World Cup, Hogwarts is going to host the Triwizard tournament, inviting Durmstrang and Beauxbatons."
She froze. She had heard of the Triwizard Tournament, but only because Barty Crouch had her working on it while she was on his payroll. The process to reignite the lost tradition had been underway since the start of November, 1994. But it was kept under confidentiality oaths, and there was no way Harry would have known about it unless…
He smirked. "What? You just realised that I am not fibbing?"
Hestia flushed.
"Three Champions were selected. Victor Krum from Durmstrang, Fleur Delacour from Beauxbatons, and Cedric Diggory, from Hogwarts. And there was a fourth Champion." He paused. "Me."
"You?"
"Someone whose name I'm not going to say, put my name in the tournament through unknown means, as part of a plot by Voldemort to get me to participate. Why? I never found out. Somehow, me, a brat with very little magical education and declared a cheater, a liar and an overall pariah, was made to compete in it. I faced the Tasks, survived my way through it, and ended up winning it. Some of it was luck, and some of it… let's just say I had a treacherous kind of help and leave it at that."
"Oh I look forward to hearing about them," she said sarcastically.
"Yeah," he said with a small chuckle. "I know you will."
"What about the Ball?" She asked, curious. At his shocked expression, she smirked. "I know about the tournament details. I was Crouch's secretary and helped draft it."
"I took Parvati Patil to the Ball." He paused, and looked a little embarrassed. "I might have treated her poorly—"
Hestia narrowed her eyes.
"Not like that!" he raised his hands in surrender. "I knew bollocks about dancing, and was mooning over Cho Chang like a little idiot, who was dancing with Diggory, the Hogwarts Champion."
"Diggory…" Hestia murmured, "Amos Diggory's son?"
"Same."
She frowned. While otherwise a decent person, Amos was a little too pretentious for his own good. And ever since his brother got killed by Fenrir Greyback in the last war, he had developed a stigma against the species. Half the restrictions the Department of Magical Creatures put up on Chiara and her kind were put up by Amos after he took the Boss job.
"So, after the tournament?"
"I was portkeyed away to a cemetery, where Peter Pettigrew was waiting with Voldemort, who was possessing a baby. In case you're wondering, that's exactly what's happening now. Only this time, Lucius Malfoy is part of the core group attending to his needs. The last time, Lucius wasn't even involved until He was resurrected and called through to him using the Dark Mark. I was there," he said. "Voldemort was not happy with him for not coming to his aid."
"What changed this time around?"
He shrugged. "Can't say. Most of the things are the same, but some things are really strange. Lucius Malfoy being this active so early on, the Dursleys leaving for abroad, Kreacher dead—"
"Kreacher…." she murmured. "I've heard that name before."
"It's the Black family elf. He was supposed to be alive. But he isn't. And that complicates matters."
He paused, his eyes focussed, thinking about things. "Things are different… but then again, so am I. I have incubus powers, and I'm channelling Voldemort's skills in Necromancy through this scar —"
Hestia blinked. The scar. "Wait. Does that mean —"
"Yes," he said, his eyes growing darker. "I know what this scar is. I know why I have it. I know what it does. It is my greatest weapon, my greatest misfortune, my greatest enemy, and my greatest ally. The last time, it was a curse that only made things worse for me. And by the time I realised what it was, and what it was capable of, it was too late."
Her stomach did a nasty flip.
"For the entirety of my fifth year, the Ministry under Fudge loudly and repeatedly claimed that Voldemort hadn't returned, choosing to vilify me and Dumbledore and anyone who sided with us. Sirius was still a fugitive, and a perfect scapegoat. When Voldemort broke his Inner Circle out of Azkaban, the moron blamed it on Sirius."
"And the Order?
He threw his head back and laughed. "In my knowledge, the Order did two things — watching me suffer at the Dursleys, and watching as the Death Eaters killed innocent people and making moves towards Britain's domination. Oh, and meet at Grimmauld Place to discuss what they've seen and heard. "
His anger, his disdain — it was a tangible thing. Hestia winced, and pulled away from him.
"... sorry," he said. "I just don't have any good experiences with the Order doing anything substantial. Dumbledore spent the entire fifth year playing peekaboo with me, and the sixth year, teaching me useless shit about Voldemort's past instead of teaching me how to fight him. The only thing they seemed to focus on was watching me and making sure I was playing my part as the perfect little pawn."
Hestia clenched her teeth. She didn't know exactly why he held such disdain for the Order, or why the Order was so useless against the Dark Lord, but she'd be damned if she didn't find out.
"Dumbledore was killed in sixth year, by Draco Malfoy and a group of Death Eaters he had smuggled into school. The old bastard knew all year that Draco was ordered to kill him, but he didn't act. He thought — he thought —" Harry looked like he wanted to rip something apart, so great was his frustration, "he thought he could save that little cowardly ferret. As always, Dumbledore has no issues giving endless chances to people that hurt others, but never thinks about good people that fight the good fight, suffer because of those bastards."
He gave her a knowing stare. She knew he wasn't talking only about Sirius Black. He was talking about her.
Hestia had enough. She didn't want to hear the truths that he was throwing at her face. And yet, she couldn't stop now. Harry had lived through all that. He had suffered through all that, and was trying to make things different. He and he alone knew how terrible things would become. No wonder he was bent on such extremist policies. She had been a little surprised at the level of vitriol in his voice when he had addressed Dumbledore, but now it made complete sense.
"Take the high road if you want to, Professor. Choose to walk away from this opportunity to delve into Voldemort's mind and help me control this power. Call it your principles, call it doing the right thing, as you're so fond of. But after all that, when the people lie dead, people that could have been saved if we acted on this information… every one of those lives will be on your head."
He wasn't just being empathetic. He was being literal.
"After Dumbledore's death, Voldemort attacked the Ministry. Amelia Bones had already been killed earlier in my sixth year, and Scrimgeour was leading the Ministry. In just a single day, Voldemort killed Scrimgeour, installed a pawn on the High Chair, and took over Britain. The Order of the Phoenix was finished, and anyone that thought otherwise was kidding themselves. The Ministry had fallen. Amelia Bones, Scrimgeour. McGonagall, Flitwick — all of them were dead. He scorched the entirety of Diagon Alley, took over Gringotts, and installed a Death Eater as Headmaster of Hogwarts."
"And you?"
He barked out a laugh. There was no humour in it. "I was on the run. With Ron and Hermione, trying to find clues to a power Dumbledore didn't care to explain; trying to find ways to weaken the Dark Lord by exterminating things we didn't know what or where they were, or how to even kill them; hiding in the forests, listening to the Wireless at how people we knew were hunted and slaughtered like cattle; fighting a war that Dumbledore never cared to teach me how to fight in the first place. Hestia you… you have no idea just how much I despise Albus Dumbledore for what he did."
"And… me?" She asked, feeling deathly cold. "What happened to me?"
His lips twisted into a cruel smile. "You were killed alongside Emmeline, in a Death Eater attack in my sixth year. Dumbledore knew of the attack, but he thought it was more important to maintain his spy's position than save either of you."
That broke the camel's back.
"HE DID WHAT?" Hestia snarled, standing hup. Her entire body was shaking, her eyes filled with shock and tears of rage rushing down her cheeks. "He— he —"
"You wanted the fucking truth, right? You wanted the truth so bad? Well, here's it! You're nothing but pawns. You, Emmeline, Tonks — everyone. Just another pawn to sacrifice for the Greater Good. Amelia Bones was burned alive in her mansion. Tonks was captured by Death Eaters and tortured for over a month before they dropped her naked, defiled, dead body in the middle of Diagon Alley! Kingsley Shacklebolt, Remus Lupin, the Weasley twins — the list goes on and on. Muggleborns and halfbloods were hunted down by Snatchers and sentenced to Azkaban by the Muggle born Registration Commision. Even at Hogwarts, muggleborn students were captured and restrained in the dungeons, while the Death eater scions used them to their fill, like they were nothing but flesh puppets to be used for their entertainment and then discarded and killed like useless lumps of flesh—"
"Enough! Please! Stop!" Hestia cried.
"WHY?" he snarled. "Because the truth isn't funny anymore? I haven't even gotten started. You want to know how it ends? The dementors, the giants, the werewolves, they all joined Voldemort and he attacked France and the rest of Europe. I watched Beauxbatons get razed down to the ground. When the ICW tried to counter him, that insane maniac summoned DEMONS!"
"De— demons? You-Know-Who summoned —"
"Demons," Harry snarled. "No one knew what he did or how he did. Even the knowledge on how to summon them was thought to have been lost, yet somehow that madman did it. And not just one, but hundreds. They were impervious to everything except the darkest of magics, the same that Dumbledore forbids people to learn, because we're the GOOD GUYS! And all I could do was endlessly run from place to place, on this stupid quest that the old bastard left me with, hoping beyond hope that it would help me destroy Voldemort. For eight years I ran around. Without knowledge, without funds, without skills, with nothing save a wand and the impossible suicidal quest he left me. I lost Ron, I lost Hermione, I lost everyone I knew. I —"
He was clenching his hands so tight that his fingers were drawing blood.
"But Harry, what you're saying is — I mean, that can't —"
"Can't what?" Harry snarled. "Can't be right? Why, because he's the great Albus Dumbledore? For all his big talk of doing the right thing, all Albus Dumbledore does is treat you all as his pawns on his chessboard. Sirius was innocent and he got put into Azkaban because he couldn't be bothered to find the truth. You say he's got the Order to observe and protect me, so why did I have to find out the hard way that my name means something? Why wasn't I told about my family, my parent's legacies, or that there's a fucking prophecy that says I'm destined to be the one to face Voldemort? Every single year, he's made me go through shit, instead of actually teaching me, because he fucking wanted me to walk to my death, but was too cowardly to do it himself!"
"No—"
"YES!" Harry yelled, grabbing her shoulders and shaking her. "I know all about the link connecting me with Voldemort. I know what it contains! I know what I need to do to make sure that he dies in the end. And do you know what that is? For Voldemort to be killed, I HAVE TO DIE!"
"Stop! No more!"
Harry stopped shouting and looked back at their eyes met, Hestia pushed herself up to him and embraced him tightly and possessively, hiding her face in his neck, her body trembling at the images he was painting.
"I hate him," confessed Harry. "Dumbledore, Voldemort… I hate them both. Voldemort is a psychopath, a rabid dog that needs to be put down. But Dumbledore, he's a sorcerer. He's one of the most powerful wizards out there, and he — he just sits on his High Throne. He had twenty years to do something to get rid of my scar, but he did nothing. He had an entire decade to punish Voldemort's followers, but he let them regain power. He —"
Hestia hugged him tighter. She didn't want to hear anymore about them. He shut up right that instant.
"I won't let it happen again, Hestia," he promised her softly. "I will tear down Dumbledore's inaction. I will do what needs to be done. Be this nation's reckoning. I will tear down Lucius Malfoy and those that stand with him. I will butcher them like the rabid dogs they are. I will tear down the Wizengamot, destroy every single bigot that sits there, and create a new world. I don't know if I can kill Voldemort, but I'll be damned if I let his Death Eaters survive before his resurrection comes to pass."
Hestia just sobbed.
He held her chin and made her look into his eyes. The sparkling green in his eyes never looked more menacing and alluring.
"Will you help me, Hestia?" he whispered. "Will you help me destroy Wizarding Britain and rebuild it?"
She didn't answer. Instead she did something she had thought was impossible for her.
Her face moved, and before she knew it, her lips were grazing his, more of a caress than a kiss. She slid softly across his, as if teasing, exploring the outline of his lips.
Hestia was no stranger to kissing, but much like sex and all carnal depravities that she was fond of, it was just part of physical pleasure. At times, it was a distraction, at times, part of charming or teasing someone, and on others, making herself feel so good that she forgot the miseries of her own life. With Harry, she had been able to add pleasure to that list as well — real pleasure, as well as the satisfaction of being fucked by someone that she believed and trusted in. Her master.
But now?
It wasn't about pleasure. It wasn't about satisfaction. It wasn't a distraction or pointless depravity either.
It was about completion.
Even Harry was unprepared about how slow and patient she was being. She, the raunchy, horny wildcat, was kissing him softly, if a little firmly this time. Her mouth worked against his, his ever-present scruff a scratchy contrast to the softness of his lips. She felt Harry return it, and put her hands over his neck, pulling him closer.
The kiss grew passionate by the second. Harry's hands rested on her shoulders, and she moaned, as her lips parted, engulfing his. Her tongue darted out, flicking playfully across his, and Hestia shivered, gasping as she felt his hands — not on her breasts, but on her back, pulling her closer to him, as their tongues waged war against each other.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, she yelled at herself for doing what she was. This — this emotion she was feeling, it was something she went out of her way to avoid. It was what she felt when she thought about Tonks. It was something she hated with a passion, hated it so much that she'd rather by gangraped and fucked like a whore, than feel it again.
Stop this! She told herself. Stop him! Stop —
Her legs went up to his waist. His hand grabbed her hip.
The kiss grew in intensity. The emotional turmoil in her was growing, her heart swelling at the feelings Harry had awakened within her, the fears, the insecurities, the impossible frustrations and the horrible truths that he had to endure and had thrown at her face; the knowledge of what had become of her and those she cared about, and how the man in her arms had to bear that impossible weight, and was only trying to do his best and —
MORGANA! And I lied to this person? I made him think that I —
The realisation struck her like a bolt of lightning. She shoved Harry hard in the chest, causing him to not just stagger back, but almost lose balance and fall backwards.
"What's the matter? What did I do?" He asked, genuinely confused.
"You — I can't do this! I can't — I shouldn't have kissed you like that," she bawled. "I — I don't deserve to kiss you like that. Not after what I've done. Not after —"
Harry stood up, and held her shaking arms. Hestia cried, attempting to be strong but failing dismally. He tried to embrace her, but she pushed him back, her eyes glaring like daggers as tears ran down her face.
"No — just stay away from me! You've no idea what I've done! No idea what kind of a monster I am! You — you're carrying such a load all this time and I—"
"You what, Hestia?"
There was a current of sternness in his voice, but his concern still showed. Hestia hated it, hated him for what he was, and how he was making her feel. And most of all, she hated herself for being the twisted bitch she was, the monster that had taken advantage of her own mentor, her best friend, and Harry, who had just revealed his deepest, darkest secret to her. She— she couldn't do this. The feelings rushing through her were choking her, and no amount of Occlumency was holding them back. She — she needed to atone for her sins. She needed to be punished. She —
"What did you do, Hestia?" He asked, again.
"I — I —"
"You what?"
"I — I'm the reason why Emmeline was fucking you, Harry. Not — not her pride, and not because of your power. It's because I — I —" She tried very hard to say it, but fear of the truth, fear of the humiliation, the judgement, and the look of betrayal in his eyes when he realised what kind of person she truly was underneath — no, she couldn't say it.
But she had to. Even if he hated her forever for this. It was what she deserved.
"Hestia," he repeated, his voice felt like iron. "What did you do?"
"I — I was afraid Emmeline would know that you were from the future. I was afraid she was going to tell Dumbledore. So, I — I put Emmeline under an Imperius curse."
The surprise in his eyes told her everything she wanted to know. Without waiting for his response, Hestia rushed out of her room, leaving a shell shocked Harry Potter behind.
Notes:
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Chapter 86: A Lovely Twist
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 3 - THE INCUBUS AND NECROMANCER
I watched Hestia go.
Like really, what was I to say to that? I knew she was a talented and well-trained spy, and perfectly capable of adorning masks at will. For fuck's sake, even her perk was all about speaking the right words at the right time, combined with the right emotions, the right pauses and facial expressions, to trigger the reaction she wanted from others. I was absolutely certain that she had used that skill on me several times over the past three months of our time together, and it was part of the reason why I tended to trust her with most of my plans.
Most, being the keyword.
But never, never in my worst nightmares, had I ever considered that the sly vixen would twist her own traumatising experience over what happened to Emmeline, something that left me a little shaken to be frank, into a tool to coerce an answer out of me. I was absolutely pissed with her, and at the same time, immensely pleased at her performance. I might have mentioned earlier, but I like women that are feisty, women that use every trick each and every trick in and out of the book to get what they want, even if what they want is to dominate me.
This. This was the Hestia Jones that I had been attracted to at the very beginning. The one that had me almost convinced of her official 'story' if not for that unfortunate slip at the end. During the last three months, I had seen her undertake every single request I had made of her with utter professionalism, playing the game with extreme pragmatism and if I might say so, a delicious touch of ruthlessness.
Say what you will, but she really is the perfect secretary for me.
Maybe I should thank Nymphadora Tonks for that when I meet her for our upcoming date.
I'll be honest. If not for Emmeline mentioning the Time-traveller point earlier, I might have been taken by absolute surprise. Call it good luck, or whatever byzantine thing she saw inside my mindscape, but Emmeline looked soundly convinced that I wasn't a Time-traveller. That got me thinking. If Emmeline, after just a single night of interaction, had credited my actions and the changes in my personality to that of a time-traveller, was it too much of a stretch to imagine that Hestia thought the same as well? Especially after the dozens of times she mentioned how she knew that my excuses were just that, excuses, and yet, seemed convinced that I was no imposter?
So when Hestia accused me of being a Time-traveller, I saw a shot and took it.
It was disappointingly easy. All I had to do was give her a rundown of major canon events, while subtly highlighting Dumbledore's and the Order's failure to keep things under control, and I had Hestia eating out of my every word. I remembered that she used to be Barty Crouch's assistant, so when her eyes widened at the mention of the Triwizard, I knew she had taken the bait.
All that remained after that was to unload the dogshit.
You might be wondering what that stuff about demons was. Yeah, I pulled it out of my arse. Or might have read it in someone's works. Either way, it had a devastating impact on her. Unless I was wrong, Emmeline Vance was indeed killed on Voldemort's orders, because of that motherfucker Severus Snape selling her location out to maintain his status as a spy. Really, I never understood what the point of his being a spy even was. All he did was get Order members killed, and kill Dumbledore to 'save' poor Draco's soul.
A useless, bitter man, on an equally useless mission.
Honestly, I had no clue whatever happened to Hestia Jones in the books, or even if she was even mentioned post the fifth book. And I'd be damned before I even mentioned the idea that Tonks found 'love' in that loser Remus Lupin. No, I had plans for the metamorphmagus, and for that, Remus Lupin needed to stay away.
Forever. If necessary.
The entire war on the wizarding world outside Britain was fiction too, but I don't need to tell you that, do I? I over-emphasized on the deaths of the Order members, making sure to make their ends as gory as possible, painting a post-apocalyptic, demon-ravaged world where 'Harry Potter' spent eight years fighting, surviving, and doing his best to destroy the Dark Lord, only to accidentally return to the past. I'm pretty sure that was the standard trope in many fanfictions, so I really hope it was believable. If it wasn't, woe on those blasted authors.
Still, just to be careful, I had used the Culpability perk, guilt-tripping her even further. That she was already guilty about whatever happened to Emmeline only enhanced the process.
The next thing I know, she was kissing me.
No, the act in itself wasn't the relevant part. We had had sex in many, many positions, most of which had less to do with pleasure and more with humiliating the kinky bitch, but it was always that — pain for the sake of physical pleasure. Me and Hestia — we had a working relationship, a friends-with-benefits scenario. But that kiss… there was so much emotion in it. Hestia was…. I don't know how to describe it, it was like she was seeking my touch, seeking completion, as if that kiss was somehow justifying her entire existence. I might be wrong, but I am beginning to think that my cocksleeve of a secretary was developing feelings for me.
And with the way things ended, I think I'm probably right.
I mean… seriously, the Imperius curse? Like… how?
No, before you say it, I'm not going to scrunch my face in horror, or sink down to my knees, clenching my hair and wondering where things had gone so wrong. I don't give two fucks about the fact that she cast an unforgivable either, or that she cast it on Emmeline. But what really shocked me was her reasoning behind it.
Hestia was afraid of Emmeline spilling my secrets to Dumbledore. But how? We had taken oaths, all three of us, to keep the events a secret. But despite that, Hestia feared that Emmeline would be able to cause problems for me, and she got so paranoid and protective that she cast an unforgivable on her. It begged the question — were the vows we swore not that stringent? And if that was so, did that mean that I had unwittingly left several loopholes for Hestia to report my secrets to Dumbledore until that day when she swore an unbreakable vow?
It was a frightening thought.
The other shocking thing was her use of the Imperius curse. Like, I understand she boasted a hundred percent anchorage, but to cast an unforgivable to that end? Just what had I done to incite that much loyalty in Hestia Jones?
It bore thinking about.
But that was for later. I had, unwittingly perhaps, landed myself an absolutely loyal and pragmatic bitch for a lieutenant, and not even realised it. She was clearly racked by guilt; her behaviour showed that doing this cut her to her core. And yet she turned against someone she had been mentored by and taken care of for years. She had turned from an order spy into someone that was slowly corrupting Tonks — another fellow Order member, and was not above twisting a third into falling into my web of lust and lies. Someone that held enough economic and political experience to help me navigate the Wizengamot and the business arena, and someone that was, after the bull I had fed her, utterly motivated to see me succeed, even if it meant taking the entire world and throwing it into greater chaos.
Someone, that was beginning to have feelings for me. Which, in hindsight, could become a problem in the future.
I was certain that Amelia would not rest until she became the Lady Potter. She wasn't stupid enough to get herself impregnated, and create a political scandal and destroy all my, now our, plans. But I knew she wasn't the type to settle for a concubine position either. The mantle of Lady Potter had dominated her entire life for far too long for her to allow anyone else to occupy that place without her going crazy over it again. I was pretty sure that give or take a few years, she would eventually try to force a conception, and use her pregnancy to force me to formalise our relationship.
Perhaps I could use Voldemort's resurrection as a way to delay things, perhaps not, but either way, I had some time before that eventuality came to pass.
Unlike the books, my story wouldn't just be over at the end of the seventh year.
Susan was no issue. Her experiences had twisted her into my sex-slave, but she'd still be the Lady Bones, and carry her own weight.
That only left the Black seat. And as much as I hated letting Hannah marry Neville, it was necessary. Marrying Hannah would serve no purpose, but with her marrying Neville would eventually get both Abbott and Longbottom under my thumb. Unlike the real Harry Potter, I gave no fucks to Neville's plight.
Tracey was an ace that I was going to eventually use against Greengrass and the Selwyns, but there was time before that came to pass. There was no point in stirring that hornet's nest, not until I was fully prepared.
I suppose if it really came down to that, I could take Hestia as a concubine of House Potter. Amelia might be a twisted bitch, but she was just as pragmatic as Hestia. I had a feeling that those two would get along really well.
Narcissa… Narcissa was a wildcard that, honestly speaking, I didn't know exactly what to do with. Not until she hit a hundred percent anchorage at the very least. She wanted to become a Black, and I hoped it wouldn't require me marrying her, or something equally dubious, but I knew better than to make assumptions like that.
But that was for later. For now, I had a secretary to console.
And a lieutenant to punish.
I found Hestia in one of the guest rooms, her entire body thrown across the bed, sobbing her heart out. It was a far cry from the person I had known all this time, and while I felt bad for her, it was kind of funny.. Hestia was always the sly foxy character in my mind that would play mind games with me, but remain an otherwise dependable ally on my side. The woman on the bed? She held feelings for me, and had done the extreme for my sake. Any other guy in my place would probably be enthused at having the sizzling hot secretary prove her loyalty to such extenuating degrees, but I had a firsthand experience at just how twisted and dangerous love could be.
Amelia Bones was a prime example.
Given the dark and desolate future I had painted for her, I knew this would no doubt push Hestia even further. The feelings I had erupted within her, the anger, the rage, the helplessness, the way her life came to an end, the realisation of just how little she was valued in the organisation she dedicated herself to, and the proof that her actions, her service, her painstaking efforts had all been absolutely futile — I doubted she could even attend another Order meeting without exploding at them.
Add in the feelings and….
Yep. My little lie was going to have some serious and complex ramifications, which, unless I was careful, could end up biting me in the back.
Especially if like many other things, this world's version of the Order of the Phoenix had far greater and significant roles to play than creepily watching a teenager sulk inside a muggle home for an entire summer.
"Hestia —"
"Leave me alone, Harry," she sobbed. "I don't want your pity."
"Good, because I don't have any to give you."
She stiffened, and slowly looked back. Her face was absolutely flushed, her eyes red and her cheeks moist with tears. Her hair was wet and sticking all over her face. And with her utterly naked form, she never looked sexier to me.
Our eyes met, and the perk was set into action.
Activating Culpability
Victim is 78% ridden with guilt.
I almost arched my brows. 78%? That was the highest I had ever gotten. Even when I had used it earlier, it was only 52%.
This could be interesting.
"I have just one question to ask you, Hestia Jones," I told her in my sternest tone. "And depending on your answer, I'll judge you."
She maintained a steady eye contact but said nothing.
"You told me that you feared Emmeline would spill my secrets to the Order, despite all three of us taking those oaths. Does that mean you knew those oaths had loopholes and still didn't tell me?"
Hestia said nothing.
"And if that's true, does that mean that you lied to me from the very beginning? I bound you with those confidentiality oaths, but you still had wiggle space in that, didn't you? That was why you took the Unbreakable Vow, right? Because you wanted to magically prevent yourself from taking advantage of those loopholes you knew existed."
She still said nothing.
Culpability raised by 4%
"Hestia," I said vehemently, channelling raw emotion into my voice. "I need to know. I need to know that I can still trust you. Tell me."
It was beautiful, watching the emotions flicker across her face. Like watching a creature in the wild, getting ready to flee or fight, or escalate, or any of a dozen different reactions. Light dawned on her face as the meaning behind my words hit her. "You — you'd trust me even after I — after I cast—"
"Answer my goddamn question, first," I snapped. "Then we'll talk."
She looked down. "Yes. There were loopholes. There are always loopholes. The oath only covers the direct information discussed between me and the other party, I mean, you. But there is always peripheral information that I can pass out to others in a variety of ways, and so long as I'm not giving that information to a single person, I'm technically not breaking the oath. Whether those different people meet together and discuss those unconnected facts and reach a conclusion is out of my hands."
I moved ahead, and grabbed her left arm. Between my elevated strength, and the suddenness, it must have hurt. But it got me into physical contact with her, and that was a prerequisite for maintaining the perk's effect.
"So, you… you cheated me." like that?"
It wasn't a question, but an assertion. And the effect was immediate.
Culpability raised by 3%
Amazing.
"I —I did. But nothing significant," she said, her voice absolutely low. "I discussed a little with Tonks, and a little with Sturgis Podmore, you know, the Unspeakable. It wasn't anything about what you told me directly, but my own conclusions about you, and the changes in you… that kind of stuff. It was actually from him that I got the idea that there might have been time-travel involved. Though personally, he thought the chances of that happening was pretty low, since the Department of Mysteries would have gotten a reaction if there was a reverse-flux in the Time stream."
Of course there wouldn't be. I wasn't a time-traveller after all.
"Did you really believe that Emmeline would have betrayed my confidence, despite the oaths?"
Nod.
"How?"
She met my eyes. "Because she was the one that taught me how to do so. She — she was my handler, when Tonks introduced me to the Order. I was a broken, angry, suicidal thing bent on trying to kill Lucius Malfoy. Tonks caught me in the act, and instead of arresting me, she took me to an Order meeting. I spent a lot of time with Emmeline after that, and she…. She changed me, she helped me learn Occlumency, helped me develop a happy-go-lucky facade, and taught me how to be a successful spy. She made me everything I am."
I said nothing.
"After she put you to sleep, she charged me with betraying the Order. I — I had no choice, so I told her about your incubus nature. She was utterly repulsed by the idea of the Boy-Who-Lived reduced to a manwhore, and I reminded her of the old stories. Of Cu Chulainn, and Diarmuid, powerful warriors that were all incubi. I pointed out your reflexes, your strength and speed, and told her that you were our best chance against the Dark Lord. But I — I wasn't sure about what she'd do. I mean, she was already sceptical about you performing Necromancy, so what if she saw through some of your plans and disagreed with them? What could I do? I — I didn't think. I just —"
"Imperiused her?"
She let out another sob.
"Yes."
Interesting.
"And why did you command her to fuck me?"
Hestia looked away.
"LOOK AT ME!"
She flinched, but did.
Culpability raised by 11%
Goodness! Her culpability was at ninety. With that much guilt, I was pretty sure I could've driven her to suicide right then. It was so easy, channelling naked rage and clenching my fists, making the muscles on my forearms stand out. Hestia tried to say something, but all that came out was a bunch of stammering nonsense. By God! She was one step away from acting like Penelope did in my presence.
"I — I got Podmore to get me some research on incubi, and I found, I found that —"
"Found what?"
Another sob escaped her throat. "I found that the more someone is sexually invested with an incubus, the more they fall into his allure. It's slow, and at first, just about the pleasure. Then it becomes a need, and after a certain point, an obsession, a necessity, like oxygen. If they go for long periods without having sex with them, those people experience withdrawal, and even lose their minds. I imagined that's what you did to Hermione, and the other girls. To me."
I… didn't know that bit, but it definitely made sense. After all, hadn't the Screen given me multiple options for establishing world anchors? For Necromancy, it was the horcrux. For sorcery, I had to perform a Sanctum Invocation with a ley line. And for Incubi, I had to have sex with as many people as I possibly could.
I had previously thought that having sex to establish anchorage was because of the Outlander system. It wasn't. It was because of the Incubus path.
I met her eyes, and found her observing me.
"I'm right, ain't I?"
"Say you are, but what of it? Knowing that I have you under my allure, why did you pull Emmeline in? Why not escape?"
She smiled sadly. "Because you're Harry Potter? Or maybe because you give me pleasure like I've experienced before? Or maybe because I trust in your vision. Maybe it's just too late, or maybe… maybe, I just don't care. Emmeline wasn't happy in her marriage, and I have more trust in you than in Dumbledore's ability to get things done. I've chosen my side, Harry, and I couldn't let her risk everything you've been working on."
"Even if it means taking away her ability to choose?" I drew closer. "Make her my puppet?"
Culpability has risen by 2%
I fucking love this perk!
"Yes."
"Why?"
She said nothing.
"Why, Hestia? Why would you do such a thing? Why would you imperius your own mentor for me? Why would you push your best friend into my arms? It can't just be for pleasure or paranoia. What is it? Tell me. Tell me—"
"BECAUSE I'VE FALLEN FOR YOU, DAMNIT!"
I blinked at the suddenness of her statement, inwardly frowning at the confirmation of my suspicions. This… this could damage things.
"I've fallen for you!" She yelled, glaring daggers at me. "You! You've used me! You've manipulated me! You've known all along that I've been spying on you and twisted me into joining your side! You — you're the bastard that has given me hope, something no one in this bigoted world has ever given me! You — you've lived through all this, suffered so much, and are doing so much to change the world, for people like me. People like Tonks. How could I not fall for you?"
Before I knew it, Hestia threw her arms around me, and I had to fight to remember that if I didn't restrain my strength, I might hurt her as I hugged her back. She just pressed against me, everywhere, as if she wanted to just push herself inside me. She let out a soft little sob and pressed her face into my neck.
She felt so good, so soft and warm and alive.
And so full of need.
And then, she lifted her head back, and I saw her eyes glistening. I had come to expect seeing a look of dazed satiation in them after a long night of humiliation and passion, or of molten desire when I spanked her with my crop, or of shattering ecstasy as I fucked her.
I did not expect to see clear eyes sparkling with love, smouldering with emotion. As they met my greenish ones, a spark of recognition hit them, and she jerked back in pure reflex, her face now distressed.
"I — I'm sorry." she said. "I'm sorry. I didn't think."
I shook my head. "It's all right."
She bit her lip and looked up at me uncertainly. Hestia had never been stupid. Even when she'd been trapped in my anchorage, she had walked into it with her eyes open.
She wanted an answer. And I know, as I stood there, that whether I acknowledged her feelings, rejected them, or simply ignored them, she would stay mine. She would hurt, she'd hurt like hell, but she'd survive, and grow strong out of it. The best thing I could have done for her right then was to simply reject her feelings and carry on with our professional relationship, even maintain our friends-with-benefits status.
It felt like someone had just tied a noose around my neck. And honestly, it's a sensation I've been feeling recently, ever since all this mess with that dream began. Things were spiralling out of my control, and I needed to think with my mind, and be pragmatic. But there, as we stood, Hestia looking at me, her eyes filled with a delicious mix of hope and guilt, I made a drastic decision.
I moved in, grabbed her waist, and pulled her into a kiss. I felt how uneasy she was, how strongly her body reacted to my touch. Her nipples were stiff, and her pussy wet and moving, rubbing against my trousers. I slid my hands lower, and she moaned, as my fingers slid over her arse. Her firm cheeks fit perfectly in my palms, and she moaned as I gave them a squeeze.
And then, I let her go.
She pulled back, lips parted open, looking at me with a raw desire that felt so alien in that face, and fell backwards on the bed. Her legs parted slightly, revealing her moist pussy, her chest moving up and down, her full breasts rising with the ebb and flow. She looked at me, not with lust, but with hope.
"Harry Potter," she said at last. "Will you… will you make love to me?"
I was with Hestia. We weren't making out, or having sex, or committing any of our usual depravity. Tonight wasn't for physical pleasure or carnal satisfaction, tonight was for completion, a birth of an emotional bond that existed beyond world anchors, beyond the Devil's Charm, beyond any Unbreakable Vow. It was about a woman giving her everything to a man, expecting nothing, demanding nothing, an unconditional offering of her mind, body and soul. Tonight I held complete power over her, and I knew, deep within, that I could twist and manipulate her into doing nearly anything I wanted. Betrayal was not an option, and she was as likely to leave me as she was to slice her own throat.
But tonight wasn't about that power either. It was about emotion. About love. And while I did not quite love her, I wanted her to remember this night.
At least, that was the theory.
Kneeling before her, I lay a kiss upon her thigh and positioned myself. Her chest was already heaving with the thrill and anticipation of a virgin waiting to be deflowered. She stared at me, propping herself up on her arms, her eyes sparkling with unyielding love and devotion to me. I had no idea what I'd done to deserve the love of this remarkable creature but there was no way I was going to disappoint her.
Slowly, teasingly, I moved upwards towards her moist sex. Her thighs squeezed around my head, as her body writhed, and her moans egged me on. I could have used Parseltongue and got her to scream in orgasmic pleasure, but inciting her through magic felt like a disservice. I wrapped my arms around her hips and pulled her harder against my face as I tried to devour her whole.
Suddenly, Hestia's death grip around my head relaxed, and her legs draped over my back. Her hips rocked gently as I lapped at her sex, sending quivers through her body that echoed her soft moans of pleasure. I had seen her in this state more than enough times to recognize a strong climax, usually after a prolonged session of intense powerfucking.
And yet here she was, like a young woman, experiencing the joys of sex for the first time.
The dichotomy was absolutely scintillating.
"I want you, Harry," she said, her tone heavy with lust. "Make love to me."
I grinned at her, and stripped my trousers down, kicking them off into the corner of the room and stood before her, my hard cock springing out, ready for action.
"Yes," said Hestia. "Make me yours. Forever."
I smirked. "Why, Miss Jones? Are you proposing marriage?"
She blushed. "No, I — I mean —" She met my eyes. "I know you cannot marry me into your House. The Charters will not allow it. But it doesn't matter. I want to be with you, whatever term our relationship falls under. No man shall ever touch this body, no one except you, Harry."
I smirked, and lowered myself over her naked body and allowed myself a moment to enjoy the feel of her breasts pressed against my chest, her thighs pressing into my hips, and her hands trailing up and down my arms. Gripping my cock, I angled it into her impossibly slick and wet folds. They embraced me like an old lover, bringing a gasp from both of us. A tingling sensation rushed through my body, threatening me to lose control already.
Whatever this was… it wasn't normal. Not from her side, and neither from mine.
Maybe the old man really was onto something when he waxed about the power of love?
"More," Hestia gasped.
I realised I had closed my eyes. They popped open again to see my messy-haired lover sitting upright, one arm behind here to support her weight. Her free hand slid up my chest, until her fingers wrapped around the back of my neck. I leaned in, planting a kiss on her luscious lips. It ended abruptly as I pushed more of my cock into her warm embrace, her thighs tightening around my hips as her whole body shook in ecstasy.
"More, please," she moaned, her eyes locked onto my rod, as it slowly pushed deeper into her.
I inched further, deeper, fitting about half my length inside her now. Her tunnel constricted even more, but she was so wet and welcoming that it sucked me deeper and deeper inside of her. I pulled back, and with another thrust, sent the entire thing into her pussy.
"Yes!" she hissed in pleasure, as I pulled back and thrust again, and again and again. There was no need to change positions, no reason for her to come on top or pull my dick out. She did not want to suck my cum and I had no desire to flood her mouth either. The fucking could wait for later, but for now, all that mattered was the feeling of her soft form beneath me, my weight pressing against her, and my shaft spearing deep into her as I pistoned in and out.
A shiver ran through my body, surprising the heck out of me, as my climax rushed in. Gritting my teeth and every muscle in my body, I staved it off.
Hestia did not have the same restraint.
Her tunnel gushed and pulsed, soaking my cock and nether regions immediately. Her eyes rolled back into her head, and she opened her mouth in a silent scream, but I caught her lips in another passionate kiss, and let my own restraints fall, flooding her insides. There is an absolutely wonderful feeling in kissing a woman while climaxing in her, doubly so when she is orgasming as well.
But the most surprising thing happened when I pulled away from her.
Hestia lay on the bed, her face turned to a side, tears trickling down her moist cheeks.
"Hestia—" I began, but the smile forming on her lips stopped me midway.
"So this is how it feels," she murmured, and looked at me, touching my cheeks with her soft fingers. "I had so much sex over the years. You… you gave me pleasure like no one else, and I thought… I thought I had seen it all. But this… I didn't expect this."
She smiled again.
"You were right, you know. When you told Hermione on that first day I came to live here. If I cannot develop feelings for someone, and have the same person look at me the same way, then the sex is just that… sex. Nothing comes out of it."
"You, err… remember that?"
She giggled. "Of course I did, dummy. It might not have meant much to you, but it shook me. It reminded me of the one love I have sought all my life, the feelings I had shut away for years. I thought having sex was enough, and if I had a lot of it, I'd forget everything else. But I was a fool, wasn't I? So much sex, but nothing even remotely as magical as this. I…. I thank you, Harry, for giving this to me."
"Your one love," I repeated. "Tonks, right?"
She froze for a moment, before nodding slowly.
"I noticed your wordplay earlier," I said, smirking. "No man will have me, you said. I noticed how you left 'woman' out of that."
She gave me a lopsided grin. "I'm a spy. Wordplay and loopholes are all I'm about." And then she suddenly paused. "Harry, there's something weird —"
I put a finger on her lips. "Later. Tonight is just about you."
"Uh, no," she said, pushing my fingers away. "You don't understand. I'm — um, seeing something floating before my eyes. And it looks like a… uh, a screen."
Notes:
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Next Update is on 15th February.
Chapter 87: Lilim
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 3 - THE INCUBUS AND NECROMANCER
The bottom fell out of my stomach.
"...Wha… what did you say?"
I had to have misheard her. There was no other explanation. I and I alone was the Outlander, and only I had the ability to view the Screen and use its ability to take advantage of the System and get out ahead faster than anyone else. My one-way ticket to Godhood. There was absolutely no way the Screen would start displaying itself to others even if they were—
You have activated a new Attribute
Attribute — DEVOTION
DESCRIPTION
Every Lord needs his acolytes to display their complete and undying devotion to him.
Presence of the DEVOTION attribute transforms a 100% anchor into a Lilim.
I paused. Ok, the screen was doing something. I didn't know what any of it meant, but this was presumably controllable.
You have activated a new Attribute
Attribute - LILIM COUNT
DESCRIPTION
Acolytes of the Incubus Lord. The more, the merrier.
And a Lilim is…?
LILIM
A 100% World Anchor with Devotion is classified as a Lilim. Lilims have limited access to the Screen. Upon activation, Lilims may gain perks and increased affinities from the Incubus Lord, and enhance the Incubus Lord in return.
What was this? Why was I getting all of this now? And why was Hestia suddenly able to see a goddamn Screen? She had hit her hundred percent anchorage sometime last week, and Hermione had hers close to two months ago. Hell, Amelia gained hers most recently, and right before me evolving to Incubus Lord. Then… why?
What was I missing?
I focussed on the earlier stat.
Devotion.
'Harry—" Hestia began.
"Shhh," I told her absently. "I'm thinking. Just… stay silent for a while."
"But—"
"Please?"
I pulled out of her, and got off the bed, scowling. Unlike World Anchorage, the Devotion stat didn't have any range parameters. It was either present or absent. But Hermione was equally devoted to me, wasn't she? She had sworn herself to be on my side, no matter what happened, back in our first-year. But it took her accepting the fact for her World Anchorage to rise and hit the 100% ceiling.
But if that wasn't Devotion, then what was?
And why did it only matter for those 100% World Anchors?
Too many questions. Too little answers. And as if it wasn't enough, the Screen flickered once again.
Current Lilim Count — 1
HESTIA JONES
As expected, Hestia had been turned into a Lilim. I recalled that Lilims were demonic entities that served greater demons. By that logic, Hestia was someone with a 100% anchorage, which translated to me being the most important person in her life, and she was in service to me, an Incubus Lord — a demon of Lust, which made her a Lilim.
And there were only two things that had happened recently that could have been the reason behind the sudden change.
Her proclamation of her love for me.
And, the fact that she cast the Imperius on Emmeline to protect my secrets.
As much as I wanted to believe it was the former, I couldn't. And Incubus wasn't a being of Love, but of Lust. Well, that was technically an incorrect statement, given how my anchorages reflected my emotional bonding with my anchors and vice versa. It might have been a case of childhood love for Hermione, but for Amelia, it was about emotional and conjugal fulfilment. Sexual satisfaction was probably a significant thing for Narcissa, but I doubted that she chose me specifically for my ability to outfuck her. Well, maybe it was part of the reason, but achieving her freedom from Lucius's shackles was just as high a priority in her eyes. Susan's was a case of infatuation and to a lesser extent, freedom, while for Hannah and her mum, it was simply a form of defiance and sexual satisfaction. Tracey saw me as a way to gain financial independence, and for Ginny, it was a result of her possession.
Emmeline just didn't count. Not yet.
There was only one thing that made Hestia truly different from the rest. She had cast the Imperius Curse on Emmeline Vance. She had chosen to subdue another's will, just because the person could potentially be a danger to me. She had truly developed the kind of mindset that required her to believe that not only was I the most important person in her life, but that no other person's wishes or their ability to choose did not even matter when compared to mine. Like they were lesser.
I could argue that Amelia had also mindfucked Susan to a degree that could be called criminal, but she hadn't done it because I wanted it, or that it would aid me in some way. No, she did it because she wanted to exert her influence over every other woman that I bedded, and wanted to ensure that she remained my Number One. The motive behind it all was innately selfish, and not what one might think as Devotion.
Or at least, that was what made sense to me.
Hermione too, fell along similar lines. Yes, she had pledged to be on my side, but that did not rid her of her own insecurities, nor put her in a mindset where she could just offer herself to me, while expecting nothing in return. For that was what Hestia had done. She had imperiused her own mentor, gone against the very Order that made her what she was, and was trying to bring her best friend and first love into my web of lust, and yet, she was perfectly prepared for me to reject her because she cast an Unforgivable.
Was that why….
I turned to Hestia.
"Harry," she said, her tone uncertain. "Is something wrong? Have I done something wrong?"
I couldn't help but smile. Devoted indeed.
"No. But you might have done something right. Tell me, this… Screen, what does it look like? Does it have anything written on it?"
"Uh, yes," she asked. "You're going to think I've gone crazy, but this thing claims that I've become a Lilim." She paused. "Your Lilim."
Somehow, I knew that the Tether perk was to blame for it. I knew something was not right about it the moment I had gotten it. It told me that I would have to take responsibility for my world anchorages, but was never clear about the mechanics. The monthly boosts of Meta-Luck was possibly the best thing that any perk could ever give me, but I should've known that there was no such thing as free lunch.
As the saying goes, with great power comes great responsibility.
Here's my addendum to it. Great responsibility often gets you fucked greatly.
Exhibit like… C just entered into evidence.
"Harry?"
I exhaled, and controlled the irrational burst of panic in me. The truth was, it was through my fake time-travel story that I had gotten Hestia's complete and utter devotion. I'm not even being metaphorical here. I had to be careful about this, and make sure that nothing I told her strayed from my fake story, or else I would be in a world of trouble.
Careful, Harry. Be very, very careful.
I exhaled. "Hestia, I want you to tell me everything you are seeing before your eyes right now."
Mentally, I commanded the screen to display her 'status'.
LILIM - HESTIA JONES
Age - 24
AFFINITY
Transfiguration —17%
Charms — 44%
Martial Magic — 41%
Dark Arts — 59%
Psychomancy (Occlumency) — 57%
Psychomancy (Legilimency) —39%
Spatial magic —53%
Magical Sensing —13%
Magical Analytics — 9%
No perks. Which meant that her ability to read through conversations was a honed art, and not a natural facility. Perhaps she was channelling her innate Legilimency talent? 39% was nothing to scoff at. As was her staggering 57% at Occlumency. No wonder she had taken to Emmeline's training like fish to water.
Bloody hell, I remember having a measly 3% in general Psychomancy upon finding myself in this world.
Also, No Meta-Luck either.
"Ummm, you're not going to laugh, are you?"
She took one look at my expression and sobered up. "Okay, um, it lists my affinities. Transfiguration, Charms, Martial Magic, I suppose that classifies as Defence Against the Dark Arts, and then there's Dark Arts, Psychomancy, Spatial magic, Magical Sensing and Analytics. And it's displaying my affinity to them in terms of… and I'm not freaking kidding, in terms of percentages."
"Anything else?"
She shook her head.
"Harry," she asked again. "What's all this? Do you — I mean, is this another of your —"
"My powers, yes. Well, sort of."
"What is all this?" she asked, narrowing her eyes. She tried to touch the status window using her finger, but it obviously passed through. "I'm pretty sure they aren't my NEWT results. And I can't touch it, this screen, I mean."
"That's because it isn't there, Hestia," I said, sighing. "It's an illusion. Well, an illusion that only you can see."
"And you?"
"And me, yes."
"Can you see what I'm seeing?"
"Yes."
Her eyes narrowed further. "Prove it."
"How? I could comment on how you've got a high affinity for Legilimency, even though you haven't learned it yet. Or I suppose I could point out your extremely high affinity to Spatial magic, 53%, which makes me wonder just how skilled at apparition you are. But I think I'd rather talk about your affinity for the Dark Arts, a staggering 59%, and greater than any other discipline, which explains how you successfully cast the Imperius curse. Merlin, Hestia, you've got all the makings of a Dark Witch."
She scowled at me.
"Yes," I deadpanned. "I can see them. You're my Lilim. Of course I have access to your profile."
"But what is this?" She almost whined. "What sort of magic is this?"
I took a moment to gather my thoughts. "It's… called the Tether system. It's the reason why part of my mindscape looks like a futuristic muggle city that's, well, being eaten by a shadow demon."
"You mean — this is a technology from the future?"
"...yes, exactly!Magical technology. Every magical — witch, wizard, or any other creature really, has varying affinities for the different disciplines of magic. That's why some people are good at some things, average at others and absolute dunderheads at others. Some people are great at defence, but terrible at potions. For example, you have a very strong affinity for Charms and Martial Magic, which explains how you can cast the Patronus, but your skill at Analytics is only 9%. I doubt you even took Arithmancy at Hogwarts."
She shook her head. "Care of Magical Creatures and Divination. Never had the patience for Runes or Arithmancy."
"And because it's an easy OWL."
She giggled. "That too."
I observed how carefree she looked. It wasn't that she was sombre before, but despite that cheerful facade she always had on, I could sense a sharp, cunning mind observing every action I took and run its own calculations.
"We think that if we study harder, we'll probably score better. Maybe some people even do. I mean, hard work beats talent every day and all that, but a natural facility is always an added advantage. What this status window does, is display our affinities in terms of percentages. Based on this, you can tell exactly what you're good at. Makes it easier for students to be sorted into the disciplines that fit their affinities."
"Amazing…" murmured Hestia, her eyes wide. "And in the future, everyone has this?"
I twisted my face in a pained expression, and Hestia instantly winced. "Sorry, I — I didn't think."
I shook my head. "No worries. I'm one of the few that got their hands on this. Though, you getting this was a surprise."
"Why?"
Why indeed? I'd have gone out on a limb and claimed that it had something to do with the Tether perk, my World Anchors and my own status as a 'fake' that had been inserted into Harry's body by some higher authority with a sadistic sense of humour. On the other hand, the terminology made me think it was connected to my nature as an Incubus Lord.
A power that I hadn't fully actualized yet.
But come to think of it….
Screen. Do I need world anchors even for the Necromancer Path?
The response, as always, was immediate.
You do not belong in this World.
A World Anchor is a Bond you share with existences that are part of this reality. TETHER allows you to establish new World Anchors and solidify existing ones, granting you affinities from your anchors as well as Meta-Luck.
The screen flickered.
METHODS OF GAINING WORLD ANCHORAGE
Perform a Tantric Sex Ritual with another entity, sharing your magical energy while receiving a minor portion of their affinity in return
Create a Horcrux
Perform a Sanctum Invocation with a Ley Line.
I stood corrected. World Anchors were not something limited to the Incubus Path then. There were different versions of them, depending on the Path I chose to take. Wait, did that mean that by creating Horcruxes, Voldemort too was gaining strength? Did that mean the stronger I got, the more power and skill Voldemort would get from me in return? Was that how it worked?
I wasn't sure but regardless, the horcrux had to go.
I had never expected this. Was I, on my way to gaining ultimate power, making Voldemort more powerful in return? It did make poetic sense, given how I was also synchronising with his Necromancer powers. Was this — was this what the prophecy meant?
The Dark Lord shall mark him as his Equal?
If I let it, maybe the Horcrux would slowly make my affinities in Necromancy on par with Voldemort. And in the same way, it would probably synchronise my affinities with him. The only difference would be that I'd have those affinities, but with no real skill or knowledge to truly utilise them. On the other hand, he, with his endless knowledge he had gathered over decades, would only get better and infinitely more powerful because of the affinity he'd get from me.
Was this Fate's way of making it a battle of equals somehow? Because things weren't exciting enough for that fucking bitch?
But even if that was true, did that mean I could perhaps use this to fuck with Voldemort, like he did with Harry in fifth year in the books? Hmmm. Another reason to speed up the activation of Lecherous Shrine.
I became conscious of Hestia's eyes on me. I glanced at her face. Her expression was tough to read.
"I told you about how I became an Incubus Lord, remember? Well, a Lilim, mythologically, is a demoness in service to a greater demon. So I suppose, when you demonstrated unwavering loyalty to me, it affected our bond, and transformed you into one."
She narrowed her eyes. "You're saying I'll cease being human?"
I shrugged. "I really couldn't say. This is as much new for me as it is for you. Hell, I'm an Incubus Lord and I'm still human. Or well, at least look and feel and think like one, so I imagine you should too. And given this only happened after you cast the Imperius for me, and said you love me and everything —"
"I do," she said without the slightest affliction.
"Yes, that," I said, feeling utterly uncomfortable at her bluntness. "Doing that establishes you as a Lilim. You know, in service to the Incubus Lord. At least, that's my theory."
"A demoness," she murmured, frowning. She pursed her lips for a moment, and then giggled.
"... what?"
"Oh nothing. Dad always told me I'd be trouble when I grew up. And look, I'm a demoness now. With a silly magical screen." She giggled again, making me wonder if I had hit her with a cheering charm by mistake.
"You're taking this Lilim thing quite… I don't know, easily?" I almost grumbled. "Aren't you, you know, just a little bit sceptical? About all this?"
She gave me a lopsided grin, and placed a single finger right over her naked breast. "Lilim, remember? Complete and utter devotion to my Lord. Why should I question anything you say?"
I scowled, and that made her giggle harder. After a moment, she finally spoke. "It's not that I'm not sceptical. It's just that I don't care. I mean, I can see it, and so can you, so either it's some illusion that you've cast over me to make me believe in some cock-and-bull story that somehow also makes sense, with my umm, affinities… in which case, I'd say it's unnecessary because I already trust you with everything."
"Or?"
"Or it is the truth," she said simply. "And that means you've infected me with some future magical technology, and that means there must be all kinds of interesting things this thing can do. I can't wait to see them."
My mind flashed back to her confession, how she had bluntly stated how she agreed with my vision of the Wizarding world, and pledged her loyalty, and just mere moments ago, stated how she loved me, without the slightest affliction to her tone. I wasn't sure if she was secretly holding doubts, or just playing along, or really didn't care at all like she claimed, but I got the impression that as long as things fell along her own agenda, Hestia would be fine with pretty much whatever weird shit I threw her way.
"Harry…" she began again, her eyes going wide again. "You told me Voldemort summoned demons. Did you… do you think that your Incubus powers are connected to that?"
I blinked.
Her face grew even more serious. "I mean, if you faced demons, and are now an Incubus, a sex demon then…"
Oh God.
Really. I was winging my fanciful tale half the time and depending on my knowledge of Canon events to fill the blanks, and I swear she was now writing a better story than I did. At this point, all I needed to do was just smile and nod, and she'd be my best alibi.
"Did I say something funny?"
Her frown made me chuckle. "Sorry, I just… remembered something funny, that's all. And yeah, it could be. I like to think I was a fair hand at killing demons. But I had my share of scars from that. It's possible one of them could have caused a magical reaction."
"I see," she said. "Yes, that makes sense now. It explains everything. I had wondered, but yes…" she swept the hair on her face past her ear. "Your knowledge, your incubus nature, your sudden growth and your investing in muggle technology and enchanting. And that stunt with Penelope, who coincidentally happened to have crafted a revolutionary approach to enchanting…"
Do not laugh. Do not laugh. Do not laugh.
She met my eyes. "That's what you're after, aren't you? You're trying to recreate this technology. And Penelope —"
"I am not sure of that, Hestia," I told her. "I'm no Charms master, and I don't know the 'why' behind this technology. Hell, I'm still not done figuring out the 'how' completely. Penelope's thesis looked revolutionary, and I thought that if someone has the best chance to reverse-engineer this thing…"
"I see," she said, nodding. "That makes sense. I mean — wait, something's —" She paused, and frowned, and right then, a new notification hit me.
Configuring Spiritual Baseline for Lilim HESTIA JONES complete….
Rendering…
Perk added: ETERNAL YOUTH
Both of us looked at our individual screens and yelled out —
"... WHAT?"
"E— eternal Youth?" Hestia stammered, looking at me utterly bewildered. "Harry, this — this is a joke, right? This things says that I — that I have —"
"I know what the bloody thing says!" I growled. "I can see it. Just working on believing."
And so it was, the impossible perk, staring at me in the face on the Screen.
Perk — ETERNAL YOUTH
A wart-free immortal life. If that isn't the envy of every woman out there, what is?
EFFECTS
Lilims do not succumb to age. They reach a certain point of maturity and stop. Suffering from a disease or poison or curse will kill them like anyone else.
"Harry—"
I didn't respond. My brain was too busy working overdrive. The first rule of being the boss guy was to never let others see you sweat. People expect us to know things. It can be a big advantage. Screwing it up by looking like you're as confused as everyone else is bad for the image.
The very nature of an Incubus was to be a figure that oozed sex appeal. Ageing could help there, but only up to a certain degree. After you reach your prime, any further ageing would only drop your appeal in front of others, and somehow, I doubted that Devil's Charm would allow that to happen. Ever since I had become an Incubus, I had grown stronger and faster and gained some degree of bulk, granting me a figure that attracted the opposite sex. Increase in libido, development of a sharper jawline, some defined stubble, and of course, a musculature enough for me to get a job as a model. I even looked less like a sixteen-year-old and more like someone hitting twenty or more.
Show me more on Lilims. I told the Screen. How do I use them? What do I get? Everything.
INCUBUS LORD AND LILIM
A Lilim denotes a permanent symbolic representation of an Incubus Lord in the World. So long as a Lilim exists, the Incubus Lord cannot die.
Through performing acts of Devotion, Lilims can gain a rise in affinities and perks at the expense of the Incubus Lord's Meta-Luck. The Incubus Lord can use Lilims through Lecherous Shrine.
HOW?
Information redacted
Domain LECHEROUS SHRINE Inactive
Damn it.
I ran my fingers through my hair.
This — this was the reason why I was given the monthly boosts of Meta-Luck. It wasn't because Fate had decided to be less of a bitch to me. No, it was so that they could be used to amplify my Lilims, turn them into immortally young witches, and through them, grant me a form of pseudo-immortality.
Not unlike the Horcrux.
The Dark Lord's Equal, indeed.
Voldemort used his horcruxes to TETHER himself to life. And the TETHER perk used these Lilims to anchor me to the world, keeping me away from certain death, so long as my Lilims survived. It differed in the fact that he split himself, and made himself less. Conversely I added more lilims to myself which inverted that principle.
Obviously, that meant the more Lilims I had, the more secure I was in my immortality. Conversely, if Voldemort or his shit-eaters attacked my Lilims, then I'd be fucked.
"This —" I said at last, gathering my words. "This is real, Hestia. As a Lilim, you have eternal youth. Not a hint of grey hair, not a single wart, nothing. You'll probably keep growing until you reach a mature form, and then just stop."
Which meant that if Amelia became a Lilim then —
Poor Susan! Her dream of seeing her aunt in grey hair and wrinkles was never going to be a reality. On the other hand, I'd have to make sure how many lilims I could maintain at the same time. Nothing could be worse than having my Meta-Luck drained faster than I could even refill it by gaining new anchors. It certainly didn't help that my Meta-Luck was scratching at the bottom right now.
"You can't be serious!"
I sighed. "I'm shocked, not serious! I…. I didn't expect this was possible. Oh and yes, so long my Lilims are alive, I cannot be killed."
"And all of this because I told you that I love you?" she asked, sceptical.
"Not quite. But it's definitely because you chose to imperius Emmeline."
She scowled. "Don't mock me."
I shook my head, and caressed her cheek. She almost melted at my touch. "I'm truly not, Hestia. When you did that, you proved that no one holds greater priority than me in your eyes. That proved your devotion to me, which made you my Lilim."
"Bollocks! By that logic, Hermione should've been a Lilim long ago."
"It looks like that, but it's the underlying emotion that counts. Hermione is devoted to being on my side. Being with me, helping me, that's what she's chosen to define herself with. But that doesn't stop her from being selfish about it, or being insecure about her position in my life. I imagine that's what stops her from becoming a Lilim."
"If that's really the case," came the cool voice of Hermione Granger. "Perhaps you should teach me how to cast the Imperius Curse, Hestia. I wouldn't want to miss out on that Eternal Youth. Seems like a useful thing to have."
Both of us whirled around and saw Hermione, standing at the doorway, giving us the look that promised an interrogation that would make the Spanish Inquisition seem tame.
"Hermione—"
"Werewolf hearing, remember?" she said, sauntering into the room, just as naked as she had been when I filtered the raw necromantic energy out of her. "Makes it really difficult for me to sleep without silencing charms. I guess I'm never going to complain about it from now on. I mean, how else would I know that the person I've been living and fucking every day is a fucking time-travelling demon?"
Hestia and I looked at each other.
"You explain," both of us said at once.
Hermione was not amused.
Notes:
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Next Update is on 20th February.
Chapter 88: Hermione's Resolve
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 3 - THE INCUBUS AND NECROMANCER
Exhaustion weighed Hermione down.
After those twisted deathly energies had polluted her insides, and sunk her beneath a world of inky blackness, she hadn't really anticipated waking up to Hestia bawling her lungs out. It probably said something about the corruption that was slowly taking over her soul, that her first instinct wasn't to barge in and demand what was going on, but to stick to the shadows, and silently pace her way to the guest room where the sounds and the scents were greatest. The house reeked of sex, again, nothing unexpected, but given how Harry much Harry was panicking, it was surprising that sex was even on the table after that. Especially with that other Lady, Emmeline Vance being present.
She knew her Harry held a lot of secrets. At times, it made her wonder if this was even Harry Potter at all. The Harry she knew was an introvert, one that was afraid to even be in the centre of the class and always chose to sit close to the walls, preferably at the back of the class. It was like he believed that if he was out of everyone's sight, they would not notice him, and things would be… safer. She had never quite vocalised it out loud, but she suspected that Harry was abused by his relatives. So when Harry had gone ahead and purchased a lavish building, and begun to make such flamboyant statements in the wizarding world, Hermione knew that something was utterly wrong.
She had often accompanied the two of them as they sat around discussing business. Hestia would begin with broad, sweeping statements, but Hermione had quickly learned that those did not suffice for him. Harry wanted to know everything there was to know, even about people that weren't in politics. It was clear that his thirst for the knowledge was less of a curiosity, and more of an obsession, as if even the slightest amount of trivia was worth hundreds of galleons to him.
And if his claims about having an eidetic memory were true, then he was literally absorbing information about people like a sponge.
Harry had tried to hide it when he was asking the more probing questions, but Hermione was no slouch at reading between the lines. The way he asked pointed questions to his secretary, asked them again and asked more about specific people until he was satisfied and told her that he knew them, or knew of them, at least. And then there was the intimate knowledge he held about a few select people, and his skill at managing business, and his surprisingly elevated skill at spellcasting. She had always known that Harry was smart, and there was clearly some plan he was crafting along the way, and he wasn't going to enter anything with the proverbial wands blazing.
Harry Potter over the past few years was a doer.
This one was a schemer. A manipulator. One was more than willing to play dirty if it served his purposes.
Still, she had definitely not expected the reason behind the change to be just that… surreal.
Like seriously, time-travel?
It was the stuff of science fiction. Nothing in her limited experience in the wizarding world had proven that such a thing existed, but in hindsight, where a person could just vanish from a certain spot and reappear several miles away, and a world where people used fireplaces to teleport across large distances, time-travel ceased to be loopy and merely something surprising.
And from the way Hestia talked about it, the Unspeakables definitely had something going along in that line of research.
She had stuck to the shadows like a mannequin, breathing as softly as possible, listening as Harry revealed his past life to Hestia Jones. Hermione had been absolutely floored on hearing about how things had fallen apart, how the actions, or rather, the inactions of the Headmaster, had led to Voldemort inevitably winning the war. The anger that exuded out of Harry was absolutely real, and even though Hermione had the feeling that something was missing in his story, there was no doubt that much of what he was speaking was the truth. She had been shocked to hear that the last time around, she had been dating Ron Weasley, and more importantly, had not been turned into a werewolf. Sirius Black had been alive and remained a fugitive, until his unfortunate demise in fifth year at the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange, You-Know-Who's right hand. The more he said, the drearier and ghastlier the image of the future became in her eyes, until it all came to an unfortunate end, with You-Know-Who summoning demons and destroying everything. At this point, Hermione wanted nothing but to rush in and hug her best friend and lover, and help him release all that suffering, all those bitter memories he had borne all this time.
But she hadn't.
Instead she had listened.
She bore witness as Hestia revealed how she had cast the Imperius curse on Emmeline, and her reasons behind it. She had rushed out of the room in tears, and Harry had followed suit soon after, and neither had seen Hermione crouching behind a wall. She had followed soon after, and heard everything that happened after that. Seeing Harry have sex, no, seeing him make love to Hestia Jones had filled Hermione with an acute sense of territoriality, and it took her everything not to slam the door open and hurl the bitch away and take her place.
But she couldn't.
Despite her own vow to Harry, she was yet unable to connect with him in the way Hestia did. It hurt her, and made her feel utterly inferior and burning in jealousy and disappointment, but Hermione was too self-aware to sink herself in delusions. Yes, Harry loved her, and would never betray her, and if necessary, die for her. And so would she. But somehow, that bond was still less than the one he had with Hestia.
And the results were vivid. Quite literally, if their discussions about Hestia becoming Harry's Lilim was any clue.
And after hearing everything about the Tether system, and Hestia gaining something he called a Perk that granted her Eternal Youth, Hermione could not hold herself back anymore. She had charged in, demanding the truth, and he repeated everything she already knew, yet somehow, it felt worse.
Exhausting.
Hermione was exhausted. Terrified. Disappointed. In herself. In the world. In how things had turned out, would turn out.
But somehow, she couldn't bring herself to blame Harry Potter for all this mess that was her life.
"And that's all," said Harry, finishing his story. The three of them were on the bed, with Harry holding her hand as he explained everything in absolute detail. Sometime during the entire thing, Hestia had coiled around his waist, and was caressing his cock lovingly, while Harry caressed her face with his left hand.
"I understand," Hermione said at last. "And I get it, Harry. I am willing to swear an Unbreakable Vow to you right away. I—"
"Gods, Hermione," he said, grabbing her hand and stopping her from reaching her wand. "Did you learn nothing from Hestia's case?"
"Hestia swore an Unbreakable Vow to you too."
"Yes, over a week away. And last I checked, that didn't qualify her for being a Lilim. Don't you see it, a Vow isn't the same as devotion, Hermione. It's just a way of using Magic to make or prevent someone from doing something. It's coercion at its peak."
"But Harry, you know I swore to be on your side always —"
"And I know that, Hermione. But vows are tricky things, and shaped by your deepest desires. You want to help me, yes, but if that somehow, in your head, translates to standing against me for my own good, then not only will the vow not stop you from doing it, it will actually urge you to do it, doesn't matter if your actions are correct or not. So long as you think that what you're doing is right and will help me, you will end up doing it. The Vow will ensure that."
Hermione wanted to cry. "Then — then I'll just swear to be devoted to you. I'll do whatever you say, Harry. I'll obey every order you make. I'll — I'll—"
She couldn't finish that statement, for Harry pulled her and hugged her. Hard.
"Tell me, my Hermione," he said, his voice soothing, "if you do that, would you not be surrendering your independence? Would you be truly happy to do whatever you're told? Can you truly accept that as your life?"
"If that's what I need to do for you, then —"
"No," he told her, his voice filled with a sense of finality. "You will not. Oh you might take the vow, yes. You might even follow my every command without fail, yes. But sooner or later, you will begin to fight it. Hate it. You are a stubborn and fiercely independent witch, Hermione, and as much as that is a giant pain up my arse, it's what makes you You. If I — if this Vow takes that away from you, then you do not stay yourself any longer. You'd just be a puppet. And if not, then you'd start feeling disgust, feeling trapped, and that would eventually make you hate your existence, hate…. Me. And I don't think I could take that."
"I would never hate you, Harry," she bawled. "I can never hate you."
"Yes, because you are now yourself. But when I take your identity, your originality, your stubbornness from you, you do not stay you anymore."
"That's bullshit," Hermione snapped, feeling angry, frustrated, and trapped. "Hestia has become a Lilim. Does that mean she isn't herself? Or is it about casting the curse? In that case, just teach me the wand movement and I'll do it. I swear I will."
Harry chuckled. "Is that what you think happened?"
"Stop mocking me, Harry Potter, or I'll hex you."
"I'm not mocking you," he told her. "I'm just noting the fact that you heard her talking about casting the imperius curse, and were so ready to cast one yourself, but never truly realised what it meant."
Hermione narrowed her eyes. "Explain it to me."
Harry caressed Hestia's face, and the woman moaned softly. She might as well be his dog.
Bitch.
"It's not about casting the unforgivable curse. It's about the mindset. Emmeline was Hestia's mentor in the Order of the Phoenix. She trained Hestia to become a successful covert operative. She gave her life a new meaning, a new purpose. And not only did Hestia not ditch that purpose, she went against the Order to support me instead. You can say that I have become her purpose. And she chose it, on her own accord. I'm still not sure what I did to deserve it, but I'm not going to complain."
Hestia kissed his hand softly. "Nor should you, Harry."
He looked at her and smiled. "I won't."
Hermione growled.
He laughed at her impatience. "You don't see the deeper meaning here, Hermione. Hestia cast the Imperius on Emmeline, and took control of her will. Because she thought that Emmeline might be a danger to me or my plans. Before my safety, Emmeline's will, her desires, or wishes — none of that matters to Hestia. She has, in her mind, placed me on a pedestal so high, that the entire world feels like it was less relevant to Hestia than fulfilling my desires. That is the level of her devotion. That is why she's my Lilim."
Hestia kissed his hand again.
"Then what do I do, Harry?" asked Hermione, feeling desperation gnawing inside her stomach. "How do I prove my dedication to you?"
He touched her cheek with his right hand. "Nothing, Hermione. Albus Dumbledore has always claimed that Love is one of the six powerful forces of the Universe, and contains a power that one cannot even truly understand, much less control. I know of Hestia's devotion because I have proof of it, but I refuse to believe that it is the only form through which devotion, through which pure, unconditional love can manifest. But I know that if there is, then you'll surely find it. And when you do, you'll be my Lilim. Until then, you're my Hermione, and that is no less than a Lilim."
"But —"
"Listen to him, Hermione," said Hestia. "I know you don't like me very much. Even less ever since you found out that I was a spy. I know that you look down on me for opening my legs for Harry, and you probably hate me a little because I became his Lilim. But believe me, this isn't a competition. I've given him all that I am, not expecting anything in return. I was ready to walk away from his life, believing that he would never look upon me without casting aspersions on my character. That he could call me a criminal. Instead he gave me his love."
She grabbed his hand and placed it between her breasts. "Harry, do you feel it? The way my heart beasts?" There was something intense in the way she said it, and even Harry was affected by it. "Do you feel how my pulse is rising? It's because of my devotion to you. The joy of the miracle of feeling this much contentment, this much love… It's overwhelming. I can feel you, Harry. You… you complete me."
She met Hermione's eyes. "Call that what you will, but that is what makes me a Lilim. When you feel the same, I have no doubt you will join me."
Her words struck a chord in Hermione. Hestia was smiling, her expression bordering on serenity, and her words felt both pleasant and painful at the same time. The look she had on her face could be called proud, but it was pride not out of attainment of something, but from the realisation of a sense of oneness with Harry, which probably explained how she was able to use the Tether system Harry spoke of earlier, and was granted a perk from her Incubus Lord.
She swallowed through a dry mouth. "I… I suppose." Then in a smaller voice, she said. "And if it isn't me, then perhaps someone else can add to his Lilims. The more he has, the safer he is. Isn't that right, Harry?"
"Hermione," he pleaded. "Please don't make me out as if I've got nothing better to do than collect women for myself. I'm a fighter —"
"And an incubus," she said slowly. "Sorry. Incubus Lord. And you said it, the more Lilims you have, the more protected you are."
"I don't need your protection, Hermione —"
"Oh, so it's fine if you worry about little old me, but when I do it, it becomes an issue?"
He opened his mouth, and closed it again.
Hermione put her hand over her lips and giggled. "There. You can work on protecting the world from Voldemort and his demons, and your women will work on protecting you. Obviously you've got Hestia digging information on people, so maybe you can give me something to do as well? Maybe research on these…. Horcruxes? Or perhaps help you study your necromancy abilities that you gained from You-Know-Who?"
She ran her fingers through her hair., thinking about it hard.
"No Hermione," said Harry with a straight face. "You may not take up living inside the Hogwarts library."
Hestia snorted.
"And unless things change drastically," said Harry. "We will have the Triwizard Tournament next year, and I'll get chosen as the Fourth Champion. Come to think of it…" he paused. "I think I might as well actually drop my name in the Goblet of Fire, with Ron and the twins as witness. If I have to deal with that madness all over again, there's no way I'm dealing with Ron's jealousy and Malfoy's idiocy all over again."
"We don't have to care about Ron," she said without the slightest affliction. "He chose his fear over me, remember? Jealous or not, he doesn't matter. Not anymore. Not to us."
"He is… our friend, Hermione."
"Perhaps, if I were a normal witch. But I am not. I'm a werewolf, and that was before I got infected with that Necromancy radiation. I don't know what it did to me, but I feel a little different. I feel… Calm."
"That might be a good thing, Hermione," joked Harry. "I won't be able to fuck you all day to satiate the beast at school."
"I'm being serious, Harry. I don't know what's happening to me. But I'll figure that out later. More important is that you've kept me in the dark for all this time, and as much as I want to kill you for that, I won't. But you've got to promise me not to do that any longer."
He looked slightly conflicted.
Hermione frowned. "Can you at least tell me some of it, provided they are not ruining your plans?"
The conflict rose even further. "Let's… let's just say that until I know more about what I'm up against, I'm playing things a lot closer to the chest than usual."
"Tell me you aren't doing it for my own protection."
"You'd kick my arse," said Harry, laughing. "Literally, what with your werewolf strength. No, I'm doing it for mine."
"Thank you," she said. "I think."
"Don't thank me,:" he said. "I'm still keeping you in the dark. And if all of this wouldn't have happened, then you'd not have become a werewolf. You'd have —"
"Forced myself to think of you as a brother, date Ron Weasley, marry him, and then die in the end while trying to protect you," Hermione recited. "No Harry, I like this me better. Yes, I'm cursed, but I'm also stronger. And unlike last time, I have you with me in ways I didn't have the previous time."
"I'll take your word for it."
"Of course you will," she said, grinning. "It's my bloody life. Now tell me, what are you about to do? What with Vance being under the Imperius, and all the nastiness that is going on?"
Harry shook his head and gave her a mirthless smile. "Well, the first thing I've got to do is write a letter to Amelia Bones, and send her the memory. I will probably have to meet her sometime in the next couple of days, and discuss things in private. Emmeline will likely want to do the same."
"You also have a date with Tonks, Harry," suggested Hestia.
Harry frowned. "That… will have to wait. I have bigger fish to fry at the moment. Sorry, Hestia. Time is flying and I need some things in place before the Quidditch World Cup happens. I have a lot banking on that event."
"Like taking care of Lucius Malfoy?" she asked.
Harry looked taken aback.
"You did tell me that you planned to end the Malfoy problem by the end of summer. I imagined that between all the crowd, it was your best place to end him for good."
"Hestia," said Hermione, scandalised. "Surely you cannot mean —"
"That I plan to murder Lucius Malfoy?" asked Harry without the slightest affliction to his voice. "Yes. I do. Or at least, I will try my best to."
"But Harry, that's —"
"If you're going to say that it's wrong, Hermione," snapped Hestia, "then I'd like to remind you about your desire to cast the Imperius curse. Oh, and that you're actually sitting with someone that has cast it on a friend."
Hermione scowled. "I was going to say dangerous. Lucius Malfoy is… powerful, and dangerous and knows an awful lot of the Dark Arts."
"And Harry's fought him," retorted Hestia. "Haven't you, Harry?"
Said boy in question looked a little conflicted. "Actually, I haven't."
"But you said —"
"I never fought Lucius Malfoy," he admitted. "He was one of those slippery bastards that always managed to escape. Sirius fought him though, and nearly defeated him, when Bellatrix hit him with the killing curse in my fifth year."
Hermione watched his expressions. During the entire summer, there had never been a single moment when Harry looked half as cautious as now. Hell, he had gone to visit the stern DMLE Director in her own manor, and he hadn't even broken a sweat.
Why he was so singularly focussed on killing that one man, Hermione did not know. But it looked like Hestia did, and the woman also had a personal bone to pick with Malfoy Senior. Hermione could only wish that Hestia would not get carried away in her tunnel vision and lead Harry to harm.
As much as she was enticed by the option of gaining Eternal Youth, she preferred having her own independent judgement. At least, until she figured out a way to get her devotion past the silly constraints, and become his Lilim.
But one thing was certain. Harry had a long way ahead, and innumerable enemies to bury. Hermione did not choose to gain this dark power flooding through her veins, but by Morgana, if she had it, she was going to use every bit of it to help Harry achieve his dreams. Hermione didn't know what her future-self would think of her current aspirations, but given that she had died, in Harry's own words, protecting Harry, not Ron — her husband, but Harry, the Hermione Granger from the other life would wholeheartedly accept her decision.
Her life, for Harry Potter's safety.
"But have you ever fought him?" She heard Hestia ask.
"Not… quite," he admitted. "Kingsley Shaklebolt did though. As did Mad-Eye Moody. And of course, Sirius, not that I managed to save him at all this time around. For all my attempts, I am just making things even worse, it seems."
For a moment, Hermione thought Harry was second-guessing himself. Maybe he was, but his next words suggested anything but that.
"But that's alright," he said, with a determined grin. "I have a plan. Well, plans really. Lucius Malfoy will die, and he will die by my hand. I will snatch the Black Lordship from under his nose, and become Lord Black, just like Sirius wanted. That much is given." He paused, as if considering his words. "My real issue is that certain things are different this time around. Last time, Lucius didn't return to Voldemort until he resurrected at the end of my fourth year. This time, he's already serving him. There are a lot of unknowns, so I'm trying to play it safe."
"I think we should involve Professor Dumbledore in this, Harry," said Hermione gravely. "Whatever his faults, he is the greatest wizard out there."
"Hardly," said Harry. "He's great in his spheres of magic. That much I will agree. He's a sorcerer, and a master at Transfiguration. Just like Voldemort is a Necromancer, and an unparalleled master of the Dark Arts. I am an Incubus, and I have my own spheres of magic. Those two are titans, yes, but I will be one too. I just need to get something done first."
"You mean activating your Lecherous Shrine."
She had heard a lot about this mythical power that was Harry's to claim, one that had already entranced the Head Obliviator despite her formidable mental defences. The researcher in her couldn't wait to do the same, and wondered just how difficult learning Legilimency could be. Besides, she didn't want to defend herself from Harry. She just wanted to fall all in, and meet this subconscious form of his.
The idea of meeting Harry's subconscious, inside a mindscape that was a manifestation of the future, and a shrine devoted to the powers of an eldritch demon that he was slowly becoming….
It was absolutely fascinating.
"...Yes."
"Well then, what's stopping you?" Hermione asked. "What do you need?"
He flushed, and muttered something under his breath.
"Louder, Harry."
"I said, I need to have sex with some more women, and establish emotional bonds with them, enough to hit a…." he paused, as if calculating something, "A… a threshold, of sorts. I think six to seven girls, or women should be nearly enough to get the job done. Maybe less, but that depends on the bonds I have with them."
Hermione growled. Hearing your boyfriend speak about wanting to fuck seven other women was usually grounds for hexing him six ways to Sunday. Instead here she was, planning on who would fit best on that list. "Have you, perchance, thought of Clearwater? She swoons if you so much as look at her. I didn't know someone could have it worse than Ginny."
Harry chuckled. "I thought you disliked her."
"I don't dislike her," said Hermione offhandedly. "I just don't care that she exists."
That made him laugh. "Well, she's a possibility, but we need a lot more."
"Tonks?"
Harry gave Hestia a fleeting look. "Honestly, while I'm all for meeting her, her sudden interest feels… weird to me. And she didn't look like the kind to spread her legs after the first date. Tonks is… a long-term project, and I don't want her to fall into the same fate as last time."
Hestia flinched.
"But I need more. And I have some plans, but let's see. Ideally, I would like to have all seven before the Quidditch World Cup starts."
"I'll get on it," promised Hestia.
"But Harry," said Hermione. "If we're really doing this, and the more Lilims we have, the stronger and safer you are, shouldn't we look for people that can actually contribute something. Like that Tonks woman! She's an Auror, right? And a metamorphmagus. So she's definitely in." She turned to Hestia. "No offence."
"None taken," Hestia drawled. "I have to say, Hermione. This went weird fast. I expected you to run sobbing to your room, not start playing matchmaker for him."
"Yeah, I thought so too," Hermione admitted. "But as Harry just said, I'm me because I'm stubborn. I don't need to be utterly devoted to him and submit to him to be of use to him. Mark my words, Hestia Jones," she said coldly, her ferality leaking through her voice as she regarded the woman. "I want you to know that I absolutely despise you for what happened tonight, and I will never forgive you for this. If I thought Harry could be safe with just me, I'd have done my utmost to remove you from his life, so that I could have him all to myself. He was supposed to come to you just for sex, but tonight, you made love to him, and that, in my eyes, is unforgivable. But if I did that, then Harry…."
Her voice trailed off, a hitch appearing in it.
"Hermione," Harry cried, his voice louder than usual.
After several long moments of silence, Hermione spoke again. "I don't care if I'm a Lilim or not. I don't care if I can even become a Lilim or not. But I want you to understand something very clearly, Hestia Jones."
Her eyes turned silver.
"Harry is my only reason for living. And the one thing I find more intolerable than a world without him, is a world that has the nerve to permit the existence of any and everything that allowed him to be taken from me."
She did not know it then, both individuals that were looking at her were actually staring at the dark aura that was rising out of her. An aura that did not have anything to do with her status as a witch, or the corruption that was the lycanthropy curse. An aura that could only consume and consume until nothing but the cold emptiness of death remained behind.
An aura of pure Necromantic energy.
"Uh," Hestia swallowed. "Yes. Absolutely. I get you."
"Good," said Hermione, as the aura around her fiddled out of existence, as her normally innocent smile returned. "Now, what do you think of Parvati Patil? She's great at networking and knows nearly everyone at school. She'd be able to get you the best of the lot when the term starts."
Notes:
If you want to support me, find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Next Update is on 25th February.
Chapter 89: Meeting the Greengrasses
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 3 - THE INCUBUS AND NECROMANCER
"THIS IS JUST BULLSHIT!"
I blared my lungs out inside the closed, silenced, warded room, growling and yelling at the unfairness of it all. Like, can you fucking imagine? Three entire months of nothing out of the ordinary. Three months of steadily rising anchorages, matched only by the rising affinities, rising skills, and of course, rising numbers of gorgeous girls and women that I was fucking. Golden period of my life, I assure you. Even Narcissa and her shenanigans, Amelia and her psychotic twists, and the fuckfest that ended with Susan turning into my sex-slave, everything was still alright.
But ever since I got this upgrade into Incubus Lord category and got a bunch of good and bad curve balls thrown into the mix, my life has been in constant turmoil. Seriously, stormy oceans have got nothing on my life. A single night — A SINGLE FUCKING NIGHT — contained more drama, action, surprises, plot twists and motherfucking shocks than most people had in entire years.
The Horcrux acting out; the dream; Emmeline's offer; necromancy explosion; manipulating Dumbledore; Emmeline's foray into my subconscious and getting fucked; Hestia going all Imperius on
Emmeline; me having to shove some time-travel bullshit at Hestia; her admission of love — I had dealt with all of that. Crazy yes, but I had still somehow dealt with all of that.
And then the entire Lilim business happened and threw all sense of sanity out of the window.
Lilims. Hestia getting a Screen of her own. Perks. ETERNAL FUCKING YOUTH? Voldemort potentially becoming way more powerful than he was in Canon. Hermione finding shit out and me having to repeat it all. It was just one impossible mess after another. But the most important question was —
WHY THE HELL WASN'T HERMIONE A LILIM?
Yes, yes, I know. I had spouted a lot of devotion and love-related bullshit at Hermione. Before you say it, I'd like to admit that I was just pulling shit out of my proverbial arse, and saying whatever common sense stuff came to me. On the outside, I was doing my best to console a frustrated Hermione over why she wasn't a Lilim, while my inner neanderthal spluttered and then went on a mental rampage through a hypothetical produce section, knocking over shelves and splattering fruit everywhere in sheer frustration, screaming — 'JUST TELL ME WHOSE SKULL TO CRACK WITH MY CLUB, DAMNIT!'
Fucking Screen. Fucking Tether perk. Fucking Incubus Lord and Fucking Lilims.
I swear the Screen will be the death of me.
Okay. Rant over.
To more serious business.
Despite how it might seem otherwise, I didn't just let Hermione hang in the sidelines after fucking her and hitting a hundred percent anchorage. I mean, yeah, I did shift my focus to other prime targets, but Hermione, or rather, her condition had always remained in the back of my mind. And I had paid close attention to Hermione as she made those intense proclamations. Magic was intent, and bollocks to whatever flipping rules the Screen might throw at me, but in that moment, Hermione had demonstrated Devotion to me, albeit a different form of devotion (or perhaps, obsession was the correct term?) to my safety. Logic dictated that by all rights, Hermione should've been transformed into a Lilim. Right then and there.
But she hadn't.
Instead something else had acted out.
I wasn't sure if Hermione had noticed it or not, but when she had said those words to Hestia, her eyes had turned blazing silver, like they did when her wolf-instincts took over. Or when she was feeling too horny. Or when she was truly angry. Or a bunch of other things that triggered the lupine within her.
Yes, I know what I did there.
Anyway, that was nothing — nothing compared to that enormous necromantic aura that rolled off her waves. I know it because I made a point to study the effects of Devil's Charm and my Incubus Aura, both in front of the mirror and Narcissa during the few times she cattily experimented with my unique brand of magic. At the same time, being an Incubus made me extra sensitive to other forms of Aura, and especially to Necromancy, which was practically poison to me. I did not know how my body and my magic kept switching between Incubus mode and Necromancer mode at a whim, but I suppose there was a valid reason why the Voluntary Switching option demanded all that Meta-Luck.
But I digress. The point being, that much necromantic aura would have killed me. It would've killed Hestia, and any random person out there. And yet Hermione was blazing it around like some kind of black flashlight, and it did nothing — absolutely nothing to her.
Why? I hadn't the foggiest idea.
Between my personal study, and Walburga's tutelage in the Black family craft, I had made some foray in the understanding of Dark Magic. It was limited of course, to the Black Family Craft, but luckily for me, it delved deeply in Hemomancy, and Incarneum. And I had taken a deep interest in trying to understand the nature of the curse that had struck Hermione ever since I had gotten my hands on the library at Grimmauld Place.
At first, Hermione's case was an interesting condition. She wasn't bitten by a werewolf, only slashed. Given the minor amount of lycanthropic curse in her system, Poppy Pomfrey had claimed that there was a high chance that her body and her magic would repel the curse completely, and she'd be able to live a normal life, albeit with minor wolfish characteristics.
Just like Bill Weasley in the books.
But still, I kept Hermione under careful observation for the entire first month. Yes, we had sex, but she was always careful to stop the moment she felt any foreign instincts flood her system. By the end of the period, she had enough time to come to terms that her body wasn't what it once was. The change in taste. Massive increase in horniness. Enhanced healing. Magnified physical strength and dexterity, not massively so like real werewolves, but comparatively stronger than a girl of her size and weight. Enhanced dexterity. Oh, and a propensity for raw steak. Hermione had even begun thinking that perhaps she'd be able to live a normal life after all.
But I knew better. Sooner or later, the curse would take effect. The infection would spread and take dominance, twisting her mind completely until she developed a bestial mindset.
Or atleast, that was what normally happened. What should have happened.
The first full moon proved me wrong.
She showed some signs of acute restlessness, and at one point, her eyes had turned silver. But never did she grow a single grey hair.
The second full-moon shared the same fate, as did the third. I was almost beginning to believe that some cliched fanon-nonsense was playing a role in this. Maybe, just maybe, Hermione was a natural wolf animagus or something, and that was suppressing the effect of the cursed beast within her? Or perhaps the power of the curse was simply not strong enough because Remus Lupin was a loser?
Whatever it was, the truth was that even on full-moon nights, Hermione was still Hermione. Rational. Functional. And most importantly, human.
And then this happened.
I had honestly believed that I had successfully absorbed the necromantic energy out of her earlier, but I had no idea to check if I had done a neat job. Lycanthropy was already an absolutely dark curse, its roots lying in Hemomancy — Blood Magic, a discipline I had an affinity for, and something with deep ties to Necromancy and the Dark Arts. Had the raw death-force somehow mutated Hermione's werewolf nature, making her… well, more?
Whatever the necromantic influx did to her, it was not normal. People exposed to necromantic energy either perished on the spot, or got twisted into something like Inferi, losing their humanity. And then there were necromancers that experimented with that twisted power in restricted amounts and other control setups to find a 'perfect balance' to achieve a transformation that gained them some amount of compatibility with that twisted energy, which they then used for their own nefarious purposes.
Neither had happened to Hermione. She had been exposed to potent necromantic energy, and then I had syphoned it out of her in less than a few minutes. But somehow, within that tiny time period, the energy must have done something to her, enabling her an affinity that was simply….
Unreasonable.
It was too great, too fast, too significant. Too outstanding compared to everything else she was showing. Especially for that limited exposure.
I had studied the necromantic flux Hermione was exuding when she threatened Hestia. That much death-force should've killed her.
But it didn't.
Instead it was making her… well, something different. I'd have to ask Narcissa and perhaps Walburga about this, but so far, I was drawing a blank in terms of scale and degree. There was no saying what sort of outlandish transformation it would bring to my sexy and vulnerable bookworm.
That she was in this state because of me, again, only made it worse.
The only theory I had running was that the necromantic mutation was stopping her from becoming a Lilim. Necromancy was the antithesis of Sexual magic, so perhaps her devotion was being neutered by her own polluted aura? It was only a theory with no proof, but it was the only one that made somewhat sense. I was already planning on shifting to the Necromancer Path and see if Hermione's mutation responded to my other form. Perhaps I could form a similar bond with her in the Necromancer route?
Flimsy theories, yes, I know, but right now, that's all I got.
"Harry?" Hestia's voice came from the other side of the door. "I'm ready to leave when you are."
Right. So after Hermione's shocking display of her dark prowess, I had explained to her and Hestia why I wanted to delay my date with Nymphadora Tonks for now. The rest of the day had passed in a blur, with all three of us studying the dream, and observing as Voldemort, Lucius and Pettigrew talked and discussed about the Quidditch World Cup. It was interesting, knowing Voldemort's inner thoughts. The level of disdain and the lack of trust he had in his followers was a valuable insight into his personality, as was his constant groping at the woman's breasts. The only thing I could theorise was that Voldemort was just as much affected by the Horcrux as I was. Me — through the sudden outpour of necromantic energy, and the addition of a portion of Voldemort's affinities into my arsenal. And Voldemort — through addition of sexual desires that probably made no sense to his necromancer brain if that constipated expression on that weird baby face was any clue.
But sometime in the evening, I had received a letter from Gideon Abbott, inviting me to the Abbott Manor, and informing me that he had talked to Broderick Greengrass about my proposal and the man had arrived at a favourable conclusion, which was why Gideon wanted to introduce me to Broderick and close the deal.
Translation — Gideon and Broderick had planned to use me as a ploy to safeguard Phyllida and Broderick's own arse from Auror investigation at the moment, probably rope me into things that would eventually drain my finances, and then drop me like yesterday's trash the moment I ran out of usefulness.
That was fine. I expected them to do exactly that.
I had sent him a response, saying that my secretary Hestia Jones was going to join us for the meeting. That had a twofold advantage. The first was that Hestia understood magical contracts far better than I did, and the second — she'd serve as a separate pair of eyes and ears inside Greengrass mansion, while I carried out my plans.
"Yeah," I told her, composing myself. "I'm ready. Let's go roast those bastards."
Roughly fifteen minutes later, the two of us were standing on the grounds on which Abbott Mansion stood. Hestia and I, both of us dressed in clothes that would take an average muggle born or halfblood's annual salary, and that was not including the other accoutrements we had on our person. Bloody woman had actually dragged me to a parlour and gotten me all dressed up like a snobby pureblood, wasting fifteen galleons in the process. And as much as I hated the entire thing, I couldn't really blame her.
After all, people respond to how we're dressed.
"Mr. Potter," came the ringing voice of Gideon Abbott, as he walked towards us. The smile on his face reminded me of a shady dealer about to make his biggest killing on a particular dopey customer. In response, I put up my most innocent smile, ready to act as the unsuspecting pig that was walking to its own slaughter. Or at least, I would have done so, if not for the sudden surprise that came walking right behind Gideon.
"Allow me to introduce you to my wife, Lady Emmeline Vance."
Neither I nor Hestia dared to look at each other. Instead, I put on my best fake smile, and appeared to not notice the slight strain on Emmeline's face. Clearly, she hadn't quite expected to see me and Hestia together so soon after the other night's episode.
"What an absolute pleasure," I said, offering my hand, as Emmeline brought her knuckles to me to kiss it. I took note of the way she went taut the moment I kissed them.
"Charmed," she said.
I looked at Hestia, and unsurprisingly perhaps, her features betrayed no sign of familiarity for the fellow Order member.
She really was a damn good spy.
"Oh," I said. "Please allow me to introduce my secretary, Miss Hestia Jones."
"Jones…" mused Gideon. "Any relation to Gwenog Jones, perhaps?"
"Second cousin," said Hestia. "Though we don't meet very often."
"I see," said the man, with just the slightest strain to his expression. No doubt he was wondering if she was a halfblood, or even worse, a muggleborn. "Either way, I'm certain you possess a great many qualities for Mr. Potter has chosen you to represent him in affairs most profitable."
"I like to believe so."
"Hestia's a lifesaver, Lord Abbott," I offered, adding my two bits.
"Gideon, please," said the man. I really hoped he was oblivious to the tension between his wife and the two of us. Given what Emmeline had learned about Gideon recently, I wondered if her appearance had anything to do with her seeking evidence against her husband, or if she was simply playing the part of the dutiful wife. I had certainly not seen her the last time I had met the man. There was also the entire issue of her 'training' and she must have tried to pleasure herself over and over, only to be denied it, which explained the strain that was trying to break past her well-composed facade.
How did I know that?
Because I owned her Orgasm Contract. Every single time she tried to pleasure herself and reached a high, the Screen informed me. And being the douchebag motherfucker that I was, naturally, I denied her.
"Well then," said Gideon, oblivious to the tension among us three. "Shall we get going? Tempus Fugit, as they say."
I smiled. The meeting at the Greengrasses was going to turn out very fascinating.
"Absolutely."
The Greengrasses lived south of Whitby, and one of the first things I noticed as our portkey hit stable ground was the commanding view to the south, and I spied the towers of the fortified town about four or five miles away. Below the hill town ran a small canal, and ahead of the fields of flowers on both sides of the country road, lay a semi-ancient manor house, no doubt interspersed with muggle-repelling wards, given I couldn't even see a single mundane soul within a mile.
The garden path was dusty limestone, and I felt the gentle pull of the wards surrounding the property as we stepped into the garden. There were statues and fountains complete with ornamental bird houses, enclosed in a small, full hedge that kept the massive oak forests on the edge of the land at bay. And at its centre, was the manor, coated in creeping vines, just a stone's throw away. Thick, wavy grass had been cut into a large, oval lawn, complete with various statues of men and women and animals, with a flare for avian creatures, out of which hippogriffs seemed like a favourite. There was a large swimming pool, the water sparkling and blue, and a fountain in the centre, propelling streams of foamy spray high into the air. A chair-swing sat on the decking, looking out to the west, at what would probably be an excellent sunset.
Green grass indeed.
The idea that inside such a lovely place lived a man with a twisted heart made me want to gag. After I was done kicking Voldemort's arse, and had become the God of this world, this place looked like a perfect way to pass my retirement with my women.
The large, ornate door opened, and two people approached us from within. Broderick, who stood in the centre, was a blocky man, not overly tall but overly muscled and hiding it under an expensive suit, with attack-dog eyes.
"Mr. Potter," said Broderick, offering me his hand. I shook it. The man had a solid shake, and oozed confidence mixed with the right amount of cordiality. Guess Death Eaters or Death Eater sympathisers weren't exactly the snarling cloak-and-daggery kind as JKR painted them to be. Or at least if they were, they hid it remarkably well. Unlike canon Lucius Malfoy, who always gave the impression of being a flawless instrument of murder.
"Mr. Greengrass, I assume?"
"Please, call me Broderick."
"Only if you call me Harry."
"This," he introduced, "is my lovely wife, Anastasia."
And indeed lovely she was. High cheekbones, exotic almond-shaped eyes. Her skin was a medium olive tone, her eyes an almost eerie shade of pale-green gold. Her hair was pulled back into a simple tail, and she wore a pale blue summer dress and wore absolutely no makeup at all.
Wow. any woman that could swear that and still look that good was a freaking goddess.
I kissed her knuckles, felt her pulse skyrocket, and smiled inwardly. Wife or not, Anastasia had to feel the subtle effects of Devil's Charm.
"Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Madam."
"Anastasia, please," she murmured. Her voice was even better than the rest of her. "Welcome to our home."
Gideon and Broderick were the first to walk in, followed by Anastasia and Hestia. I passed a look at Emmeline, who met my eyes with something like apprehension, before she broke the gaze, and walked in. Smiling to myself, I followed suit. It looked like this meeting wouldn't be all cut-throat business after all.
The actual meeting was kinda short and to the point.
In not many words, we had gotten down to the brass tacks, so to say. Like I had intimated to Gideon during our initial meet, I wanted to either buy or temporarily rent Phyllida Greenhouses to enhance Sleekeazy's bandwidth in the potions and herbal trade market. And Broderick, after a lot of discussion with Gideon had apparently decided to accept my proposal, especially in the light of DMLE investigation over his business. No doubt because some jealous bastard was trying to get him into trouble, and Broderick wanted a way out of the mess.
Of course, there were a few conditions I had to comply with if I wanted Phyllida for myself.
First, Greengrass Exports would be officially selling Phyllida Greenhouses to Harry Potter, but the entire transaction would have to be backdated by two months, presumably right after I took control of Sleekeazy, and sent an official proposal to Greengrass exports over purchasing the property. Broderick knew a guy who knew someone in Gringotts that could safely backdate this transaction, and of course, all gold payable would be from Broderick's end.
Second, the price of the entire property was put at fifteen thousand galleons, just shy above the market price. I would be writing him a Gringotts draft, and he would pay me fifteen thousand galleons back in gold, bringing the result to zero.
Third, any and all profits I would derive from Phyllida during the one-year time period would be mine and mine alone. Broderick would have the option to request certain herbs to be grown at Phyllida from time to time discreetly, but he would have to pay at standard rates for them. For all intents and purposes, Phyllida Greenhouses would be mine, papers and all.
Fourth, after exactly one year from then, I'd have to sell the property back to Broderick, this time at sixteen thousand galleons, and this time, I'd have to return the amount to him privately, making it a zero sum game.
Broderick had wanted to reduce the time period to six months, but I put my foot on it, stating that six months were too little of a time period for Sleekeazy experts to even conduct their research properly. And if I was going to get my hands dirty by going through a shady deal like this, then the least I needed was enough time to actually get some profits over it. After some haggling, the man had consented to it, upon condition that we make a public display of being in business together. Working with the Boy-Who-Lived would definitely get some positive press for the man.
Smarmy arsehole. As if he wasn't angling for that from the beginning.
And Broderick would have one less thing to worry about.
Gideon would get what I promised him. A word with Augusta Longbottom, and getting Hannah betrothed to Neville, as well as House Potter's support in raising House Abbott to Ancient status.
Really, a win-win situation if there ever was.
Quite naturally, after letting Hestia pore through the pages of legalese involved, we shook hands for the second time, and sealed the deal. Broderick, now a happy man, invited us to stay at the mansion for the next two days until his lawyer got everything drafted and finalised from Gringotts. It would also allow him a first-hand experience of interacting with the famous Boy-Who-Lived, the saviour of the magical world. That I had taken up my Potter Lordship and was actively taking an interest in my family businesses only made things better, and he wanted to take this opportunity to try to cultivate a relationship between both families. Gideon would serve in the role of official broker and witness, and stay at Greengrass Manor for the time being as well, with his wife Emmeline.
In short, it couldn't get any more perfect.
We had quite a wonderful meal for lunch, with Gideon and Broderick engaging me in talking about the rumours about me from school. I ran them through my episodes with Quirrel and Lockhart and the dangerous basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets. I almost laughed at seeing his eyes turn to saucers when I quoted the amount my buyers were willing to pay for the basilisk, and the amount that I was going to donate to Hogwarts as part of a charity organisation trust-funded by House Potter.
Emmeline just contented herself with sitting at the table, silently eating and observing me from afar, while Hestia did her best not to look at her mentor or try for some conversation. Anastasia, on the other hand, looked deeply invested in hearing about my exploits, as well as the new moves I had made after attaining the Potter fortune. Everything about her screamed the dutiful housewife, but there was something about the way her eyes tracked me, that told me that the woman was either enraptured by my Devil's Charm, or she had some ploy of her own that she was still cooking for the moment, waiting for the perfect moment to bring up.
And then finally,Broderick introduced me to the third person in the family.
"Lord Harry Potter," said the man, "please meet my eldest daughter, Daphne."
The girl in question was tall, with pale, radiant, perfect features, and looked like an adolescent copy of her mother. She was young enough to make a man feel guilty for thinking the wrong thoughts, but old enough to make it difficult not to. Her hair had been bound into long dreadlocks, each of them dyed a different shade, ranging from a deep lavender to pale blues to pure white, so that it almost appeared that her hair had been formed from glacial ice. She wore leather pants and a white top, and unless I was wrong, I saw a glint of silver flashing at her navel.
But more important than any of it, was the lazy smile upon her face, which, unless I was wrong, was absolutely fake as far as those things went. There was a glittering intensity in her eyes, while the rest of her features were crowded with a contagious indifference that could make a lesser man feel inferior just by looking at her. No wonder she was infamous at Hogwarts and held a moniker that fitted her disposition to a tee.
The Ice Queen of Slytherin.
"Harry Potter," she said, speaking the words softly and intently, as if weighing if pronouncing my name was worth the effort.
"Miss Greengrass," I said.
She cocked her head, observing me as if I were a particularly rare type of bowtruckle. "Are you really Harry Potter?"
Something about her mannerisms told me that she wasn't just being a pureblood princess and pretending not to know me or have seen me at all, despite sharing classes for three years. I mean yeah, Harry Potter never had time for Slytherins in the past, given the whole introvert thing he had going on, and the constant distractions to deviate him every single year, but the same couldn't be said about other students.
Take my word. If Harry Potter just stood idly gazing at an empty wall, the Hogwarts gossip vine would know about it, and there would be entire dossiers on who created the wall, and how, and what potential events happened in front or on it over the past several centuries before dinner.
"Errr…." I said, slightly off-guard. "I suppose we haven't met before. I haven't quite been very interactive with other Houses."
"I know that," said Daphne bluntly, taking the wind off my sails. "And I've seen Harry Potter." She hesitated for a moment. "...Felt him. You… you feel different. Are you really him?"
"Daphne!" Broderick snapped. "You're being discourteous to our guest."
She blinked, and a flicker of something akin to fear crossed her features for a second. "I — I apologise."
Weird. I thought.
The problem with Daphne Greengrass was that she was canon wallpaper. A wide range of fanfiction authors had painted her in a wide range of characteristics, varying from the traditional stick-in-the-mud slytherin to the aristocratic Slytherin queen bitch to the innocent naive girl crushing on the Boy-Who-Lived to emotionally stunted and magically impoverished creature that suffered at the hands of her neglectful parents, and everything that fell in between. At least Susan Bones was nearly always limited to being 'top-heavy' and 'only child' and 'mothering Hufflepuff'.
Whatever was going on with this girl, strange didn't even begin to cover it. She was a mystery, that was for sure, one that was very much planning to unfold before leaving this place.
"Forgive me," I tried. "I don't believe we've exchanged words in school before this."
"No," she said bluntly. "We have not."
Maybe I was reading too much into it, but for a moment, her eyes darted towards Emmeline, and then back to me, and then repeated the same actions over and over again. With every passing second, her cheeks reddened slightly, and then she turned to Hestia, and after a gaze that extended beyond two seconds, she looked back at me.
The blush had now reached her neck.
"May I—" she breathed, "May I be excused?"
"Yes," said Broderick gruffly. "We will talk about your behaviour later."
Hoh! There was some unresolved tension there on the man's face. Maybe not everything was perfect in this mansion of flowers.
"Thank you," she said with a small bow, not even meeting my eyes, and instead, speaking to my nose. "I apologise, again. I will see you again, Potter. Thank you, all."
And then she turned around and left. And this is going to sound weird, but I just stood there and inwardly seethed at… something. Something about her behaviour, and her word choices felt off.
"My apologies," said Broderick, trying to save face. "She, err… does that, from time to time. My daughter isn't very good at socialising with others."
"I'll say," murmured Hestia, who was giving me confused looks.
'My other daughter, Astoria, she's her exact reverse. Absolutely charming and a natural at hobnobbing at parties. Takes after me in that regard."
"And Daphne?" I asked.
"Daphne is very much like her mum, I'd say," said Broderick, putting his arm around his wife's waist to pull her closer. I took careful notice of the strained smile on the woman's face as she indulged her husband.
Classic pureblood marriage bullshit, I'd imagine.
"That's true," murmured Anastasia. Either she spoke that softly naturally, or she kept her voice low and reserved, as if ensuring that she wasn't sharing her husband's spotlight, even by mistake. "But she's quite excellent at her studies. Second in her year, I believe."
After Hermione, no doubt.
"Anastasia is no slouch," boasted Broderick. "My wife has Masteries in Herbology and Potions. All this beauty you see around us is because of her meticulous efforts."
"Oh?" I said, reevaluating his wife. "I suppose she's quite the contributor in Greengrass Exports then."
A shadow of something flickered in Broderick's face, before the usual affability returned. "Oh no, no, she busies herself with taking care of the house and rearing both of our wonderful daughters. Business is a man's job."
And there it was. The slightest twitch. Almost imperceptible, but I noticed it. Not anger, but not complete resignation either.
And then it was gone.
Maybe I was looking too deep into things, and maybe I was being a little too reckless, but there was a potential opportunity just waiting to be used.
"Perhaps," I said with a disarming smile. "I might get the opportunity to pick Lady Greengrass's brains sometime during my stay?"
Anastasia blinked in surprise.
"Unfortunately, Potions isn't my best subject. That the professor bears an irrational dislike for me doesn't help. And with me taking control over Sleekeazy, I'd love the opportunity to discuss the subject with someone with an angry man breathing down my neck."
Gideon almost looked amused.
"Err…" said Broderick, looking a little conflicted, before exchanging a quick glance with Gideon, who nodded. "I mean, of course. That is, assuming my wife is able to solve your quandaries, Mr. Potter?"
"I, ah, will try my best, Mr. Potter," said Anastasia. She passed a quick glance at her husband, asking permission. "When do you wish for it to happen?"
"Perhaps, after breakfast, tomorrow? I was hoping to go see the greenhouses first. Uh, that is, if I'm not being too forward of course."
"Nonsense," said Broderick, as if it was something he'd have just done for the asking. "Anastasia, please do your best to help him. We wouldn't want to sully our relationship with House Potter now, would we?"
He gave her a knowing look, which I translated could only refer to Daphne's weird behaviour earlier.
"Of course."
"In that case," Emmeline said out of nowhere. "Perhaps I could take Mr. Potter to Phyllida and show him around?" She met my eyes. "I am quite interested in your exploits from earlier. As an Obliviator for the Ministry, I have a couple of questions about the curious issue with Gilderoy Lockhart."
"Emmeline!" Gideon all but snapped. "Please do not interrogate the young man."
"You're an Obliviator?" I asked, faking genuine surprise.
Her lips twisted. "Head of the Oblivation Office at the Ministry of Magic."
"I'm really sorry, Harry," Gideon apologised. "My wife is quite a zealot when it comes to her job. Please don't mind her. And you don't have to do this."
"Oh, I don't mind. Not at all," I told him, my eyes never leaving Emmeline's. As an Order member, no doubt she knew everything there was about Gilderoy Lockhart and this was nothing more than an excuse to get to talk with me in private.
"Perhaps we could reschedule it later —" Hestia began.
"No, Hestia," I stopped her. "It's completely fine."
"I can alert an elf to take you both to Phyllida," said Broderick. "It is roughly half an hour of walking from here."
"Oh that won't be necessary," I told him. "Why apparate when I can also spend the time looking around at this beautiful place?" I looked at Emmeline. "Does that work with you, Lady Vance?"
"Nothing would give me more pleasure."
"If… that's what you wish," said Gideon, turning to his friend. "In that case, perhaps we can finally get to that billiards game we left unfinished last week?"
Broderick shrugged.
"Well then," I told Emmeline. "After you."
Notes:
If you want to support me, find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Next Update is on 5th March.
Chapter 90: In Denial Part 1
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 3 - THE INCUBUS AND NECROMANCER
CHAPTER 90: IN DENIAL PART 1
"That was quite the stunt you pulled off," said Emmeline. "I did not think you'd be so reckless."
I put on my 'confused' face as I walked next to her. "I've no idea what you're talking about."
She scoffed at me, and I realised Emmeline was quite attractive when she's perturbed. Not that she isn't otherwise. "Of course you don't. We both know that you've something planned for Anastasia. Maybe you even came to this meeting with something in mind. As an incubus —"
"I'm not just an incubus, Lady Vance. I'm also a wizard, and the last Potter. And believe it or not, I am actually interested in acquiring Phyllida Greenhouses."
"I cast an eavesdropping charm on Hestia during the meeting. And yes, she knows. I know that Broderick is only 'loaning' the property off to you for a time being to escape criminal prosecution. And I don't think for a second that you're dimwitted enough to not recognise that."
"Even a dimwit would know that," I told her softly. "Mr. Greengrass did not hide that part during the negotiations. It's an under-the-table deal. Plain and simple. Both of us get what we want."
"And the Harry Potter I met the other night did not feel like the sort of person who'd engage in under-the-table business with a crook for some profit."
"I wouldn't hold it against you for being a poor judge of character."
Emmeline stiffened at that for a second.
Weird.
"What are you really up to, Harry?" She asked, not even bothering with the formalities. "You know I swore an oath back at your place. Your secrets are safe with me."
I wanted to call her on that lie, but didn't. That would give Hestia away. Emmeline knew that Hestia was on my side, but she still believed that Hestia was not completely cut off from the Order. Or from her, for that matter.
"Just because you can be trusted, doesn't mean I have to trust you, Emmeline."
She narrowed her eyes.
"There is a reason why I approached your husband about this deal, and yes, I know that behind the smiles and the camaraderie, Broderick and your husband are a pair of hungry jackals that are eyeing a particularly juicy gazelle that goes around by the name Harry Potter. Do I think that it's because I'm the Boy-Who-Lived and they are Death Eaters, or potential sympathisers? No. Or if that's even a possibility, I'd say the chances of that happening are pretty low, because very few people actually know anything about Voldemort being out there. Do I think they're treating me as a golden goose with the Potter fortune to drain away, so long as they gain my trust? Absolutely. Do I think they'd try to chain me in all kinds of associations, which might or might not include their daughter? Well, again, possible. We'll just have to see."
"You think Broderick will chain you using his eldest daughter," murmured Emmeline, arching an eyebrow. "That's quite the leap in logic."
"Is it?" I asked. "Daphne and Astoria are sisters, and yet, I don't see Astoria around."
"Perhaps she's out with friends."
"When Harry fucking Potter visits their household? I don't think so. No, Astoria's supposed to be married to Draco Malfoy, or at least, that's the ongoing plan. Unless, I suppose, Pansy Parkinson gets her chance first. No wonder Broderick tried to sic Daphne on me. It was too unsubtle for anything otherwise."
"A man uses you to get the DMLE off his back, and you somehow connect it to him giving you his daughter's hand in marriage. Big head, much?"
I grinned. "Not at all. And the answer for that is four short words — I am Harry Potter. And I doubt you missed his reaction when I mentioned the basilisk sales. Broderick Greengrass is, after all said and done, a greedy bastard, a trait he shares with your dearest husband, given how he's conspiring against me with his friend."
Emmeline clenched her jaw.
"But unlike Gideon, Broderick isn't much of a planner. He's a doer. I don't think I have to tell you how he turns to Gideon for every small thing. Just give him a green bowler hat and that man could imitate Cornelius Fudge on a good day. He uses his wife as a resource, and so is his daughter. The beautiful property, the serene facade, all of this is nothing but a trap to ensnare others. Classic fanged geranium scenario."
I snorted. "Yes, I'm helping him with this mess over Phyllida. But you think he's going to stop there. I'll bet you every single galleon in my vault that he's going to do his best to attach his eldest with him, at least on a temporary basis. And it will most likely end up in the Prophet, along with a photograph of me working actively with Greengrass Exports, with Broderick taking up the role of a seasoned businessman helping a jolly young lad trying his luck at business."
She laughed this time."I believe you're becoming more dangerous with every passing second, Harry."
"You'll find I'm full of surprises."
"That you are. And you seem to know an awful lot about Broderick Greengrass. One might imagine you've almost obsessively studied him."
"First rule of magic. Always be the smartest guy in the room."
"And what is the smartest guy planning to do with Anastasia Greengrass?"
I blinked. "Nothing. I just want to pick her brains and talk to her. Broderick's like a nasty bulldog. Ten galleons says that not only does Anastasia maintain the beauty of the entire mansion, she's also the brains behind Greengrass Exports. At least in the production sector."
"I really doubt Broderick would allow you to steal his wife's brains. You are, after all, his competition."
"Am I, really?"
"Sleekeazy is one of the few companies that offer a challenge to Greengrass Exports."
"And how much of Broderick's wealth is from Greengrass Exports?"
Emmeline opened her mouth, but then closed it.
I smiled. "I might not look it, but I do my homework. Regardless of whatever happened between us, I respect and value your skills a lot. But do not think I'm an idiot."
"That you are not," she said, an odd expression floating on her face.
We had now reached close to the end of the ward line and just had entered the oak plantations. I turned back, and the only thing I could see about the mansion was a large, greyish blur.
"It was… surprising," I said. "Meeting you at the Abbott mansion. After all that I told you, I didn't expect —"
"Expect what?"
"Expect to see you there," I admitted. "You don't look the type to immediately charge Gideon over what I told you. No, you're the type to wait and process everything, gather every bit of information you can about what I told you, and double check it for any potential biases. Only when you'd have conclusive evidence would you go ahead and charge him about it, assuming that you don't call for Aurors first and get him into custody."
"Oh?" said Emmeline, curling her lips. "You think you know me that well? From a single night?"
"No, but I know Hestia, and that's what Hestia would do. And you are her mentor. A teacher's natural proclivity is to shape the student in her image."
Whatever she had expected me to say, that wasn't it. We kept walking through the plantation, with nothing but thick oak trunks all around us, and a canopy so thick that it was almost dark. Another five minutes, and we'd probably need a lighting charm to see the path ahead.
"You… you're nothing like I imagined, Potter," she admitted. "And that's discounting whatever happened the other night."
"You keep mentioning it," I said as casually as possible. "Thinking about it too much?"
"...What?" she asked, slightly flushed. "No, it — it isn't like that. You've to understand, Potter. Whatever happened earlier… it wasn't natural. As an obliviator and an accomplished Occlumens, I'm merely trying to quench my academic interest."
"Academic," I smirked. "Is that what they're calling it these days?"
"From an Occlumens' point of view," said Emmeline, doing her best to hide her embarrassment. "Everything is academic. And you don't get to comment about it, Harry Potter. I fought past my embarrassment and asked a guy half my age to fuck me, and you sent me packing home, raunchy and utterly bothered."
"That shouldn't have been a problem," I teased her. "I mean, you do have a husband. Tell me, is he truly not up to the task?"
"That's none of your business!" she snapped back, quickly — a bit too quickly.
"Oh dear, I seem to have touched a nerve. Perhaps I should spend more time with you during our stay here. Maybe that will encourage him to give you a little more attention?"
"I have no need for attention from someone that — that —"
"Fucks his own niece under the pretext of grooming her for her Ladyship?"
Emmeline scowled. "...Yes."
"You look angry," I told her. "You're keeping it very well wrapped up behind those fantastic Occlumency shields, but anyone with eyes can see that you're coiled up tighter than twenty clock springs."
"Excuse me—"
"You're nervous, and angry, and scared because you can't really understand what you want to do, and you're about to explode with the need to have sex with something. I've met guys fresh out of prison that aren't bursting at the seams as hard as you."
"Oh?" she snapped. "Friends with ex-Azkaban convicts, are you?"
It took me a second to recognize that minor slip. "No," I told her. "But I've met Sirius Black, and he was stuck there for fourteen years. Then again, those dementors probably snuff the stiffness out of your tool."
"Crass," she said, scowling. "And you don't get to talk, Harry Potter. Not after what you did to me."
"What I did to you?"
"Yes," said Emmeline. She was losing control now, giving the way she was beginning to snap at me. I didn't know if it was the topic of conversation or the fact that we were practically standing in the middle of a dense oak plantation with no one around for at least a mile, and she could safely unleash her frustration without anyone knowing any better.
"You don't get to hold the high ground here, Harry Potter. You manipulated me to leave, and I understand your concerns but… I — I got so desperate that I touched myself!"
"What?" I asked, widening my eyes dramatically. "The esteemed Lady Vance touching herself? I thought respectable pureblooded witches didn't do that kind of thing."
"They don't! But you left me with no choice."
"Personally, I think you're protesting too much. It happened the night before yesterday. One day. Twenty four hours. You're telling me that you got so horny from having sex with me once, and that too when I was asleep, that you couldn't even spend a day without exploding with the need for more?"
Emmeline was growing angrier with every single word that left my mouth.
"But either way," I said, waving her concerns off. "Good for you, I suppose. You got horny, you took care of it yourself."
"But it didn't work!" She snapped, grabbing my collar, utterly agitated. Now that I noticed it, her eyes looked bloodshot. She hadn't gotten an ounce of sleep the night she was at my place. Had she not slept last night as well?
"No matter whatever I did, it just didn't work. I couldn't cum. I used my wand, I even conjured some toys. None of that worked."
"Maybe you just did it wrong?"
"I didn't," she snapped again. "No, I know what's going on. You… the other you," she said, her distress now vivid. "He did something to me, Potter. I — I just can't cum. I've tried for hours. I push myself all the way to the top, but somehow, somehow, I just can't cum at all. And it's driving me crazy."
I blinked. All of that in just a day?
Was this because of what happened inside Lecherous Shrine, or the Imperius Curse? Or perhaps a weird fusion of both that was making her want to get fucked by me as much as physically possible? Emmeline was a sixth-level Occlumens, which was probably why she was resisting it to this degree, and her inability to orgasm, thanks to my Orgasm denial perk, was only making things worse.
"Emmeline," I told her earnestly. "You realise it's been just a day, right? And if you're this desperate to have a repeat session already, perhaps it's… you know, not a good idea to do it? The idea is to be able to resist this power, not fall to it."
"I'm not falling to it," she snapped. "I just — I just need to scratch this itch once. And this is as much a surprise for you as it is for me. Whatever that blasted Shrine of yours did to me, it affected me hard. I just know that if I cum once, then things will be better. I'm the sixth-level Occlumens. Trust me, I know what I'm doing."
Of course you do.
She stared at me for a long moment, eyes blazing, chest heaving and mouth hanging open. Then her hands shot out and began to frantically tug at my robes. I was legitimately caught by surprise at how forward she was being. At least the last time, she was trying to hide it behind her need to understand and develop immunity to my incubus powers.
Now? She was just being a woman desperate to get off.
"What are you doing?" I asked, grabbing her hands. "This isn't my home, you horny witch! We don't even know who or what might come around. I'm not having sex with you like a freaking deviant in the middle of this forest."
"Potter —" she growled.
"Emmeline, listen to—"
"Just. Make. Me. Cum," she said, clenching her hands into fists. "Yes, this is why I brought you all the way here. So that you can make me cum." She snapped her wand out, and for a moment, I feared she was going to attack me, or force me at wand point. Instead, she performed an exceedingly tricky spell that I had only seen two people perform before.
"Cave Inimicum," she murmured, and crafted a powerful boundary around us. A powerful boundary charm that crafted a boundary in a radius around the caster, keeping others from perceiving what was happening inside, blocking all five senses. It was one of the most powerful privacy charms out there, enough that Narcissa Malfoy had trusted it to risk having anal sex with me inside a DMLE meeting room.
It was a spell I had still not been able to master, despite my raised affinity for Charms. I had a number of privacy and cloaking charms up my arsenal, but nothing this powerful.
She put her wand back into her robe, and glared at me. "Any more issues about privacy?"
"No, but you'll owe me a favour for this. Private or not, I'm not fond of being coerced like this."
"Fine," she spat. "Now can we get started?"
"Alright," I told her. "Take off your dress."
Emmeline stared at me for a moment. This was damn near the point of no return. She had asked for this. She was horny enough to all but force me to fuck her in the middle of a forest in someone else's property like a pair of oversexed, raunchy teenagers exploring sexuality for the first time. Her expression showed that she loathed being like this, but there was simply no point holding off the inevitable.
Her eyes never leaving mine, she began to tug at the shoulder straps of her dress, yanking at them till they were bunched around her arms. Then, she wiggled her arms from within them leaving those straps hanging at her sides, her snug dress held up solely through the force exerted by her taut breasts. My eyes never left hers through all this, not backing down as she stared back at me. And then she hooked her fingers on the top of her dress, and my gaze dropped, waiting for the reveal of those bra-clad melons.
What? If you don't already know I'm a breast guy by now, maybe you haven't been paying enough attention.
With a firm tug, she pulled the black material down over her prodigious rack, revealing the black racy bra underneath that was barely restraining her jugs. And the best part was that the lacy material of the skimpy garment was partially see-through, giving me a teasing glimpse of her nipples through the cups. The areolas were perfectly sized, round and smooth and a dusty pink, the stiff nubs capping each one obscured by the lace. Yes, I had seen her naked before when I had woken up to find her jumping over my cock, but I was too shocked back then to enjoy the beauty before my eyes.
Something I made sure to correct this time around.
Unburdened by the constraints of the snug black dress, her udders wobbled lewdly, as she tugged the dress downwards. Revealing more of her midriff, I was impressed by her taut and firm belly. Exposing more and more of her smooth, creamy skin, another thrill ran down my spine, as I saw her navel. MY hungry gaze went up to meet her annoyed eyes, no doubt still blaming me for the situation that had come down to this.
"Well?" I asked, annoyance seeping into my tone. "I thought you wanted to get down to the brass tacks. What's with the strip show?"
Emmeline scowled. "I'm not giving you a strip show, Potter. I just care enough about my robes to safely disrobe without tearing them like a savage."
She gave another sharp tug to get the material past her shapely hips. That revealed her underwear, which was black, matching her bra. What was really surprising was how tiny and thin her thong was. A minuscule, little patch of black material, with thin black straps contrasting against her creamy, smooth skin as they traversed around her hips and behind her, it covered what it needed to, and almost nothing more. It was scooped so low that it made clear that she was shaved completely bare down there. And the hinting glance I got through the lace material confirmed that.
I smiled.
This would be a nice feast. Better than lunch.
"Well," Emmeline asked, putting her hands up. "What's next?"
She was unamused with me toying with her like this. Her body was no doubt ready and seeking action like a moth sought flame, and I was, for better or worse, drawing it out. She hated that she was forced to play it out with me, which made her feel even more guilty.
I didn't say a word. Instead, I twirled two fingers in the air, silently imploring her to turn. Rolling her eyes, she nonetheless complied, doing a slow twirl, swinging herself around till her back was facing me. And for the first time, I saw her naked arse, and trust me, it was beautiful.
"Damn…" I muttered, shaking my head in disbelief. It was out of this world. Firm, juicy and perfectly formed, with each cheek standing out on her fit form, it was indeed incredible. Emmeline was not a complete package like Amelia, nor an alluring beauty like Narcissa, but her arse practically demanded attention, and Emmeline shuddered, at my hungry gaze.
"Can we just move this along?" she demanded. "The spell wouldn't stay on forever, you know."
I took a step forward. "Take off your bra."
Her lips pursed, and she gave me a withering glare, still annoyed that I was making her do things bit by bit, instead getting down to action. With a deft flick of her fingers, she undid the bra clasp, and the springy flesh of her tits propelled the garment off her shoulders. Angling her limbs down, she allowed the bra to drop down her arms, falling to the floor. Putting her hands on her hips, she looked back at me, her bare breasts on full display for me for the very first time.
"I hate this," she murmured. "I feel like a slut."
I didn't say a word, and instead took two steps forward, and palmed each of her round tits, my hands meeting her boobs in a fleshy slap. She jumped ever so slightly as I crossed the line and made physical contact. She might have jumped my cock when I was asleep, and might have been fucked and humiliated by subconscious-me, but this was the first time she was standing naked, and that too, voluntarily, in a third-person's property, with nothing save a cloaking charm to preserve her modesty.
It was a life-changing experience for her.
"Fuck," I sighed, feeling up her tits, her soft flesh pouring between my fingers as I dug into each succulent titty, squeezing more and more firmly, unable to stop playing with them. I let my hands roam all over, wanting to feel every square inch of her smooth skin, including running my open palm between her breasts like a credit card. I cupped them from underneath before pressing them and squeezing them again. And again. And again.
"Can you get started with the main event already?" she asked, annoyed at my attempt at an unnecessary prelude.
"I suppose," I told her. "On your knees."
"What? But why can't you just —"
"This isn't about you, Emmeline. The entire point of this is that I use you in whatever way I want, humiliate you to any extent I deem necessary. It is not, and never has been about your satisfaction. Unless…." I arched an eyebrow. "You were being insincere that night, and what you truly want is to get fucked by my cock like a horny little slut."
"What?" She asked, scandalised. "No! Not at all. It's all about gaining immunity from your incubus powers."
"Well then," I said, cocking my head. "You shouldn't complain. On your knees."
Emmeline growled. "Why can't you just fuck me directly instead?"
"Because I think it's necessary? Because giving into your demands would only make it worse for you? Or perhaps because… I simply don't want to. Either way, it doesn't matter. Now, on your knees, or I walk away."
"Arsehole," she muttered, and dropped down to her knees. She fiddled with my belt, and unbuckled it before pulling my trousers down, revealing my massive cock.
I didn't spare a single moment in casting my shirt aside, marvelling at the way she was gazing at my cock, her lips hovering inches away from it, taking in the sheer size of my dick. Her warm breath tickled against the tip, and she began to drag her soft, warm lips against the tip of my cock. She wasn't kissing it, or sucking it, but just continued to press her lips to my dick, absolutely absorbed by horniness and need to get fucked by the cock in front of her.
"Does Gideon know his wife is such a dirty bitch?"
My words had the desired reaction, and it snapped her out of her daze, bringing her back to consciousness, a soft moan humming through her lips as they parted, and took the tip into her mouth. Inch by inch, her warm, wet mouth began coating my cock with her saliva.
"Yes!" I hissed. "That's it, slut. Take it! Suck that cock!"
"Mmpphh!" She let out a muffled moan, and began to work more of my shaft into her throat, bobbing her head back and forth. She kept her eyes fixated on my eyes, taking a little more with every attempt, and eventually the tip hit the back of her throat, causing her to cough and gag, but did not deter her from her illicit sucking. She twirled her tongue around the tip loudly as she pulled back, never stopping, never wasting a precious second, and gave me a dirty smile, her pearly white teeth blocked out as her lips still pressed against my shaft.
"You have a really nice cock, Harry."
"Do you like sucking it?" I asked her genially, my hand slowly caressing the back of her head.
"Yes," she hummed.
"Good, then you'll love this."
And I grabbed her head and made her plunge down my cock in one go, pushing all the way hard against her throat. Buckling my hips, every trust was more vigorous than the last, the sensations sending me into a frenzy. I clamped my hands against the back of her head, holding it in place as I fucked her mouth, each brutal thrust followed by the sound of her gagging and grunting. Emmeline's eyes watered and tears were dripping out, but I kept my ferocious pace, enjoying the feeling of the stately lady servicing my cock.
Not that she wasn't enjoying it too. I knew I was hurting her, but I could see she was also getting turned on. She was my toy, and despite the facefucking, she was twirling her tongue against my shaft every moment she got, her fingers frantically rubbing against her clit. Emmeline was breathing heavily, but she matched my vigour with her own. And then —
Emmeline Vance is trying to cum
Allow?
NO!
I went faster, making sure she was struggling to even breathe between thrusts. She was getting dizzy, her eyes rolling to the back of her head, her face now wet with sweat and her own spit. My balls thumped on her chin. Feeling I was about to blow, I clamped her head, and held her mouth against my cock in place, and exploded into her.
It filled her mouth, and began to escape out of her lips, so I pulled myself out. A thick wad fell on her forehead. Another one covered her cheek, and one shot into her eye. A copious amount splattered all over her hair, and whatever was left, I directed it at her breasts.
I took a step back and observed my handiwork.
"I should get a picture," I told her. "Hestia would probably love it."
"No," she growled. "This stays between us."
"Really?" I asked, arching an eyebrow. "You realise she saw you jumping my cock, right? And I don't think it's going to be possible to hide things every time you come over to instruct me in psychomancy."
Emmeline clenched her teeth. "Hestia's— she's my student. She looks up to me. She —"
"Well, if she looks up to you, then it only makes it better, isn't it? I fuck her regularly, and based on our little arrangement, I'll have the same thing going for you on a weekly basis. Best to clear the air rightway and avoid complications, don't you think?"
I smiled. "It's not like those oaths we took can't be evaded or anything."
"No," she said darkly. "They can't."
"There it is, problem solved."
"...fine," she said. "But let me approach her myself. Knowing you, you'd paint me as a cradle-robbing nasty wench that got enamoured with your dick."
"Really, that's the impression you have for me?" I laughed. "Fine. Let's prove you right. Stand up."
"...what?"
"I said stand up."
Emmeline complied, rising to her feet, reluctantly moving her face away from my cock. There was no hesitation in her compliance. Not anymore. She was probably too far gone at this point. Standing topless in front of me, drenched in my cum, drunk with pleasure, her jugs bouncing slightly, she waited for my next order.
"Spin around. Put your hands against the tree trunk."
Emmeline did so.
I inwardly cackled. This woman was great! Just pure filth! I had stumbled upon something special here. She acted all poise and reserved, so loyal to her husband, a strict rule-follower to the very end, and not at all lacking in pride or conviction. And yet, it was so clear that she was dying to be taken. Waiting for someone to come along who knew how to handle her in the way she needed. A cunning seducer who knew how to appreciate her best features, namely her hot body.
I was ready to take this bitch now.
I wanted to make her scream.
SMACK!
"Ah!" She moaned softly, her arse jiggling from the sudden forceful contact. I appraised her reaction. She didn't flinch or move away, didn't even touch her arse to ease the slight pain. No, she just moaned softly and pushed her arse towards me even more, Smiling, I spanked her other cheek.
"Fuh…" she moaned out, her head rolling in pleasure as she leaned forward, pressing against the tree trunk, her body now at right angles, with her plump arse raised at my face. I grabbed her tiny thong and slowly, teasingly, pulled it from the confines of her sexy arse crack, till it emerged, the tiny garment falling down to the forest floor, leaving the proud, haughty woman naked in front of evil little me.
Just like I preferred.
Notes:
If you want to support me, find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Chapter 91: In Denial Part 2
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 3 - THE INCUBUS AND NECROMANCER
CHAPTER 91: IN DENIAL PART 2
Some women loved to submit.
Was that what this feeling was? Was she taking pleasure in submitting to a man… a young man who was half her age, someone that she easily dwarfed at magical skill, political connections and life experience. A young man so mature that he was able to say no to her body, even after she had made a point-blank offer to have sex with him, and let him have her way with her. His maturity, his determination, his poise and his wisdom beyond his years, were all amazing things in themselves. Had Emmeline been a lesser witch, she'd have been seduced by those and becoming a Boy-Who-Lived groupie, just like Hestia.
And then there was the experience she had suffered inside Potter's mind, the sheer humiliation and the ecstatic pleasure that he had made her feel, and the intensely vulnerable feeling he had wrought had left her shaken. Even after leaving Potte's home, Emmeline had tried to forget the feeling of Potter's cock thrusting deep into her pussy like a machine, showering her with a pleasure that had eluded her for all this time.
And there was his cock. And his equally cocky personality.
Emmeline didn't want to admit it, but she had intended to give him a strip show, if only to see him stare at her beautiful body and act like someone of his age should've. Seeing him act like a hormonal kid would have been an instant turn-off, and Emmeline would have used it to reinforce the idea that Harry Potter, incubus or not, was just another sex-crazed kid.
But he hadn't.
Instead he just asked her to hurry up, and get to the point, as if getting to fuck the Lady Vance was something akin to paperwork in his mind. Just how did a sixteen-year-old gain that level of confidence in himself? It was very attractive, and he had worn her out by never giving her an inch as he slowly tore down her defences. And why shouldn't he? He was handsome, successful, with too much money to waste, and Nobility to boot. Only an idiot would ignore the fact that he was magically powerful, and from what little she had seen, he was also able to demonstrate a masterful level of control over Necromancy, and had a maturity way beyond his years, enough to make Hestia Jones to choose him over the Order of the Phoenix. He was also incredibly fit, and he had a cock that was larger than any other she had ever seen or heard about. And she was a horny woman that was already conflicted with the criminality of her husband, and magically confounded by his strange incubus powers.
Her opening her legs for him was inevitable, and the cocky prick knew it all along.
Fucker!
"You know, I wouldn't have let you fuck my face like that if your cock wasn't so perfect," she said, intending for this to come out with some bite, but instead it came out like a purr. She looked back at him, and found him staring back, eyebrows raised, his hands on her plump arse.
"I never intended to do any extra stuff here… just straight getting me to cum. That's all I wanted," she panted out angrily. "Especially after what Other-You did. I didn't want to get anywhere near your cock as soon as I saw it."
"Uh-huh."
Arsehole. He wasn't believing her!
"I wouldn't want to get close to it. I didn't want to touch it because it's so… big, and beefy, and hard," she said, feeling said hard cock touch her arse cheeks, and she slowly shook them, just to make it touch her a little more. "What Other-You did to me, I knew that if I touched your cock, I'd end up sucking it, like Other-you made me do."
"I see. That makes sense."
Emmeline clenched her teeth. He wasn't taking her seriously.
She hadn't lied to him. The moment she had seen that thick slab of man-meat exposed, she had attacked it with a hunger that surprised her, taking it all the way down to her throat. She couldn' deny the deep level of satisfaction she felt while performing the act. The only negative was the sheer revulsion she felt, knowing that she was doing this to someone half her age. If anyone ever found out about it, they'd accuse her of being a cradle-robber or something. She, Head-Oblivator, and one of the most well-respected women in the entirety of the Ministry of Magic, shouldn't have been down on her knees, sucking that big dick for so long, but she hadn't been able to stop herself from feasting. When he had facefucked her, all she could think about was having more of him. Her pussy was exploding with pleasure, but somehow, she still hadn't been able to come, and despite all the shocks of pleasure shooting through her, Emmeline had been refused an orgasm.
But that didn't mean she had to like it.
For she didn't.
Harry Potter was to blame for all of it. Yes, that was it.
"I fucking hate your big, perfect cock, Potter," she spat out, wiggling her hips more, feeling shivers of pleasure as his cock slid through her arse-cheeks. "Look at what it's making me do. Look at the slutty things this perfect cock is making me do…."
Said cock lodged itself in between her cheeks, and Emmeline felt a rush like she hadn't felt in the last two days.
"Never! I hate it! I am never doing this again!" she snarled at him. A satisfied 'mmm!' rose out of her throat as the bastard pushed his cock further down, and lined it along her folds.
"You're being such a hurtful bitch you know," he told her. "Here I am, doing you a favour. The least you could do is not hurt my feelings. I only facefucked you earlier to get you better acquainted with my cock before we got down to business."
"Favour my arse!" screamed Emmeline. "All of this is your bloody fault."
"Why? Because I told you to enter Lecherous Shrine? The choices are on you, my dear."
"Don't patronise me, Harry Potter!" She snapped, looking back at him again. It was an uncomfortable feeling, standing against the tree trunk like that. Why hadn't she just transfigured a bed for them instead? "You know very well what, Oh! Yes! Just like that. Tease my folds a little more."
"Like this?"
"Uh, yes," she moaned. "Just put it a little deeper. If you're going to tease me, do it right, young man!"
"Noted," he said, and diligently pushed a little further. Emmeline moaned in delight. Harry Potter was a bastard, but at least he was a conscientious one, and was doing his best under the circumstances. If only he had been a little older and she had been younger by a few years….
No! What was she thinking? She couldn't possibly have entertained something so scandalous even if —
"Say, Emmeline," he said, still running his dick along her pussy walls, pushing in just a little, and then pulling it out instantly, leaving her wanting for more. "You really don't hate my dick truly, do you?"
Her face screwed up, she looked back at him again, scowling.
"Of course I do," she told him off, pushing her arse backwards, feeling his cock dig in by an extra inch. Just a little more and she'd be able to contract her walls against it. "I hate it," she pushed a little more. "I hate it so much."
This time the cock went deeper.
"This would have been so… ahh!"
Deeper.
"I mean, so much deeper, I mean, so much simpler if — if your cock wasn't this amazing! Why couldn't have you been on the other side of average? I hate you and your fucking cock so much!"
Her walls contracted.
"Can we just get to the fucking now?" She demanded. "You're really pushing your luck here, Harry Potter."
As if her words had triggered something within him, Harry grabbed her arse tighter, squeezing it. Emmeline moaned as pain and pleasure hit her in equal amounts, and felt him shove his cock forward, meeting resistance as he tried to push it all into the depths of her womanhood. Her pussy was small and snug, like it should be, and it was made for proper, nice, boring, average-sized cocks, not freaking beater bats. But he wasn't backing down, and she was as ready as she was ever gonna be, burning with need and soaked with juices at the feeling of being penetrated.
"Ugh! Fuck!" She groaned, his massive meat too much to bear for her underworked pussy. It had been far too long since she had gotten laid, and no, the recent unexpected jumping on Harry Potter's cock while he slept didn't count. And her husband wasn't exactly a pussy-pleaser by any means, and the best she could expect would be two minutes to fame and then done.
Harry's on the other hand, it was the largest thing she had ever encountered. But she was taking it like a champ, allowing more of him inside of her. Her walls soon swallowed the entire thing in one go.
"Mmmm…" Harry grunted, pulling back and thrusting back with extreme vigour. Emmeline yelled and cursed as her entire body shook with his thrusts, and several times she came close to getting hit in the face by the tree trunk. She really should've cast a cushioning charm on it, but she couldn't bring herself to care.
"Keep going… keep going," she sighed, her throat tensed up as she adjusted to his size. "All the way!"
Harry being the diligent soul he was, gave one unholy thrust, and buried the entirety of his huge dick inside her insanely tight pussy, his torso colliding with her arse.
"Ahhh! FUCK!" Emmeline screamed out, feeling filled to the brim with an insane amount of dick in her. Yes, this was what she was missing. This was going to scratch that itch that had plagued her ever since she had left his blasted house. She hated that she was forced to resort to this, but she needed it, or she'd go insane. No, what was she saying? She needed it, or else she'd be just that bothered, and it would hinder her attempts to undo whatever magical enthrallment Other-Harry had done to her.
Her pussy adjusted to its invader, and spasmed around it as it moulded itself around the bone-hard pillar, her cunt almost feeling like it was being reshaped into a new one.
"OH!" Emmeline let out a guttural groan, feeling the wind taken out of her as she got stuffed with that big cock again. And again. And again. Harry was beginning to work himself to a pretty good pace as they moved past the point of adjustment to full-out hardcore fucking.
"Ugh! You're in my womb!"
"Is that deep enough for you?"
"I don't think it could get any deeper," she groaned, her throat feeling parched and tight as he kept pistoning in and out of her, hitting her deeper and harder than her husband had ever done. His torso was colliding with her arse constantly, and her entire body was glistening with perspiration from the intense fuck session she was enduring.
Yes, he was scratching that itch.
Yes, she would finally be able to cum.
And then as if she hadn't been humiliated enough, he grabbed her tits and pulled them back, making her scream in pain and ecstasy. Feeling his coarse, Quidditch-playing fingers twist her nipples and maul her breasts and use his momentum to squeeze them tighter and tighter only made her want to squeal in happiness. Yes! This was a pleasure she had never felt. This was what she had missed all her life!
This… this felt really fucking good!
Her head fell back again as she just took it. It was like there was an untapped well of pleasure inside her, and his cock was hammering closer and closer to that reservoir.
"You like that?"
SMACK!
"You like me thrusting into you?"
SMACK!
"You like being thrust against that trunk, naked like a Knockturn Alley slut, while I take you from the back?"
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!
"Fuck you!" said Emmeline. "You know the answer!"
She dug her nails into the tree bark, as her entire form shook at his vigorous thrusting.
"I want you to admit it out loud."
"Haha! Never!" She laughed. "Ugh! Faster!"
"Unacceptable!" He declared. "I'll make an honest woman out of you, Emmeline. I'll make you scream that you're a whore for my cock."
"Dream on, little boy! Dream on! You're just a— Ugh! Fuck that hurts so GOOD!"
And then Harry pulled his cock out, and spun her around, and pulled her towards him. Her legs feeling like jelly, Emmeline gasped and fell upon him, her hands around his neck as he simply lifted her into the air like she weighed nothing. She barely even had time to take in that fact before he waved his hand over her face, and hit her with a wandless Scourgify, vanishing every bit of cum off her face and mouth faster than she could even perceive, and closed in on her lips and his tongue was practically duelling hers. She grabbed onto his upper arms, her heart fluttering as she gripped his massive biceps, feeling the muscles ripple underneath, as he thoroughly violated her mouth, her tongue surrendering meekly as his swirled around hers. She gasped at the intensity of the kiss, and the sheer abruptness which he suddenly then cut off, pushing her up by her arse, raising her into the air by the strength of just his hands, like a goddess being worshipped by her god. Dimly, she recognised that he was still holding her like that without any support, and wondered just how strong he actually was.
And then he let her sweaty body slide down.
And impaled right into his mammock cock.
"FUCCCCKKK!" Emmeline yelled as if he had just impaled her with a dagger. It wasn't far off from the truth either, and the only thing she could do was drape her legs around his waist and grab him for dear life, as he grabbed her arse and lifted her up, and then let her fall down. And again. And again. His cock was holstered into her completely, and everytime he raised her and dropped her, Emmeline felt like she died just a little only to be reborn again. This wasn't fucking, wasn't enthrallment, wasn't seduction. This was pain and pleasure of the highest order, something so primal that nothing, no Occlumency, no mental shielding, no emotional dampeners could ever hope to counter. They were man and woman in the primal sense of term, brought together for the most primal of behaviours.
The need to have pleasure and copulate.
"Ugh! Shit!" Emmeline spat out, shaking her head madly, as his cock kept hitting her sweet spot every single time, driving all the way in and forcing itself out, and then back in. It was ecstasy. It was agony. He had her completely under her control, and there was nothing she could do to dissuade him. All she could do was scream her lungs out as he kept reshaping her pussy while giving her pleasure she had never imagined possible.
And she had yet to cum.
"Say…" he said, giving no indication of being exhausted. "Are you willing to accept that you are doing this because you love my cock?"
Who is this man? She wondered deliriously. How can he fuck so well? How is he holding me like that without any care? This — yes, Harry Potter isn't a man.
He is a demon.
An incubus.
And I'm his prey. And I'm loving it.
"Fuck ! You! BEAST!" She screamed, her body tightening up, shaking her head. Her breasts were now wobbling lewdly as he drove his cock into her. And as if he hadn't already broken every single conception she had about him, he let his hands go off her arse, and grabbed her breasts. Emmeline widened her eyes as she felt herself slide further and further until the entire cock was lodged into her pussy, and regardless of the pain, the first thing she felt was fear. Fear that she'd fall, and possibly break a bone, and his cock.
But it didn't.
For she didn't.
Instead, she just stayed there, held by invisible hands, while Harry grabbed her tits and began sucking at them with a childlike glee. It took her a moment to actually realise that he was actually levitating her using magic. And then she felt herself rise up, and grabbed his neck tightly.
It wasn't necessary.
For his feet were leaving the ground too.
Up and up and up they went. And not once during the entire process did he stop fucking her with his cock, and squeeze and bite into her breasts like a hungry child. Emmeline only held him for dear life, knowing that her clothes and her wand were back on the ground, as well Harry's clothes and his wand, and they were at least forty feet above the ground.
Harry hadn't even spoken a word.
Hadn't used his wand.
And the point had been made.
Emmeline stared slack-jawed at Harry Potter's overt display of magical power. She had all but forgotten the feeling of being skewered over his shaft, and was staring at his face with something like awe. Especially considering that he wasn't even holding her up with his arms, choosing to maintain both of their levitation states parallelly, without the slightest clue that he was even doing it consciously.
Instead he just pinned her with his gaze, as he kept pistoning into her.
This unholy power! Was this the power that brought the Dark Lord down the first time? Sixth-level Occlumens and seventh-level Legilimens, Emmeline Vance couldn't help but stare at the man fucking her with a look of deepest reverence. Of course it was difficult to even focus on him, what with his cockhead spearing into her constantly, her limbs spasming violently, and her entire frame being overloaded with lust.
"Merlin!" She screamed out, lights flashing before her eyes, as she dropped her head on Harry's shoulders, wrapping her legs tighter as her pussy was juicing up more and more as he speared into her. And this time, she fully accepted it.
For the first time, Emmeline realised exactly why Hestia Jones had chosen Harry Potter's side over the Order.
"Fuck! Fuck! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!" She kept on screaming. "Why's your fucking cock so perfect? Why are you so powerful? Why! My cunt! Never! Same! Oh my! Merlin fuck!"
"Do you want to cum?" he asked gently, a parent talking to a child.
Did she want to cum? Of course she did. That's what led to this entire thing.
"Yes! Make me cum! Fucking make me cum, Harry!"
"Then accept it."
"I accept it!" She yelled. "I accept it! I love your fucking cock! I LOVE your fucking cock! Please make me cum!"
"So be it."
The moment he said that, something inside her felt ready to explode, and honestly, she thought she might die. It might be so violent.
"Ugh!" Harry groaned, as her nails dug into his arms, her entire body shaking as she realised she was about to erupt.
"Just like that! Just like that! Just like that!" She chanted, her body clenching up. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head. "Ugh! FUCK!" She screamed at the top of her lungs, her body trying to shake his cock off violently, an impossible scenario given how it was speared into her, and she could feel the inexorable force of gravity pulling her down upon the tip, as he kept plunging deeper and deeper into her with every thrust.
"Here it comes! Here it comes! Here it comes! Harry! Harry! Harry—UGHHH!"
Her pussy flexed lewdly, a gush of her broiling sex juices squirted out of her cunt violently, arching through the air, and dripping down like rain upon the forest floor. She kept screaming as her pussy kept squirting, like it was trying to make up for all the times it had failed to deliver, like it was determined to unleash all the orgasms she had fingered herself up to, but never ended up gaining, all at once.
"AHHH! SHIT! OH! MY! THIS IS SO GOOD! HARRY! THIS IS! SO! GOOD!"
She kept gushing like a fountain, sprinkling her cum down towards the earth. Harry pulled his cock out of her, and more juices erupted out of her, sliding down her folds. Without thinking, Emmeline released her hold on his waist, and let her legs go free, and for a second, she feared she'd fall down to her death, but nothing happened. Not a single flicker, not the slightest tremor in the power of the spell, nothing. It was like they were standing on an invisible platform, merrily disobeying the power of gravity as it held both of them up without the slightest care in the world.
She was wrong. Power like this deserved to have its own side.
Albus Dumbledore had his.
The Dark Lord had his.
And so would Harry Potter. Incubus Lord.
"Huh," he said, his expression languid. "That was some orgasm. Clearly you've been pent for quite a while."
"Cl— clearly," she panted. What was surprising was that despite her legs feeling like someone had vanished all her bones, she didn't feel the slightest amount of weakness, standing like that.
Magic. Harry Potter's magic was the likely culprit.
"Wow," she said out loud. "How — how are you this powerful, Harry Potter?"
He just gave her a wolfish grin.
"Fine," she said. "Don't tell me. But I have another quandary. The other girls you spend time with — Hestia, that werewolf girl, and Narcissa Malfoy, are you like this with them too?"
"Yes," he said. "Though not every woman I'm with can bear it."
"Can you do it again?"
He arched an eyebrow.
"Well…." she began, still catching her breath, as she spread her legs further. "I mean, you're quite good. Maybe one of the best. But I wonder if that's because of skill, or just some fluke."
"You're still in denial, huh?"
"Not denial," she said quickly. "I just don't trust in flukes. And you are, forgive me, a walking-talking fluke."
More staring.
Emmeline flushed. "It's like this. You survived the killing curse. You defeated the Dark Lord as a one-year-old. All those exploits of yours at Hogwarts, especially the one with the basilisk. And then you became an Incubus. None of them really have any scientific reasons behind them. So I'm inclined to believe that you're either very gifted or just plain lucky. I intend to find which is which."
He looked amused. "And how do you plan to do that?"
"Well…" she said, biting her lip. "If you can bring me to orgasm twice, then we'll know that it isn't just sheer dumb luck but actual skill."
Emmeline scowled at her pathetic self-justification she was doing in order to ask for a round two of mind-bending sex, and by the looks of it, Harry wasn't going to call her out on it.
Like she said before. Very conscientious.
"Well, a second round of experimentation never hurt anyone," he said, cocking his head. "So long as it is in the name of science…."
She draped herself over him, and climbed on his waist and grabbed his neck. And then he began to levitate down towards the ground.
Round Two awaited.
In the meanwhile, Hestia Jones found herself in the company of one Anastasia Greengrass. She was in the kitchen, cooking up Beef Wellington for the main course for dinner, while chatting with her about seemingly inconsequential things and doing her best to wheedle information out of her.
Information about her employer (and lover) Harry Potter.
"Somehow, after everything I've learned about Harry Potter from my Daphne, I can't really picture him sitting with my husband and his friend, signing a shady business deal."
"Shows how much your eldest knows about him, I imagine," said Hestia. Unlike Harry, she wasn't quite forced to act formally at all times. Perks of being a halfblood meant that people assumed you had absolutely no class and didn't expect pureblood formality from you. It helped that the Greengrass matriarch had requested some casual talk between two women, without the protocol in between.
Not very subtle, but better than expected.
"I would normally take offence about that, Miss Jones," she said, her voice stuck at soft overtones, as she began cutting the raw beef into tenderloin. Even more surprising was that she was doing it the muggle way, instead of using a cutting charm. Clearly the woman preferred a personal touch, no doubt a habit from years of creating potions.
"But seeing him deal with my husband does prove your point. I can only imagine how much you had to work hard to explain a third-year passout about business deals after your employment."
Translation — she was asking if Harry Potter was simply dancing on Hestia's machinations, or if he truly had a head for these things.
"Business was, interestingly, a quick study for him," she said, smiling. "His relatives on the muggle side of his family were involved in corporate dealings, or so he tells me. So he has some grounding on the subject."
Anastasia murmured a small 'oh'.
Hestia smiled.
"Please do not mind my curiosity. Harry Potter was known to be an introvert over the past three years. Of course, my husband was quite surprised when he sent that letter, wishing to buy Phyllida from him."
"I bet."
"Still, seeing him deal with someone like my husband, forgive me, but a child —"
"A child?" asked Hestia, frowning. "I assure you, Lady Greengrass. Harry Potter is no child. He picked up wizarding business and customs in the same way and flair with which he took to flying on a broom. Twelve years of living with muggles did not stop him from becoming the youngest seeker of the century."
Amusingly enough, she was telling her the truth, minus a few facts of course, but she already had told her quota of truths for the month and anymore was just bad for business.
"You really expect me to believe that?"
"Unless you'd rather believe he's a simpleton that walked into this household to be scammed into a subpar under-the-table deal that would miraculously save your husband's arse from DMLE prosecution, yes."
Anastasia stilled. "You are… very well informed."
Hestia smiled, fox-like. "I'm his secretary and stewardess. Being informed is part of my job description."
"And despite that, he still came here."
"Why, Lady Greengrass," said Hestia teasingly. "It almost sounds like you fear for my employer's life."
She blinked, taken aback by the sudden bluntness. It took her a moment to regain her composure. Pureblood princess or otherwise, she had nothing on a spy. Damned purebloods! They thought that just being born and managing to draw breath was enough to make them skilled manipulators and politicians. Guess playing the house for too long had made them forget that increased profit often came with its own share of risk.
Anastasia Greengrass, nee Selwyn, was going to learn that the hard way.
"Please do not say such meaningless things to me," the woman said demurely. "I was merely concerned if Mr. Potter was biting off more than he can chew. But, forgive me, but you do not seem to hold my husband in very high regard—"
Hestia snorted.
"Which leaves me wondering why you even allowed Mr. Potter to come here in the first place. Regardless of his position, I imagine he hired you for a reason. You are, after all, older than him, and thus, wiser."
Not really, thought Hestia. If anything, Harry's the one older than me. He's just repeating his life, trying to correct the mistakes that happened before.
"If you're subtly trying to ask why Harry Potter is willing to take part in a subpar deal, then I'm afraid I cannot answer that question, Lady Greengrass."
"It's not really that difficult to imagine why," said the woman. "It's either that he needs Phyllida for a reason so important that even this shady deal is of no consequence to him in the long term. Or he's a fool. And that… young man, does not strike me as a fool."
This one would require a more sophisticated answer. Her research on the Greengrass family painted a massive familial dysfunction, with Broderick Greengrass holding the reins with an iron will. Anastasia Greengrass was a Potions Mistress that had gained her Mastery as an apprentice to Damocles Belby, famous for his invention of the Wolfsbane potion among other things. She had also studied Herbology from Hadrian Whittle, a famous magiphytologist. A woman like that, with all her breath of knowledge and experience, had been shackled to playing housewife to Broderick 'Bulldog' Greengrass, simply because Anatasia was the fifth in line to the Selwyn name, which translated to being little more than a trading tool to establish alliances with lesser, if somewhat prominent families. And the House of Greengrass, while not being that big on wealth, at least on paper, was an Ancient one, and was remarkably well-connected to a great many families on both sides of the political spectrum. Broderick's father Algernon was supposedly a supporter of Grindelwaldian ideology, while Broderick was rumoured to be a Death Eater sympathiser, though nothing was actually proven in court.
"Harry does what he wants, and he seems to want this deal. For now. I respect that."
"Harry, is it?" Anastasia noted, now tendering the mushrooms. "First-name basis with your employer?"
Hestia did a passable job of pretending that it was a slip of the tongue.
The woman smirked. "There is no need to pretend. I am well aware of the fate of muggleborns and halfblood women in our society. I imagine Mr. Potter is probably one of the more decent employers out there."
"He is," Hestia smiled. Technically, Anastasia was correct, but again, she had arrived at the half-right conclusion about the nature of their relationship.
Half-truths and half-lies. Knowing the balance between them was all what being a spy was about.
"Mr. Potter helped me when I was in a tight spot. He hired me, and he pays me well. In return, he enjoys my loyalty."
"I imagine loyalty is not the only thing he enjoys."
"A man like that naturally has many options," Hestia replied in the same alluding way in which the question was posed.
"Miss Jones…" murmured Anastasia. "If I may be so forward, can I ask something that I can trust you to be discreet about?"
"Is it about your daughter's strange reaction?"
"... somewhat related to that, yes," said the woman. The look on her face suggested a mix of acute interest and confusion at the same time. Like she was trying to decipher a mystery. Not for the first time, Hestia wondered how far this woman would have soared if she had been allowed to exercise her talents.
"If you treat my answer in the same vein, I suppose."
The woman smiled. Again, one filled with hesitation.
"You were right earlier," she said, slowly, cautiously, as if weighing every word. "Your employer…. He isn't a child. At least, he doesn't feel like one."
"I imagine that's an upgrade from not 'feeling like Harry Potter at all'."
She flushed. "I apologise for my daughter's scandalous statements," she said, bowing her head for a second. "Daphne is a little… uninhibited, that way, at times. It's a condition we've been struggling to contain for years."
And yet, Hestia mused, that didn't stop her husband from introducing her to Harry like a potential carrot before the donkey.
"You are asking about my employer—"
"Right," said Anastasia. "He… Well, I imagine there is no other way to put it less bluntly, but he does look older for a sixteen-year-old. I have seen pictures of him in the newspaper just a few months ago, and he looks different. Very different."
This time Hestia didn't suppress her grin. "It's a surprise growth spurt in the summer. Quidditch training does do wonders for one's body."
"I imagine it does, but his aura too, feels a bit… off."
"Excuse me?" Hestia narrowed her eyes. Had she sensed something odd about Harry because of the time-travelling? Was that why her daughter—
"It's… how do I put it? It feels a little… mature? Alluring? Dare I say, seductive?"
Ah. Hestia let out a slow exhale. She's talking about his incubus nature. That was a close save.
She put on a bright smile. "Harry Potter is the vanquisher of the Dark Lord, Lady Greengrass. And like he put it during lunch, he killed Salazar Slytherin's thousand-year-old basilisk with the venerated Sword of Gryffindor. Is it not only natural that someone of such stature would also possess similar power?"
"I suppose —"
"And people with great power often have an alluring feel about them. Isn't that why so many flocked to Albus Dumbledore and… the Dark Lord?"
Anastasia's expression went blank.
It made Hestia smile.
"Is that why you're with him, Miss Jones?" She asked, if a little coolly. "Have you… flocked to him?"
"I told you, Lady. Harry Potter found my skills worth his while and hired me. I've yet to hear him complain about it."
Anastasia heaved a sigh. "Can I offer you a small piece of advice?"
Hestia narrowed her eyes. "If offered in good faith, yes."
The woman strode up to him. "I know Potter is up to something. I can feel it. There has to be a reason why he requested my aid tomorrow. So when your employer arrives from Phyllida, tell him this."
All traces of wordplay had vanished from her tone.
"My husband is not a kind man, Hestia Jones. If Harry Potter thinks he's being smart and can prank my husband like his blessed father, then he is up for a rude awakening. If you have any sense, and I know you do, then take that young man away from this place and never come back. That way, he will be safe."
Hestia smiled. It seemed like once again, Harry had hit the jackpot. No doubt, she mused, because of his future knowledge. "In the spirit of reciprocation, might I also offer a little advice?"
This time it was Anastasia's turn to look alert.
Hestia gave her a predatory smile. "Harry is destined for great things. He has done great things. Will do great things. So if you have any sense, and I know you do, then you've seen it. You've felt it. So either get onboard, or be left behind, trapped in your little trophy housewife life."
With that, Hestia spun around and began to walk away, leaving a flabbergasted Anastasia Greengrass behind.
Notes:
If you want to support me, find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Chapter 92: Bad Faith
Chapter Text
"Ugh!" grunted Emmeline. "You men are all the same. Obsessed with boobs. Hnngh!"
She let out a groan, as I kept sucking on her tits, still pumping my dick into her eager snatch. We were now on the ground, and Emmeline had transfigured a bed on the floor for us to continue what was the second session of our fuckathon. The cloaking spell had long vanished, and neither Emmeline nor I really cared for putting it back up. The forest was completely empty with not a soul around us either way.
"Mmmm…. What can I say? They are pretty perfect," I pointed out, pulling my lips from her breasts for a moment to admit this before resuming slurping on her nipples.
"I know," she admitted with a half grin, as I switched nipples, giving the other one the same treatment, and without thought, she rested her hand on the back of my head, keeping me in place as I hungrily nursed her puppies. "That's… mmm… feels good," she sighed. "Almost takes me back to the time when my son used to suck on them."
"Don't tell me you got aroused by your own son's sucking."
"What? No! Get your head out of the gutter!"
"You're the one who mentioned it. Why is it my fault?" I asked her, grinning wolfishly, flicking my tongue across her stiff nipple. "If you want, we can do a nice little fantasy playacting. I'll even call you Mommy."
Emmeline pushed me away, glaring.
I laughed, and grabbed her by her waist and pulled her close. At least she was no longer trying to pretend that this was anything but for her sexual satisfaction. And my recent display of raw power —- something I had gained since my evolution to Incubus Lord, had thoroughly impressed the woman enough to stop fibbing and treat me like a partner, if only for her sexual pleasure.
I took the rubbery nub into my mouth, and bit down on it lightly, sending an electric bolt through her body. She hissed, and tried to push me back, and that only hurt her more, her body spasming as I teased the nipple with my teeth.
"Ugh! Fine! Yes! I've always felt a little aroused at having my nipples sucked. Even back then. But I had just suppressed those feelings without effort, but your stupid incubus powers made things go awry."
I pulled back and met her eyes.
"Do you hate it?" I asked genuinely. "Whatever happened between us, the Shrine, the arrangement, all this, do you really hate it?"
"Do I hate it that I was manipulated and humiliated inside your mind? Yes. Do I truly blame you for it? No. I was the idiot that chose to walk in, and reverse psychology or not, Other-You warned me from getting into that place. I chose to step into that room, and even after knowing that it was Narcissa Malfoy's memory playing out, and what was about to happen, I didn't leave it right then. I could have, but I didn't. I — I wanted the memory so bad, and Other-You played upon my pride, and ended up humiliating me. What was worse? I willingly let him do that to me, so I can't even say that he raped me or anything."
"If it helps, I apologise for that."
"I do not blame you for that, Harry Potter," she said softly, her hand slowly inching downward at the point where our bodies met, and caressed the lower part of my cock softly, rubbing her hand with the juices on its surface. "If anything, I am truly glad that you have been so mature about the entire thing. You — Any other person in your place would've taken advantage of me and fucked me, and then blackmailed me with it."
I laughed. "Really? If I had tried to blackmail you, you'd have stunned, bound, petrified me with a single flick of your wand, and then obliviated the shit out of me."
She giggled. "You do place my abilities on a rather high pedestal, don't you, Harry Potter?"
"Just Harry is fine," I told her. "And why wouldn't I? Hestia respects you, and I respect Hestia. By extension, I respect the fuck out of you."
"Doesn't stop you from treating me like a slut."
"My respect for you is for your psychic skills, not your ability in bed."
"Wow," she rolled her eyes. "You really know how to make a woman feel special."
"I keep the special compliments reserved for those that are honest about their feelings."
Emmeline opened her mouth to retort, but chose to scowl instead.
"Fine," she spat out. "You've the biggest and best fucking cock I've ever seen. Yes, my husband is absolutely unimaginative in bed, and the few times we have made love, it has been in missionary style. Two minutes at best, and then he was done, leaving me to pleasure myself to an orgasm. It didn't help that he is way too obsessed with the Abbott regency, and grooming Hannah. I suppose that takes a whole new meaning, considering he was also using her as his sexual outlet. I simply cannot believe that Gideon —"
"Is a backstabbing, pedophilic arsehole that probably conspired in the deaths of his father and brother?" I offered. "I imagine that's what you're trying to find now. Isn't that why you're spending time at the Abbott Manor? Hestia told me that you prefer to live at the Vance estate."
"I am the Lady of House Vance," she said proudly. "And as an Ancient family, we rank higher than the Abbotts. But what about you?" She asked. "In the spirit of reciprocation, how do…. I feel compared to Narcissa Malfoy?"
"Oh, feeling territorial already, are you?" I asked, noticing how skillfully she avoided answering my question with a baited question of her own. "But don't worry. I won't ditch you."
"Huh. As if you'd ever get another chance at my body. I've had my orgasm, and for all you know, I might never even feel the urge to have sex with you again."
"Oh?" I asked. "Then what are we doing now?"
Her lips twisted. "Has your memory failed you, Potter? This isn't about sex. It's about proving if you're anything more than a fluke."
This woman….
"What if I get lucky again?"
"Oh?" She asked, arching her brow. "Is that an admission, Potter? That this was nothing more than a lucky spell?"
I sped up my pumping, and she hissed softly. "Just speaking hypothetically. What if I make you cum again? Would that be luck, or my skill?"
Her lips twisted. "Why don't we actually get to that point and find out? Talk is cheap."
"Touche," I said, and began moving in harder and harder. I pushed her legs up in the air, and was pistoning directly into her, her breasts jumping to and fro with each thrust. Her cunt was spasming around my pole, clearly delighting in the action. But Emmeline was still too stubborn to admit that she had already fallen in love with my cock, even if her walls were contracting against my cock from all sides.
"I think I'm going to make you cum again, Emmeline. And that too, before I cum."
"No you're not," she said, closing her eyes, and shaking her head, eyes screwed shut, her hands lovingly embracing my biceps as I pressed against her, her pussy hungrily swallowing my full length every single time, squeezing it hard, not wanting to release it. It wanted to cum, and it would override her stubbornness to do it. I was on top of her, and she wasn't in any position to escape her predicament. Her legs were spread wide, and raised above, her entire body drenched in sweat and cum, and escape was the last thing in her mind.
"You're such a stubborn bitch, Emmeline," I told her. "You know what? You deserve to be treated like one."
I pulled out of her, and she instantly dropped her legs down, offering no resistance as I turned her to lie down on her stomach, before I grabbed her arse and pulled it upwards, smacking it for good measure. Emmeline lay on the ground, half-raised, her arse ready to be served on a platter to my hungry cock.
The next second, I was deep within her all over again.
"Ugh…. fuck!" she groaned, eyes still closed, too lost in the waves of pleasure I was inflicting upon her to speak coherently. I grabbed her hair, and pulled it back, eliciting a hiss of pain from her. But before she could yell at me, I had already gotten her on all four limbs, with her long hair tightly spun around my right hand, with my cock lodged into her pussy from behind.
And then I smacked her arse with my left hand.
"UGH!" She grunted. "Monster!"
And then I began pistoning.
"Ugh… ugh… fuck… fuck… fuck…" she chanted.
"You like this, Emmeline?" I asked her, laughing. "You like being treated like a bitch?" I reached forward and slapped her right breast, eliciting another grunt of pain from her. Emmeline tried to pull back but instead ended up sitting straighter, her boobs oscillating like pendulums in front of her, as I kept hammering against her behind.
Like a good little dog.
"More… more…" she groaned, her cunt squeezing.
Naturally, I obliged.
"OH! Merlin! My! Cunt! Lose! Ugh!" she kept muttering in the middle of a steady 'NO! NO! NO!', AND 'Yes! Yes! Yes!' and the occasional 'Ugh! Fuck!' noises. She looked up to the canopied sky, her delicious form vibrating with need, she screamed, barely able to contain it anymore.
"FUCK! I LOVE YOUR COCK! HOW DO YOU KEEP DOING THIS?"
I pulled my cock out of her, and right then, her juices began to gush out of her, a powerful rush of squirt forced out of her, landing all over my abdomen and dripping down my legs. It lasted for several seconds, her cum spraying out on my cock that was hovering inches away from her. Her admitting that she loved my cock gave it a mind-melting oomph that got me even more ready to continue.
Like a defibrillator shocking someone's heart to life, Emmeline's eyes were now wide open, her chest rising and falling with deep breaths as she looked back at me with true, genuine shock at what I had just accomplished.
"You…" she croaked. "You have yet to cum."
I smiled. "I know. I just wanted to make sure you came first. That was important."
"No," she said, shaking her head. "You have to cum. I'll make you cum. No matter what you need to do, do it. Fuck me with that beautiful cock. Fuck me as hard as you need to. I'm so ready. I can take it! That fucking cunt can take it. Don't you dare think that I can't handle it. Make me scream! Just… Even if I cum ten more times, you keep fucking me until you cum, got that?"
That was certainly a wide shift in her behaviour. Needing no more invitation, I lowered myself into her again, driving my tool into her ready hole. I grabbed her breasts with both hands, and pressed myself against her. Emmeline moaned against my weight, her breasts flattening against the bed. Without any preamble, I spun around, falling on my back, with her lying above me, my hands mauling her breasts while my cock pistoned in and out of her pussy, with her sweaty, naked body up for everyone to see.
"Oh! Oh my! You're hitting it right at the spot!" she sighed heatedly. "Wreck my pussy! Pound it!"
Her pussy was spasming. Her juices were broiling. "Don't — don't stop! Just don't stop! I can cum one more time! I can! Oh! Oh! YESSS!"
Emmeline squealed, her pussy clenching inhumanly, as she squirted for a third time in a row, her juices slipping down my cock as I kept pounding her mid-orgasm. Her body was shaking, and she was yelling out all sorts of profanity, throwing her legs around like a madwoman, but I kept holding her by her breasts and pounding her pussy. Finally after what felt like an eternity, her hands and legs fell down limply, and she lost all her strength, lying above me like a dead body.
"The Lady Vance," I snorted, "lying naked above me, being fucked like a whore."
"Shut up!" She snapped, but the heat in her voice was missing. "Don't speak of me like that. I —"
"Talk too much," I said, and grabbed her chin with my right hand and pulled her head downward until it reached my lips and kissed her. Hard. Only this time, our mouths formed a tight seal as soon as they met, and just as quickly, our tongues were all over each other. Duelling, swirling around each other, swapping spit and passion with an intensity that surprised me. Lips pressed against lips, cheeks hollowed, this was no romantic gesture. This was crazed, hungry lust, and us two lovers were feeding off each other. Less than an hour ago, she was in denial. Now? Her tongue was down my throat, her pussy swallowing my cock every time I plunged into her.
Naturally, the Screen decided to intervene in this moment of passion with a notification. And I couldn't even blame it this time, because we were really burning for oxygen. Emmeline pulled back and gave me a fucked-stupid smile, while I took the moment to check the notification.
World Anchor – Emmeline Vance has gone up by 47%
Gained Affinities from World Anchor — Emmeline Vance
Psychomancy (Legilimency) +17%
Psychomancy (Occlumency) +12%
Charms +6%
You've gained a Perk!
Forty-seven percent? That was… massive. One thing that my time in this world had taught me was that whenever world anchors jumped skyhigh, it was always because of a special trigger within the anchor herself. Hestia had gone up when she had sworn herself to me via the Unbreakable Vow, as had Hermione. Amelia had soared all the way to a hundred when I had conquered her.
But Emmeline?
It couldn't have been because of her husband, because then her anchorage would have risen when I had first mentioned it. I had no doubt that her original 26% anchorage was partly because of her knowledge of me being the Boy-Who-Lived, and her findings inside Lecherous Shrine, and everything else that had transpired that night, courtesy of the Horcrux. But then this sudden rise could only be attributed to —
I felt a foreign presence trying its way in, and blinked.
I scowled at her. "That was uncalled for."
Emmeline grinned softly. "You are fucking me, Harry. I refuse to allow you to think of anything else while you're doing that. I am a Vance. I deserve nothing but your undivided attention."
"Gee! Next thing I know you'll probably be proposing marriage."
Her cheeks went red. "You're too young for me, Potter."
I looked at her flushed face, her sweaty body, her mauled breasts, and then craned my neck downwards to look at the place where my cock was still lodged inside her pussy.
"Yeah, I can see that."
She blushed crimson. "You know what I mean. And plus, I'm married, Potter. And I have a child."
"Somehow that doesn't seem like it will stop the more important things."
"Oh? And what are those?"
"You, me, continuing this thing. I mean, it's practically written on your face that you're addicted to my cock now. You know it, I know it, and you know I know it."
"I — I've no idea what you're talking about."
I snorted. "Of course. So, I made you cum. Thrice. What will you call it? Skill, Luck or a bit of both?"
"I still think it's luck," she said, giggling as she did. "I mean, I was already pent up since yesterday. It's only natural that I'd get those orgasms out first. You've got a good cock, and you have some skill at using it, but don't think that you are some kind of sex god, Potter."
"Makes sense," I told her. "But I will be. And then I will manifest the Lecherous Shrine."
"Haha! That! Your Other-self is going to be up for a nasty surprise. Next time, I'm going to outfuck him, and the best part? You are helping me get there."
"Am I?"
"Yes." she grinned. "But make no mistake. Emmeline Vance always pays her debts. You made me cum thrice, while I only brought you to orgasm once. I will maintain the balance. Even if it requires me to let you fuck me until you cum two more times."
She gave me a pointed look, her tone getting heavier as she said this.
"Whatever you say, Emmeline," I said with a chuckle.
It was no longer about some silly experiment, or denial. No, it was quite simple. This was Emmeline's way of asking for continuing having sex without actively asking for it. She had demanded me to make her cum once, and she had challenged me to do so again, and once I succeeded, she added the new excuse of maintaining a balance, as if it were some 'debt' that she had incurred.
Freaking purebloods! They couldn't even admit they wanted to fuck without bringing their damned pride into this.
But that was fine. Two could play this game.
"That makes sense," I murmured, pretending to think about her suggestion. "There's just one problem. What if you cum before me again?"
Much to my surprise, she pulled me into another lewd lip-lock, mouths smacking together, tongues toying with each other, her spit leaking on my chin as she forced her tongue into my mouth.
"I make good on my promises," she said, her hand slowly rising up and caressing my cheek. "If that happens, I will let you fuck me again and again, until we are done."
I smiled. "You shouldn't make promises you can't keep, Lady Vance. Do not forget, I'm an incubus. I can go on and on and on. The two of us are likely to stay here for the next few days if that is to happen."
"Hmmm," she said, frowning. "That does present quite a problem. What do you suggest?"
"Perhaps a change of venue is in order?" I offered with a sly grin. "I came in your mouth, but your pussy is yet to coax my cock to cum. Perhaps, we can try the alternative option?"
"You want to facefuck me again?"
My grin widened. "I meant the alternative that we haven't tried."
It took a moment for the realisation to actually hit her. "You — you mean —"
"Your arsehole."
"Uh, I've never —"
"An anal virgin?" I laughed. "The great Lady Vance has never had anyone creampie inside her backdoor?"
"It's inappropriate!" She scoffed. "A man's dick is supposed to get into a woman's cunt. That's the natural order of things. The rectum is a place to excrete, not get a beater's bat plug and ram it like some neanderthal."
I laughed. "Don't knock it until you've tried it."
"Sorry! Not happening!"
"Why not?"
"What do you — Listen, Harry Potter! I might have been very accommodating all this time, but that doesn't mean that I'll just go along with whatever deviance you have in mind. Sex demon or not, you're the Lord of a Noble and Most Ancient House. Act like it."
I narrowed my eyes. What new side of her had I come across? "Well, if I'm not getting your arse, then I've no interest in your pussy. And you can forget our arrangement goodbye."
Let's see how she deals with that.
Pulling herself away, Emmeline looked at me in blank shock. "What — what's going on? Why are you acting like this? We had an arrangement. You cannot act in bad faith like this."
"You heard me, Emmeline," I told her coolly. I was willing to play it by the ear and let her have what she wanted under the pretence of denial, but we both knew her true feelings. But I had to draw a line between being accommodating and just being a pushover, or else the situation might just go out of control, like it had gotten with Amelia.
"The arrangement was about me humiliating you. But so far, all I've done is accommodate you. You wanted it to happen on a weekly basis to develop resistance, yet you all but forced me to fuck you just a day later. You were so horny that you forced me to fuck you here in this middle of the forest like a barbarian. And since then, you've been the one that's been asking one thing after another. Well guess what, Lady Vance, this isn't supposed to be about you. This is about me. I decide what to do, and how to do it, and your job is to accept it without question, and the only time you should open your mouth is to say, 'Thank you, sir, may I have another?'"
Emmeline looked like she had been slapped.
"So no, if anything, it's you who's been acting in bad faith."
"Harry —"
"No," I said, pushing myself to stand up, but she pushed me down, and pushed herself against me, forcing her lips onto mine. I grabbed her face and pushed her back, slapping her hands away from my body. "I'm not your boy toy, Emmeline Vance. We're done."
"Please, Harry," she begged, grabbing my legs and dragging her hand all the way to my waist. Her desperation was vivid, and the way her fingers were grabbing my cock, and rubbing it up and down was proof how deeply she had fallen into my web of seduction and pleasure. "Please, Harry, do not do this. You can fuck me over and over! Spank me! Pull my hair. Treat me like a bitch and make me scream. Please, Harry, please —"
I looked down on her, an unrelenting judge looking at a convict he was about to sentence.
"Then let me fuck your arsehole."
Her face was quickly changing colours from red to purple to red again.
"Please!" She begged. "No! Please! Anything but that! It's — it's inappropriate! Harry please, fuck my pussy! You can even cum in my pussy, in my mouth, on my face, anywhere you want."
Still so stubborn.
"I want to cum in your arse."
"Please, Harry! Don't do this! Please don't ask this of me. I can't — I can't —"
I had enough. Pushing myself off the transfigured bed, I gave her an even look, as I summoned my wand, and cleansed myself. "Well then, that's your decision. And you know mine."
"Harry—" Emmeline put her hands on my chest, her voice burning with need and desperation. "Harry please, let's just fuck! Let;'s just —"
"I said I AM DONE!"
Emmeline flinched, and staggered back.
"I am done," I told her, my voice colder than a glacier. "Clean yourself, get dressed and prepare to leave. Go back to your small-dicked, unimaginative rapist of a husband. I imagine that's all you've got to stay content with from now on."
And with that, I put my clothes on, and started walking back to the manor, leaving a naked, and absolutely devastated Emmeline Vance behind.
Dinner at Greengrass Manor was strangely a humdrum affair. To my surprise, both Broderick and Gideon were busy in a private meeting, and had their meals delivered to the meeting room. Less surprisingly, Emmeline hadn't showed up, choosing to eat her dinner in her room as well. That meant me sitting at dinner with Hestia, Anastasia and most importantly, Daphne, who kept glancing at me whenever she thought I wasn't looking. There were times when our eyes met, but then she'd look away, and focus on the dinner. Neither the Lady nor her daughter seemed to have any interest in conversation, except the bare minimum. Daphne was the first to finish, and excused herself to her bedroom upstairs. Anastasia confirmed our meeting due the next morning, and we agreed to meet in the eastern courtyard after breakfast. She claimed that she usually spent a lot of time tending the sunflowers and her collection of fire seed plants every morning, and it would be best if I could schedule our talk while she tended to her plants.
With that sorted, both me and Hestia retired to my room. Her room was technically next to mine, and while she did have the excruciating job of going through the property papers of Phyllida Greenhouses, she deserved a nice little relaxing break before that.
"Well…" said Hestia, closing the door, and casting silencing charms. "So far, so good."
"Have you sent it?"
She arched an eyebrow.
"Right. You have."
She smiled, and stepped up to me, and her lips met mine, our tongues probing into each other's mouths. Hestia had become more comfortable with kissing me after coming to terms with my status as a 'time-traveller' and becoming my Lilim. Whilst before she had been focussed on sex and humiliation, becoming a Lilim had seemingly unlocked her desires to make out with me, as would a lover.
I could feel her hard nipples against my shirt-clad chest. She grabbed my right hand and pulled it down and pressed my fingers into her skirt, and against her wet panties.
"Is someone feeling a bit horny tonight?"
She pulled back and rolled her eyes. "Unlike someone, I didn't spend my entire evening fucking to my heart's content. I never imagined Emmeline to be such a…."
"Such a….?"
"Ugh, you know. Insatiable. Regardless of whatever happened, she's… she's too infatuated with you. Merlin, she could hardly stand properly. Just how long did you two keep going?"
"Long enough," I told her. "And then she decided to be stubborn, and I might have gotten angry at her, and left her hanging."
She scowled. "Harry, you know you're the most important thing in my life, right?"
"Yes?"
"And you know that I'll always choose you over anyone else?"
"Yes."
"Then respect my wishes when I tell you this. Please don't be so harsh on Emmeline. She's already under… you know, and whatever happened inside that fucked up place you call a mindscape. Emmeline's strong, but with all the revelations, she's kinda frail right now. Please don't force her too much."
I cocked my head to one side. "And you're saying this… why exactly? Are you blaming yourself again?"
"You know I am," admitted Hestia. "If I had to do it again, I would. But that doesn't mean I like what I had to do. Please, I won't ask this of you for anyone else. But Emmeline, she's…."
"Alright."
"She mentored me, and she came to your place to help you and all, so when I — wait, did you just agree?"
"I believe I said yes."
She blinked. "Oh."
"Surprised?" I asked, grinning.
Hestia tilted her head, giving me a soft smile. "Not really. You're an arsehole, but you're not a bad person, Harry. Which is more than what I can say for most. As much as I resent it, I cannot help but think whatever happened was for the best."
"Now all we've got to do is wait and hope Amelia plays her part."
Hestia ran her fingers through her hair. "I still cannot believe that you fucked Amelia freaking Bones over the weekend."
"That feels like an oversimplification."
"It is," muttered Hestia, no doubt thinking of the pensieve memories I had shared with her. "It definitely is."
I chuckled. I had come clear with my plan about the Greengrasses with Hestia last night. Quite naturally, she had vocally called my entire plan suicidal and outright stupid, especially with so much hinging upon the seduction of Broderick's wife, and the other half resting on the anal-retentive, rule-following uppity bitch that was Amelia Bones. She had laughed at my face when I had told her that Amelia was on my side, and was manipulating the DMLE inquisition on Greengrass's assets. She told me that either I was a fool for believing that Amelia Bones could be manipulated so easily, or an even bigger fool for believing that I had gotten the Queen bitch of the British Ministry to play fetch whenever I wanted her to.
Then I told her exactly what had transpired at the Bones mansion.
Her mouth had fallen open, and then she had demanded me to show her a pensive memory of the event.
Her expression had been absolutely beautiful to watch.
"I can only picture what Hermione might think when she gets to know that. Poor girl thinks that you probably seduced Susan and arranged a betrothal with her by playing the nobility card."
I chagrined. Hermione was, in many ways, the most innocent in my group. And I wanted things to stay that way for as long as possible. God knows, she'd be in a hell of trouble if her werewolf curse mutated and became something really dangerous because of the necromantic energy's effects.
"First Narcissa Malfoy, then Cynthia Abbott, Amelia Bones and now Emmeline Vance. And now, you're aiming for Lady Greengrass. MILFs, Harry?"
"Harry Potter, MILF-Hunter," I said, scratching my stubble. "Yeah, it's got a certain ring to that."
Hestia snorted. "Good thing my mum is already dead and gone. Merlin knows you'd have gone after her next." Then her eyes went wide. "Please don't tell me you'd go after Tonks's mum Andromeda. I know she's Narcissa Malfoy's elder sister."
"You don't want me too? And here I was thinking of trying to get the entire Black family set. Perhaps I should plan on freeing Bellatrix Lestrange, and seducing her away from Voldemort. It'd be quite entertaining to see him face her off in battle."
"Could you do that?"
Her curious tone told me that she wasn't really joking anymore. More importantly — was I?
"Harry?" She repeated. "Can you? You know… do that?"
I gave her a half-shrug. "I… I don't know. I can seduce every woman out there, Occlumens or not. Amelia, Narcissa and Emmeline are proof of that. And I doubt Bellatrix has any semblance of mental defences left after all those years at Azkaban. Maybe if I am able to manifest Lecherous Shrine and learn to truly tap into its myriad powers ..."
"I need to really sit down with Hermione and get that list done. The sooner you achieve that Shrine, the better. I think Hermione's already making notes about potential experiments to better understand Lecherous Shrine and your Incubus Lord powers. If you could really get Bellatrix Lestrange then — then apart from snatching her from the Dark Lord, you'd even gain Hufflepuff's Cup, and destroy that horcrux."
Yeah that too. Assuming it wasn't one of the things that happened differently in this fucked up version of HP universe.
"I guess I can try," I told her in no certain terms. "You realise that means breaking into Azkaban prison and I've heard of only one person that did that, and he's dead."
"Yes, but —"
There was a knock on the door.
"Who's it?" I called out.
"It's…. Me," came Emmeline's voice.
Hestia looked at me knowingly. "I suppose I should leave, Harry. Best not to keep her waiting."
"You don't have to, if you don't want to."
She kissed me again. "That's sweet of you, but as a Lilim, I need to ensure my Lord is most protected. Who knows? Maybe Emmeline will be your next Lilim. And then we can protect you together. Though… if you really want to make it up to me, might I ask for a small favour?"
And then she came close and whispered her demand in my ear, and pulled back, giggling like a schoolgirl.
I arched an eyebrow. "Seriously? That's what you want?"
"Are you going to do it, or not?"
"I mean, I guess, yeah, but what if she…. You know…"
"Well then," she licked her lips. "I guess I'll have something to look forward to first thing in the morning."
I blushed. "Square deal."
She kissed me one last time, and turned around and walked off to the door, opening it wide.
"Ah, Hestia, you —"
"Hi Emmeline," she said brightly. "Are you feeling better now? I didn't see you at dinner."
"Y— Yes, I was feeling a bit ill," the woman replied, clearly flustered. "I just wanted to say that both Broderick and Gideon had to suddenly leave, for an unavoidable circumstance, and it will be a day or two before they return. Gideon asked me to be here, as a chaperone, if needed."
"That's… nice, I suppose," I heard Hestia say, before my sexy secretary craned her head back to look at me in amusement. "I guess that settles it."
"It does," I yelled back.
"What are you talking about?" Emmeline asked.
"Oh nothing," said Hestia, shaking her head. "Just an inside joke. Anyway, I must be off. He's all yours."
With that, Hestia stepped out and left for her room, leaving Emmeline standing at the door, looking at me with a cute, flustered expression on her face.
Chapter 93: In Denial Part 3
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Emmeline had never felt so jittery in her entire life.
Unlike Harry who had casually walked his way back to the Manor, Emmeline had hardly been able to take two steps without staggering for support. She had stayed amidst the dense foliage for at least fifteen more minutes, after which she had slowly, painfully, clothed herself, and applied cosmetic and glamour charms to make herself look as stately as always, before apparating back to the manor. It had been a nightmare and a half trying to get to her room without anyone noticing. Even her disillusionment charm had flickered several times on the way. Her entire lower half felt like someone had driven a freaking tree trunk into her for hours, leaving her incapable of even walking straight. No wonder she had passed off the minute her body had hit the mattress in her bedroom, not wanting to waste a lick of strength as she recharged herself.
Thank Morgana for healing potions, and double thank herself for having the sense to always carry an entire set of those inside her purse.
Of course, there was also the fact that despite the physical pain, she was also experiencing the 'good' kind of soreness, and no way she was going to complain about that.
Pushing herself to her feet, still dressed in her robes, she moved slowly towards the bathroom, uncaringly discarding her clothes along the way, wanting to clean herself. Emmeline always took pride in her appearance, never dressing down even when there was no one to impress, and cleansing charm or not, she wanted to physically scrub away the feeling of sweat and Harry's cum from her body. Even with the cold shower running down her body, her mind couldn't hold back the memories of what had happened earlier in the afternoon. What happened was… crazy. She had had sex with Harry Potter. It was INSANE! After all her proclamations, all her denials, all her resisting the desires flooding into her system, all her attempts to pleasure herself and ignore her body's demands of a certain cock, she had practically disrobed the sixteen-year-old boy, and pushed herself onto him. Merlin! If not for the fact that Harry Potter obviously wanted to fuck her, it could almost be counted as rape.
It was wrong. It was madness, and most importantly, she was the one that had initiated it. Every single time, it had been her that had demanded to be fucked, to be fucked again, and even after cumming three times, she had been the first one to suggest that they keep fucking until she managed to even both of their orgasms. Harry had fucked her vigorously, and that was after deposition that gallon of cum deep inside her throat and all over her face. And then, he had fucked her pussy in all sorts of positions that she had never even imagined. She had witnessed his raw power, and had been utterly awed by it. This man — yes, he was a man, and there was no doubt of that fact in her mind. This — this sex god had made her feel pleasure the likes of which she hadn't thought was even possible. And he had done it without even cumming once after they had gotten started with the fucking.
And regardless of the fact that she had just had sex with him, while being married to someone else, and had all but pushed herself on him like some Knockturn Alley whore, it was surprising how little guilt she felt.
That was not to say that she didn't regret the fact that her life had gotten so messy that it had come to this stage.
But the fact of the matter was, there had been a knot inside of her that left her tense, and at-the-edge every minute of every day. Perhaps it was her job, perhaps it was her lack of sexual fulfilment in her married life, or running Order tasks while staying true to the oaths tying her to Ministry service. In many ways, the fuckfest had been the exact opposite of how her life had been so far — intense, hot, vigorous, passionate, exhausting, and loving. In the heat of passion, she had even kissed him, swapped spit with him. In the heat of the moment, she had even asked him to cum inside her. She had even considered the potential possibility of a long-term relationship, not unlike marriage. Yes, things said in the throes of passion didn't really count, and she could always claim that she was pumping his ego to make him feel better. None of it really meant anything going forward.
Really, that was all there was to it.
That being said, she had been absolutely shocked at how things had ended. She had all but asked him to continue their illicit activities on a prolonged basis for the near and distant future. She had been willing to suck his cock again, and let him fuck her for as long as he wanted, and even cum inside her, and on her, even if it went against her own pride. But he had been so blunt about his desire to fuck her derriere, and upon being denied, he had called her out on her hypocrisy, claiming how she was being a greedy bitch that was taking advantage of him, when their arrangement implied the exact opposite.
And the worst part? She couldn't even deny his words, as harsh as they had been.
Emmeline slapped her temples, and slowly dragged her fingers down her face. Damn it. Not even a shower this cold was helping her in the slightest. She knew all about keeping a healthy body for a healthy mind, but what good was the former, if the latter was trapped in a vicious ouroboros of introspection and self-blame?
Getting out of the bathroom, Emmeline put on another set of robes. She vanished the dinner that was set on the table, not in the mood to even try eating anything. An elf had come in, handing her a small letter written in her husband's hand, and its contents sent a thrill through her. Before she knew it, she was already heading down the corridor, her mind too busy in thoughts of a certain black-haired, green-eyed individual, and her legs walking like they had developed a mind of their own. The next thing she knew, she was standing in front of Harry's door, and a single diagnostic spell told her that the door and walls were cloaked with a silencing spell.
Clearly Harry Potter did not want others to know what was happening inside.
Just the thought of that was enough to get her blood pumping again. Her body reacted, a jolt hitting her pussy, her nipples stiffening ever so slightly. Memories of the afternoon, her loud screaming moans echoing in her ears, as well his masculine groans of pleasure came rushing to the forefront of her mind. Her body remembered the feeling of being magically raised, and being impaled down on his cock as he levitated both of them forty feet above the ground without care. She remembered hanging over his body, remembered him fucking her face and spewing his raw, potent cum inside her mouth, and all over her face. She remembered him pulling her hair as he rode her like a bitch, and being held from below, as she kissed him while his cock pistoned into her pussy like a well-oiled machine. All those moments were etched into stone, never to be forgotten. And then she remembered the anger on his face — the scorn, the disdain, and the finality with which he had cursed her to a life of unimaginative and boring sex with a man she was now sure she did not love anymore.
All because she had refused to let him have her arsehole.
Would it really be that bad? She couldn't help but wonder. She knew that men loved buggering women in the arse, and there was hardly a concubine serving some pureblooded lord that remained with her anal virginity intact. Of course, half of that was because no self-respecting pureblood man would ever willingly claim that he liked doing something so perverse, and no Lady would ever be so self-deprecating as to allow herself to be debased and defiled in such fashion.
Her mother had taught her that.
But would it be so bad?
Taking a few deep breaths, and using Occlumency to clear her mind of those invasive memories, she raised her hand and knocked on the door.
Twice.
The door opened, and much to her surprise, Hestia stepped out. Emmeline registered the surprise and amusement in her student and colleague's face, before that teasing smile she had trained her in formed on Hestia's lips. The one that said that she knew things that Emmeline didn't, and that even trying to hide things would only end in embarrassment at best, and humiliation at worst. Had it been anyone else, she'd have used Legilimency to scour for her surface thoughts, but Hestia was too good an Occlumens for that.
"Hi, Emmeline," Hestia said brightly, which in itself, was a warning sign, given how she had all but avoided talking, or even looking at her since morning, Emmeline had assumed that she probably still blamed herself for whatever had transpired that night.
Now though… she wasn't sure anymore.
Damn Potter. Ever since she had met the blasted man, her life had been spinning out of control, a feeling she absolutely hated.
"Are you feeling better now?" Hestia asked. "I didn't see you at dinner."
"Y— Yes, I was feeling a bit ill," she said, hating herself for sounding so unsure. "I just wanted to say that both Broderick and Gideon had to suddenly leave, for an unavoidable circumstance, and it will be a day or two before they return. Gideon asked me to be here, as a chaperone, if needed."
"That's… nice, I suppose," Hestia said, that annoying smile now magnified, before she craned her head back at Harry. "I guess that settles it."
"It does," He yelled back.
"What are you talking about?"
"Oh nothing," said Hestia, shaking her head. "Just an inside joke. Anyway, I must be off. He's all yours."
Emmeline watched her go, and no amount of Occlumency could keep her from feeling that she had just missed something very important.
"Harry, uh— I mean, Mr. Potter, there is something I wanted to discuss with you. May I come in?"
"This late?" he asked, pretending like he didn't understand the furious storm within her. The bastard. "Perhaps tomorrow morning would be best? After my meeting with Lady Greengrass?"
"It won't take long," Emmeline stressed, clenching her teeth.
"I suppose if you feel that's necessary. Please, come in."
Exhaling, Emmeline walked into the room, and closed the door, and cast a high-powered privacy ward for good measure. The last thing she wanted was for someone to open the door by mistake and see them doing… whatever they might end up doing.
"Yes, Lady Vance?"
"Cut the crap, Harry," she said, walking straight up to him, no longer in the mood for his silly games. "That was a terrible thing you did earlier. You left me like that and walked off, like I didn't matter."
He arched an eyebrow, and as if he hadn't already been a pretentious douchebag, yawned — the bastard YAWNED — and sat down at the edge of his bed.
"Well?" She demanded.
"What do you want me to say?" He asked, his casual demeanour getting on her nerves. "You're acting as if you're some weak, demure muggle that I left all alone, fucked and wet and without clothes in the middle of a dense forest. Like, are you a witch or not? You had your clothes, and even if you didn't, you could've transfigured something perfectly fine. You probably apparated back, and maybe even disillusioned yourself to get back to your room. What was there to worry about?"
"Does the concept of courtesy evade you, Harry Potter?"
"Courtesy? Oh you mean, how you all but forced me to fuck you in the middle of the woods like some selfish whore?"
Emmeline's temper almost exploded. Almost. Her mental dampeners instantly flared up, and brought her rage under control.
"Look, Harry, please do not pretend that whatever happened, happened without your consent, alright? Yes, I made you do it, but you were equally willing. And I won't deny that I had a good time, and I think you did too."
It would be foolish to claim otherwise. He had seen her at her most blissed out.
"Yeah, I had a good time," he said with no affliction at all. He was making her shake her head in mild annoyance with how little seriousness he was treating this.
"And I know that you got angry at me for denying you my…" she blushed. "Anyway, the point is, what I wanted to say was…. I just wanted to make it clear what happened, while it was fun…. It's not something that can happen again."
There, she said it. No going back now.
"Okay."
Emmeline blinked, as Harry opened his palm, and one of the apples on the fruit basket on the table floated to him, and he bit into it. She wondered how a third-year passout was able to perform kinetic spells wandlessly with such thorough precision. That levitation trick he had done earlier in the afternoon would have drained most wizards, and that was assuming they were casting with their wands.
Eager to fill the awkward silence, she kept talking. "It's not something that someone of my… and your position should be doing, and while I thank you for humouring my request and helping me… you know, relax, there is no need to make a habit out of it. It served its purpose, for sure, but I think it's best to write it off as a momentary bit of insanity and leave it at that."
"I agree."
She blinked. She was doing that a lot. Just what was it about him that made her lose control so readily? "You… you do?"
She kind of has been expecting a different reaction. Maybe even raise the issue of the debt that she had foolishly raised back then, which would all but force her to fuck him again and again, for her pride's sake if nothing else.
"Yes," he looked up and met her eyes. She suppressed the urge to legilimize him again. After the heated way their previous encounter had ended, there was nothing to be gained by pointlessly antagonising him.
"I mean, it kind of was your idea, if you remember. You came up with the arrangement, and you requested it on a weekly basis, and I agreed. Then you cornered me and demanded an outlet for your sexual frustrations, and again, I accommodated."
"...yes," she said, still off-guard by how casual he was being.
"Then you decided to test if my performance was a fluke, which is quite silly, come to think of it, given what I am, but you are a pureblood lady and you lot are known to have pride in spades, so again, I entertained you. I made you cum twice and then thrice, and then you were the one that foolishly wanted to settle a debt that only you can see, claiming that you wanted to make me cum, and I consented to that even. Honestly, I think you were probably delirious from all the fucking, which I completely understand. Not many can survive with their heads intact after a session like that, so I'm not going to hold you to it."
"Ah… that's… good," she said, her throat now parched. "We're on the same page then."
Bloody hell they weren't. And what was this knot that was forming in her gut?
"I mean, I understand you probably are blaming yourself for coming up with something that stupid in the middle of our fucking. Yes, I made a request, my first ever, which you denied me, and it stung a bit, but I suppose I can live with that. I yelled at you, which, come to think of it, was rather juvenile of me. I probably acted like an immature brat that was denied his first taste of pussy. Actually, I humbly apologise for that, Lady Vance."
And he bowed before her.
"Err… no, that's not really…." Emmeline fumbled. What was happening? Why was he reacting like this? It was so wrong! Was he using reverse psychology on her, like his Other-self? Was he trying to get into her head?
"No, it's okay. And I suppose I can't really blame you. You're a guy and —"
"It is my fault, actually," Harry went on. Then, with a laugh, he said. "I mean, it was really petty of me to act out like that just because one woman denied me her arse. It's not like I have any dearth of options. Just take Hestia for example."
Emmeline opened her mouth, and closed it. "Uh, Hestia, you mean —"
"Takes it up her arse?" He laughed. "You bet she does. In fact, compared to the kind of shit we get on with, buggering her doesn't even come in the top-ten. Well, not unless you're including her licking someone's pussy at the same time, or having her tied and hanging from the ceiling, or —"
"Okay, okay, I get it," said Emmeline, raising her hands out of reflex. She was stuck at a crossroads. She didn't know what to feel about how little fight he was putting up. Not that she wanted him to push back or put up a fight or even demand her to make him cum like he did her, but maybe he could at least try to be a little bothered?
But he wasn't. He clearly had a good time with her, probably just as much as she did…. Right?
Then she realised that she didn't know the answer, and she didn't want to know.
"Sorry," he grinned. "In fact, I was planning to get something done with her, if you hadn't intruded." He frowned, as if considering something, and then focussed back on her. "Err… is that all? I really have some things planned for the night."
"Oh…" she replied, her words feeling utterly hollow, even to her. Had she been a lesser woman, she'd probably have started sobbing at the utter feeling of inadequacy that was consuming her. Did what they shared affected him so little? She knew she wasn't a slut like Narcissa Malfoy, and she wasn't that experienced at sex like Hestia, but she had a great body, and she worked upon it and kept it in great shape. Even by witch standards, she was definitely capable of giving a man a very good time.
At least, that's what it felt like from being with Gideon. She knew it. She had dosed him with lust and potency potions from time to time, just to see how long he could last, and even then, she had lasted longer than he did.
Of course, Gideon wasn't exactly the epitome of male sexuality. Forget being compared to an Incubus. But that only meant that she was good, if not one of the best.
….right?
Then why was he reacting like whatever had happened between them had been so lacklustre? That he was now moving on to fucking Hestia… or maybe any other slut that opened her legs for him without the slightest care? Unable to resist, a question rose to her lips.
"Did you…. You know, enjoy yourself?"
This time it was Harry who blinked. "Uh, yeah. I did enjoy myself. You were great."
That sent a thrill of satisfaction down her spine. Even if it had happened once, and would never happen again, she registered as a 'great fuck' for an Incubus.
Great, Emmeline, her inner-self replied scathingly. That's perhaps one of your greatest accomplishments till date. Maybe you should frame this memory and that quote and hang it on your office wall?
Emmeline Vance. Head of Obliviation Office, and a Great Fuck, according to Incubus Harry Potter.
She shook her head to dispel the image, but it had been so long that she felt so satisfied that she couldn't deny that she was craving some positive confirmation about her underused skillset in the bedroom. And she had really given it her all, and had the best time, and had orgasmed three times. No doubt she was absolutely great in bed even though….
Even though she hadn't made him cum.
At all.
Given how quickly he had cum at the very beginning, she was probably encashing on the hard work of some other girl. Probably Hestia.
"Eh, Lady Vance," he said, looking like he was in a hurry. "Are we done? And I hope you're not taking this personally, you know? I have been fucking Hestia for quite some time now."
She narrowed her eyes, angry. "Personal? Why would I take it personally? I'm neither your girlfriend nor your wife or committed bed warmer. We are never going to fuck again. So… feel free to do what you want."
He studied her for a moment, and then smiled.
"Great," he chirped. "So, if you don't mind, can you leave? I don't want to be rude, but Hestia kind of wanted me to do something, and I really want to get started."
Curiosity rose in her. "What — what are you about to do?"
"It's kind of… personal. A weird kinky request from her."
"From Hestia."
"Yes."
"Well, out with it. You can tell me. I'm her friend."
"Uh… I'm not sure how she might feel about it."
"Trust me," Emmeline stressed, the smile on her lips now practically painful. "I know her. She won't mind."
He exhaled. "Alright, you win." He raised his open palm again, and this time, an empty glass from the table arose and flew into his hand. "Hestia knows that I cum a lot, and obviously, she doesn't know anything about what happened today, you know, in the forest. She asked me to jerk off into this glass, fill it up to the brim. So that she can get her protein juice."
Emmeline went red in the face. The sheer depravity! In hindsight, clamping her lips around his cock and sucking it directly from the source, followed by getting blasted off in the face with his rich, thick and potent cum was worse and far more depraved, but something but drinking cum from a glass, made that knot tighten in her stomach.
"That's — that's so depraved!" she hissed out loud.
He cocked his head and shrugged. "I told you. It's a weird kink and a private thing. You forced me to reveal it."
The unsaid implication was not lost on her. Once again, she had exerted her will upon him and forced him to do something without his consent.
Damn it. She was feeling more and more guilty with every passing minute.
And at the same time, that knot felt tighter and tighter.
"And can you?" ran her mouth without consulting the rest of her. "Fill that entire glass up? With your… with your cum?"
"Eh, yeah," he said, with just the right amount of embarrassment in his voice. "Hestia says I cum buckets. Obviously I haven't compared myself with other guys, but I guess an incubus can't be worse than a normal wizard, right?"
"...right."
"So if you don't mind, I'd really like to get started."
She did mind.
"Well, get on with it then. Don't mind me."
"Err… that's not really appropriate."
"We fucked for over an hour in the forest, Harry Potter. In multiple positions. I doubt there's any part of your body that I haven't been fully acquainted with. Not go ahead, and get started. Right away."
He exhaled. "You really love ordering others, don't you?"
"I've no idea what you mean," she defended herself. "I'm just curious. Cumming that much is simply… unheard of. I'm just quenching my curiosity, nothing else. Besides, if I am to teach you the psychic arts, I will have to become more familiar with your mental and physiological constitution. It's just part of the process. Don't overthink it."
Internally, she wondered what Occlumency and Legilimency had anything to do with his 'physiological constitution' but she crushed that stray thought down with extreme prejudice.
"Fine," he said, and began undoing his pants. Emmeline felt a familiar heat rise in her bowels.
Then his cock came out.
She licked her lips.
And then he began to jerk off.
Seconds turned to minutes, and he was still jerking off, but Emmeline had yet to see anything but his precum. Maybe he suffered from some condition that made it really difficult to cum very often perhaps? It was a weird thing to have, but given how much he had cum back then, it probably made poetic sense.
But even that realisation was doing nothing to satiate the growing annoyance in her head.
"How much longer?"
Harry gave her an incredulous look. "I'm trying to jerk off, woman. As in, pleasuring myself, not writing my OWL exams. I do it at my own pace. If you've got a problem with that, just leave and let me be at peace, or do something to help me get there faster."
"I imagine that's the only thing I can do," said Emmeline in a matter-of-factly tone, "given you seem utterly incapable of cumming successfully otherwise."
"What? Leave the room?"
She clenched her teeth, annoyed. Of course he'd go for that option. It was like every single word that escaped his mouth was aimed to make her feel inadequate.
"No, I mean, help you get there faster."
"You don't have to do that," he said. "We just had an agreement to put all that in the past, remember?"
"This doesn't count," Emmeline said, inwardly cringing at her own hypocrisy. "Consider this as a thank-you for earlier. Plus, it's to satiate my own curiosity."
"Err…" he looked conflicted. "If you're sure."
"I am," she promised. "Now, what do you want me to do?"
"Well… you can remove your robes for me, for a start."
"My… my robes?"
"Obviously," he said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "What did you think?"
"I, err… I thought I could lend you a hand."
"Last I checked, I have a hand, and I was very comfortable using it to get myself to cum. If you want me to take the express route, I doubt your hand would make any difference."
Emmeline wanted to dig a hole and vanish under the earth. He had just all but stated that her ability to give a handjob was garbage.
"Perhaps… I could, you know, use my mouth?"
This time he paused. "Your mouth."
"Yes?"
"You realise you're offering me to use your mouth and fuck your face, just so that I can cum in that glass. For Hestia. Right?"
Her face burned. "Yes."
"Okay," he said, shrugging. "I suppose facefucking is a better option than just using my hand. Let's begin. You should get down here in front of—"
Emmeline had all but teleported in front of him, and was already down on her knees. Just to show how dedicated she was, she even held the glass with both hands, holding it at her breast-level.
"Okay," said an amused Harry Potter. "Let's get started."
Notes:
If you want to support me, find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Chapter 94: In Denial Part 4
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 3 - THE INCUBUS AND NECROMANCER
CHAPTER 94: IN DENIAL PART 4
Without another word, Emmeline leaned forward and gently kissed the sensitive tip of Harry's cock. It was so spongy and big! Kissing down the solid length, her lips made way down to his balls and kissed them both softly. She knew she had enough experience with it earlier in the afternoon, but that didn't stop her from spearing her tongue out as she licked each heavy testicle and imagined the cum in them. Morgana! She wanted to taste that seed so badly! That potent cum that had filled her mouth earlier would again be hers before long.
No. No, that was not it. She was only sucking this so that he could cum. And any precum that oozed out of his organ was simply part of the process. And if he was simply unable to control himself and ended up cumming inside her mouth, well, that was hardly her fault, was it?
Kissing all the way back to the rigid member, she reached for the head and parted her lips. The last time, she had taken her time because she wasn't used to taking such a big cock. She still wasn't, but they had no time to take it easy now, especially with her promise to make him cum as quickly as possible. He had not-so-subtly disparaged her efforts at a handjob, and it was up to her to show him how foolish he had been to underestimate her skill in the bedroom. She was, after all, Emmeline Vance.
It probably also had something to do with the fact that Hestia might just return soon, and she had no intention of being seen in such a compromising position with Harry of all people. She had a reputation to keep.
That, and she was also feeling a bit peckish for Harry's dick, and couldn't wait to have it all inside her mouth. Naturally, she tried to take the entire head into her gaping hole.
Running her teeth along the tip teasingly, she licked and flicked her tongue around it masterfully, slashing wildly and making out with his cock like a pro. And from the way Harry was making soft, moaning sounds, while holding her head with his hands, he was definitely enjoying it.
"Mmmmmph!" She purred, smiling at the blissful expression on his face, and then plunged down. Her throat vibrated with her moaning, and she sank down another six inches of his cock until the head hit the back of her juddering throat.
And she still had a little more to go.
"Does my mouth feel nice, Harry?" She asked.
"Oh yes," he moaned. "Absolutely wonderful."
Emmeline mentally grinned. Now, he was being truthful. She knew that despite all his casual behaviour earlier, he must have enjoyed being with her like that. She let her jaw get used to his size again, and began to speed up, bobbing her head up and down his length in a hurry, sucking and licking like she was a starving whore.
"Ugh! That's it!" whispered Harry. "Suck my cock like the slut you are."
She narrowed her eyes, and pulled her mouth off his cock. "I'm not a slut, Harry Potter. This is just me helping you to cum faster."
"Right. Sorry," said Harry. "Please continue."
And there it was, that amused expression on his face again. Damned bastard wasn't taking her seriously at all.
He needed to be punished.
I'll teach him better.
Her plump lips squeezed against his hard-as-steel shaft, and she began bobbing even faster, dive-bombing against his dick vigorously. More and more of his cock entered her tight, clasping throat, but that didn't stop her from fearlessly attacking his cock with her hot, wet, sucking mouth.
She'd teach him, Emmeline thought furiously, that there was a difference between the little schoolsluts he fucked around, and someone like her. The vigour and lust with which she could inhale his cock would pale anyone else that he dared to be with, after this experience. Emmeline knew that she was a natural, that she was built for it. Some women were talented at charms, or at transfiguration, or any of the other disciplines. Those that weren't gifted in the magical arts were probably good at cooking, or knitting, or baking. But Emmeline was good at everything. From Charms to Transfiguration to being an absolute master in the Psychic Arts, she bested others in everything. And behind closed doors, she was an expert at sucking cock and giving the best fucking experience in the bedroom. So what if her sole experience was limited to Gideon before this? She was a Vance. It was only natural that she would be best at everything.
She effortlessly plunged down further, taking the rest of his cock down her throat, her thick lips wrapped around his meaty shaft, smearing it with her lipstick. She was starving, and attacking his cock as if her fate was dependent on it, and yes, she was being quite literal here. Harry Potter had done something that no one before had dared to do.
He made her feel inadequate. Like she was somehow…. Less.
It was unforgivable.
"Do you like that, Harry?" She asked, gasping, as she pulled back out, spitting on it.
"It is, uh… it's pretty good."
She raised an eyebrow. He was enjoying himself just sometime before. Why did he change his tune?
No matter.
She dove down, dipping her face till her wet mouth met his sack. He jerked slightly, as she began sucking his big, swollen balls.
"Ugh…." he groaned, and Emmeline smiled. There it was — that pleased groan was what she wanted to hear. Her lithe tongue ran circles around his nuts, coating them with spit, massaging them with the perfect level of firmness. She swapped balls, taking the other one into her mouth, playing with it hungrily. It felt so raw, so depraved, and she hated it with every fibre of her being that she was subjecting herself to this, but she would go through this but not have her pride shattered at the hands of this high-strung young man.
Plus, she told herself. She already had sex with him in the past. She had already sucked his cock before, and had her insides twisted and reshaped by this cock. A little more depravity wasn't going to make anything worse, and neither would denying this erase her prior experience from memory.
No, if she had gotten dirty, then she'd get what she had come for, even if she had to get dirtier.
"I'll give you this," sighed Harry. "You really know how to suck balls, Emmeline."
She sneered. He was only stating the obvious. Just a little more, and she'd make him sing. She'd make him cum just like she had promised, and she'd feel all that fresh cum rush down her throat.
No. She'd collect it in the glass.
Relentlessly, she attacked him again. Smoothly sucking, thoroughly squeezing, massaging his nuts with one hand. Every move was aimed at trying to coax the cum from his balls.
And then the inevitable happened.
"Ugh!" He grunted. "I'm close."
Emmeline knew that she should've just pulled out. Instead, she kept sucking. Young men could hardly be called consistent, could they? She wasn't going to waste all this effort if he didn't cum. For Merlin's sake, it would make her look bad.
"I — I need to cum," he said. "The— the glass."
Annoyed, she pulled her mouth away, and put the glass in front of her breasts. Harry arched back, and jet after jet of thick jizz shot out of his cock, painting the insides of the glass. Ropes of hot, sizzling, thick, potent cum kept spraying into the glass. Some of it sprayed and splattered over her face — eyes, lips, forehead, but Emmeline didn't care. Instead, she stared at his cock head eagerly as thick, white ropes kept jettisoning to land in a milky strand that was forming in the inside of the glass, and then one more and then one more. Five, six, seven, eight — the shots came rushing out of his cock, and then nine and ten. Emmeline held her head still and her lips open, hoping to catch some of it,her chest heaving in exhilaration and satisfaction at a well-done job, as she tried to regain her breath.
"That…." she murmured, looking at the now half-filled glass splattered with Harry's cum. "That's just so much cum. I've… I've never seen so much cum." She held the glass gingerly like it was a priceless object, and it was, while glancing at Harry, and then at his cock, and then at the glass, trying to comprehend how it was freaking possible for someone to cum that much.
"Congratulations," said Harry Potter. "That's all the cum from earlier. Guess now we're settled. I made you cum. And now you made me cum."
But Emmeline wasn't listening. She couldn't help but confront that glass of cum in her hands. Something had to be done with it. She really ought to have just kept it on the table — for Hestia — and get up. Her purpose was served, and she had seen it with her own eyes that he was indeed capable of cumming that much. She felt its warmth, and its weight, a glass half-full of his thick cum, with some slopping over the edge. The waft from the glass hit her, and that smell, that smell of hot, fresh cum, it brought back memories. A lot of very good memories. Her nostrils flared, her mouth watered, her nipples tightened.
This was cum that was the result of all that thrusting that he had done inside her pussy in the afternoon. This was cum that she had forcibly drawn out of his nuts by sucking them and licking them despite how depraved she found the entire thing. She should have been disgusted with even holding it, but this cum… it was the result of all her sacrifice, the physical pain she had been through, the pleasure the experience had invoked, and the conjugal fulfilment that both of them had felt during that entire hour of non-stop heated, animalistic sex.
This cum belonged to HER.
And she was going to just put it on the table for Hestia to drink?
She looked down at the glass of cum, tipping it, testing its thickness. Yep, it was good stuff, nice and thick. Just because he wanted to jerk off into a glass for Hestia to drink didn't make it hers. Hestia hadn't endured the entire hour of hardcore sex that brought forth this cum. She would never be able to appreciate its true value. She would just treat it as any other cum, as if everything that Emmeline had experienced meant nothing. Before she knew it, Emmeline brought her nose down and took a big smell of it, and her body thrummed. Surges of memories flashed through her mind.
She couldn't stop herself. Nothing could've stopped her.
Before she could think twice, before Harry even realised what was happening, Emmeline brought the glass to her lips and tipped it back. Harry's cum entered her mouth, hitting her tongue, filling her mouth. She should have known better than this. She was better than this. She was a mature, classy, elegant woman. She was disciplined. She was a warrior.
But holy fuck! His cum tasted DOUBLY GOOD!
For this wasn't ordinary cum. This was hers.
She let it fill her mouth, sloshing it everywhere, coating her tongue with it, spreading it across the inside of her cheeks and covering her teeth. Having nowhere else to go, she gulped the rest of it down, swallowing his hot cum. Her lips parted, bands of cum stretching between them, and she exhaled. With glassy eyes, she noted the glass still contained some of the sweet, tasty cum. Like a whore, she tipped the glass back and sucked down the rest, tasting it, savouring it, gulping it down. She needed more!
She licked the edge of the glass, capturing the cum he had left there with her tongue. She used her fingers to wipe the insides of the glass, gathering the cum remaining there on her fingers, before jamming them into her panting mouth, closing her lips around them getting them, getting every fucking bit of cum off them. The glass was spotless and dry by the time she was done with it.
Realisation hit Emmeline. This… this was so wrong! So filthy! This was without a doubt the nastiest thing she had ever done. She had swallowed his cum from a glass. Cum that she was supposed to leave after helping him cum, like she had promised.
And it was soooo goood! The insides of her mouth were still filled with it. Honestly, she'd take a glass of that after every meal.
Her body was buzzing. She had never been so turned on like this. Just what was it that Harry Potter did to her? She shouldn't have enjoyed it as much as she did. She shouldn't have enjoyed it at all. The more important question was — what was she to tell him? She had all but told him that she'd help him cum, and now she had swallowed the efforts of her handiwork, bringing them back to Square One. Still, it wasn't so bad. He had clearly enjoyed it, and she was willing to give it another shot and make things better.
And then she met his eyes.
"What the hell was that?" snapped Harry Potter. "Why did you drink that? It was for Hestia."
Emmeline blinked. Of all the reactions she had expected, anger was not one of them. Her own temper rose in return.
"It can't be Hestia's," she shot back. "You yourself told me. This was the cum from earlier. This was because of that entire hour of fucking back then. An entire hour of me feeling that cock reshaping my pussy. That cum is the result of that cooperation between us. And I even helped bring it out, Obviously I deserved it."
He cocked his head and looked at her as if she was speaking Gobbledygook.
"That doesn't even make sense."
"It makes perfect sense!"
"Does not!"
"Does so, and you know it!" Emmeline growled, standing up. "And stop treating this like you didn't enjoy it, Harry Potter. Enough of your mind games, you motherfucker!"
He arched an eyebrow.
"Okay, not a motherfucker," she corrected. "You're just a regular fucker! Someone who'd just go fuck any girl out there with a pulse and a pussy. You're a shameless, no-good, piece of shit that doesn't even have the decency to tell me that the fuck we shared earlier was the best sex of your life. That the most fulfilling sex that I have had this afternoon was just as fulfilling for you, and not just another hook-up in a series of your constant hook-ups with any girl that moves into your vision."
Emmeline wasn't a violent person, but she almost wanted to claw his fucking eyes out. Yes, she could understand why he was such a proud sonofabitch. He was tall, and tanned, and muscular, fuck! He was sculpted! And he had a great arse too, and that cock of his was divine. And huge. And powerful! Even his balls were large and swollen and full. And he was an incredible fuck. He had eclipsed in one afternoon what her husband, or her previous boyfriends back at school had been able to accomplish in her entire life.
Harry just looked at her amused. "I thought you wanted to put it in the past, and not have anything to do with it ever again."
"That's right!" She interjected. Why was it so difficult for him to understand?
"And I can understand that you enjoyed the sex we had, and now you want to enjoy more of that."
"YES!" She said, finally able to find words, only to realise the implication of her words. "I mean, yes, of course, but not with you. I mean, with —" She stammered.
"With whom? Your husband?"
She glared at him. The sonofabitch was messing with her.
"You know perfectly well what my husband is and isn't capable of."
"Then with whom? Perhaps I should have Hestia arrange for some escorts? Perhaps a werewolf or two? They have excellent stamina. Trust me, I speak from experience."
"Shut up!" She snapped. "I'm a pureblood lady. I do not sully myself like that. I —"
"You what?"
She sighed. "I — I just — what I want to know is, why don't you still want to fuck me?"
A smug grin tore through his face, and emmeline instantly realised what she had said, and how it could be easily misconstrued as a complaint, and slightly blushed at her own inappropriate defence.
"Wait, I — I misspoke," she said quickly. "That's — that's not what I said. That's NOT what I meant, damn it! What I was trying to say is that I enjoyed what we shared, and obviously you enjoyed it too, but now you're moving on as if it didn't even mean anything."
"So…. you want it to mean something?"
"YES!" Finally, he gets it!
"But don't you want us to put it in the past?"
"That's —"
"Contradictory?"
"...No! You just — Ugh! Why is it so difficult to explain?"
Harry sighed. "Look, I understand what you want. You want me to come at you, asking you for sex."
"Yes! I mean No!"
He raised an eyebrow again.
"...Okay, maybe a little. It's — it's complicated."
"Must be," he said, smirking. "And you're right. I did enjoy it. You're a great lay. You've got a great pussy, a great mouth, and your skill at sucking balls is top-class. All of them are things to be appreciated. But you wanted to put them in the past, and so here I am, putting them in the past. Are you happy now?"
Emmeline's lips spread to form a smile —
"Now leave!" He barked. "I need to rest for a moment, and focus. I need to cum again. Hestia is probably gonna be asleep at this rate."
"But — But you still haven't cum!"
"Oh?" he asked, smiling. "You still want to help me cum, do you?"
"Yes!"
"Well, thanks, but I'm not interested. You've proven yourself to be mercurial even at the best of times. You strike an arrangement, and then force me to bend it the immediate next day. Multiple times. You deny what I ask of you, which by the way, is according to our arrangement. You swear you are only to help me cum in the glass for Hestia, and you drink that cum yourself! See? Mercurial."
"I — I'm willing to make reparations—"
"Reparations? How? By sucking me again? Or letting me fuck you again?"
"Both! I mean, either is an option. I messed up, so it's only justified that you should have a choice."
"Well, too bad. I don't like either of your choices. I made my choice known to you back then, and you denied it. Guess all of this was for nothing. Maybe I'll just go fuck Hestia's arse, and then cum for her in a glass. She would be pissed at why I didn't do it earlier, but she'll understand."
And with that, he actually began pulling his trousers back up.
"No— WAIT!" She all but screamed. "I — I have an offer. A proposition."
"Been there, done that. Not a fan."
"This — this is different. I swear. Surely it wouldn't hurt to listen to it once, Potter?"
He sighed. "You're a pain in my arse, Emmeline. Honestly, I'm wondering why I even allowed you entrance in my head. You want to have sex, but you don't. You want to put things in the past, but you also wanted to fuck me under pretences, but you wouldn't get past your denial. And now you want to try another new proposition."
Emmeline was getting more and more crimson with every word coming out of his mouth.
"Fine!" he said at last. "Let's hear it. I'll say right away, that I'm not obligated to follow through. You say it, I'll hear it. I don't like it, you walk out, and I get Hestia in. Understood?"
"Yes."
"Okay," he shrugged. "Go on."
Emmeline swallowed. She had not expected him to pull off an ultimatum like this. But desperate situations called for desperate measures, and this was by far, one of the most desperate situations she had been involved in.
Closing her eyes, she let out a deep breath. Gathering her words, she opened her eyes, and found an expectant Harry Potter looking at her.
"I — I apologise, Harry. I was unfair. I betrayed the terms of the arrangement, when I denied you earlier. Also, you made me cum thrice, while I made you cum twice. Plus, I even drank the cum that was supposed to be Hestia's drink. So the way I see it, in the interests of fairness, I owe you one more cum, which would obviously go in that glass — for Hestia to drink. That would bring the total number of orgasms to three, same as mine. And I will agree to your request, and allow you to fuck me, once, in my arsehole."
His eyes widened. "You're not shitting me are you?"
Emmeline narrowed her eyes. "Are you challenging the value of my words?"
"Yes."
She exhaled. "Yes. I will allow you to fuck me in the arsehole. Just once, mind you. And that way, we will be done. Fair and Square. And we can put it all in the past. Neither of us will owe anything to the other."
"Fair enough," said Harry. "And what about the psychic instruction?"
She blushed. "That — that is different. I promised to teach you the psychic arts, and I will. Just like you promised to help me gain resistance against Other-You's humiliation. That's completely different — two professionals helping each other out. That it has anything to do with sex should make no difference. It's about understanding your strange powers, and me working on developing a resistance against this potential threat that standard Occlumency is powerless against. It's completely different from what happened earlier in the forest, which was all about desire and getting pleasure."
She conveniently ignored the part that the entire fuck fest in the afternoon had started because she had claimed it was part of helping her develop resistance in the first place.
"I guess… I can agree with that."
"BUT," said Emmeline, more loudly than she had expected. "The two events are mutually separate. I will help you cum first, by letting you fuck my pussy. That bit is mandatory. And then you can have your depraved fun by fucking my arsehole."
She pursed her lips and looked down, her eyes remaining glued to his swollen weapon through his trunks. She was too stubborn and too proud to just roll over completely, but the situation she had suggested was the best possible avenue things could take. It was the best she could've done to salvage what she could get out of this.
"Alright," he said. "So, you want to get started now?"
She growled.
"...Right. Now, it is."
Harry had given the clearly desperate and horny Emmeline a thorough pounding in his bed after that, giving her every inch of his giant rod until she couldn't get enough. Adding to the fact that he was fully worked up because of the blowjob earlier, and was able to give her full steam ahead. It went similarly to their afternoon encounter, at least to start, chiefly with him putting her legs on his shoulders and driving into her without mercy. And despite all her dancing around it earlier, Emmeline took it head on, screaming and moaning her head off, asking for more repeatedly. Her pussy remembered his cock well from earlier, and squeezed the life out of it even more than the previous time.
It was such a release of tension for the Obliviator that she found herself enjoying the action without the slightest bit of regret, availing herself in his body as he did with hers, Her hands gripped his back, his biceps, and even his arse, squeezing it firmly as he gave it to her. The sight of his fit body coated with sweat was something straight out of a fantasy, to the point that it didn't matter how much she DIDN'T want this. It was simply too amazing to care.
Emmeline screamed and screamed, until she came, her pussy convulsing over his thick cock. Without so much as 'By your permission', she rolled over until she was on top, and began to drive the action with her at the helm. She knew just what to do, and kept slamming down that giant cock like a total slut, vigorously bouncing on his towering pillar, slamming her arse up and down onto him as she screamed her head off, while Harry lay back on the back, letting her run the show.
And then she came again. And just like before, she changed positions, this time on her knees with him grabbing her hair as he pounded her from behind like a bitch-in-heat.
And then she came. Again.
"Ugh! That's it! Take my cock! Take my cock!" Harry grunted as he worked himself into her.
"Ohh! Harry! Yes! Ohh! I can feel you! In me! Don't stop! Don't stop! Oh!"
"I'm about to cum you know," he said. "I should pull out!"
"No! Inside! Inside!"
Harry laughed. "You're breaking your word again, Emmeline."
"I'm! Not!" She gasped between thrusts. "I— UGH! I came thrice! That means I — oh YES YES YES! That means! Three and one more! Four! Four times I will! Make! You cum!"
The bed was shaking like anything, the sounds from their illicit fucking reverberating in the entire room.
"So you want me to cum in you, do you? "
"Yes!" She claimed, grasping the bedsheet as he kept ramming her. "Keep fucking me! Cum in me, baby! I have yet to coax out three more orgasms out of you! After you cum! In me! Only one of those will— ugh! Go to the glass! The others BELONG TO ME OH MY GOD—-"
His cock pulsed.
And then he came.
The pleasure was…. Unbelievable. Every part of her cunt flexed and tightened around his cock, squeezing it violently, trying to draw his cum into her by force.
"UGGHHH!" grunted Harry, and came inside her.
"Sooo fucking GOOOD!" Emmeline sang, the pleasure almost painful, her innards going crazy at accepting his precious cum inside her. As if a spell had been cast, her own pussy triggered another orgasm, as thick, violent streams of his cum entered into her fuck hole. Cum that could have knocked her up if she was not on the contraceptive charm.
"YES! YES!" She gasped out, as he drove into her, firing more and more of his seed inside her, as she gripped him tighter. Both of them kept flexing into each other, their bodies locked in passion, trying to ride through the pleasure together. This was so wrong, but it was so good!
Finally, after riding wave after wave of pleasure, she and Harry both collapsed, him on top of her, panting for breath.
"That's yet another orgasm on your side, Emmeline," he said with a laugh. "Now you owe me four orgasms."
"I — always! Hah! Keep my word!"
"At this rate, you'll keep fucking me every single day for the rest of your life, you know."
"Doesn't! Matter! My word is! My Bond!"
"Heh!" He said, pressing himself further. "But then, I will never be able to fuck your arse. This is another attempt at cheating me from taking your arsehole, isn't it? You tricked me, Emmeline."
"No tricks!" She panted. "Let's fuck again, and this time, you can put it in that glass. After that, you can take my arse, Harry! Take my anal cherry. It's yours."
She felt him stiffen for a moment, before his weight vanished. And then he reached for her arms and pulled her up, ready for more.
Notes:
If you want to support me, find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Chapter 95
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 3 - THE INCUBUS AND NECROMANCER
"Ohhh…. Shitt…" Emmeline groaned, bent on all fours as she felt inch after inch of Harry's dick fill her up to her very core. On her knees, her arse raised up with her upper-half pressed into the mattress, her hands dug into the sheets, holding on for dear life. And she had to do just that, as it wasn't easy to take a cock as big as Harry's up her arse.
She shivered, took deep breaths, and let her head hang down limp between her shoulders. "Fuck! You're big! I knew this was a mistake!"
"Sorry…" he apologised and stopped, with barely more than an inch of his rock-hard cock buried inside her arsecheeks.
"Don't apologise," she said. "I love it. Ugh! Keep going."
If Harry noticed the contradiction in her words, he did not comment. Instead he slowly pushed a little more of his cock forward, which caused her to clench up as she closed her eyes, meeting his intrusion with resistance from her tightness, but after a couple of seconds, her arsehole yielded and accepted his digit.
"Mmhh."
"Better?"
"Mm-hmm."
He pushed deeper until her sphincter was locked again, tightening and loosening.
"Tell me if I'm hurting you."
"Yes."
Honestly, she didn't know if that was an acknowledgement of his suggestion or an admission that she was hurt. Honestly, this was far from being the roughest fuck yet. Harry hadn't forced himself on her, or had spanked her or anything. In fact, he was going out of his way to make sure she felt comfortable in the act. It was why she had gotten on all fours on the bed, as he reached forward, grabbed her arse and slowly began to penetrate with his majestic cock.
She hadn't quite told him yet, but this was a turning point in their relationship. Seeing him demonstrate that power earlier, she had begun to see him in a different light. Plus, Gideon had never treated her like that, ever. He never had the guts to step up to her like that, demand her arse despite her personal beliefs, or just walk away as if it was nothing but a casual shag. She had to admit, it had totally worked on her. She was shocked by it, but she couldn't deny that it did the job, and she wasn't opposed to making it a daily thing.
Especially if Harry's claims about Gideon were right.
She stayed at her family home anyway, and her son would be starting Hogwarts at the end of the summer. It really was unfortunate that Harry would be stuck away at Hogwarts for the entire week, with only the weekends available for her to have as much sex as she wanted from him.
She wanted him to just throw away their arrangement and just fuck her as much as possible, but she wanted him to be the one to say it. She was still too stubborn to admit it, even if she had to drag things using her ridiculous 'debt' concept.
Now only if he stopped being so considerate and gave her the rough experience she craved.
"Emmeline, I'm serious. There is no need to hurry with this. I can take it as slow as you want."
"No," she said, stubbornly. Just why was he being so conscientious about her? The least he could've done was take it out on her, and leave her with a negative impression about him. Maybe even scare her from anal sex for the rest of her life? Instead he was being this creepily nice, and making her feel special and wanting to give things an honest try, even if it was as repulsive as getting penetrated in the arsehole.
"I— I'm fine," she said. "Though… you can take it a bit slow. Just take it… shittt!"
He stopped again after another inch. Fuck! Her arsehole felt way tighter than her pussy did with his dick in her. She'd have thought that after all that experience with that mammoth organ, she'd have grown used to being impaled by that nastily beautiful piece of carnal art.
"I can stop if you want."
"DON'T YOU DARE!" Emmeline howled, before letting her arms collapse so that her face mashed into her folded arms beneath her, while her arse was still up in the air, half-skewered by his cock.
"Well," said Harry. "You got the difficult part in, first. The rest should be easy."
"Why don't I take a strap-on and fuck you in your arse, Potter?" Emmeline yelled. "Maybe then you'll have a changed perspective."
"Tempting," laughed the bastard. "But I'll pass."
"Don't knock it until you try it," she wheezed. Even with the pain, there was something very fulfilling about the way her arse was hugging his cock that tightly. It made her feel satisfied in a way she had never had before.
He laughed again. "Half the words coming out of your mouth say that you absolutely love this. The other half says that I'm hurting you really bad. Which is it?"
"Yes…." she hissed. After a long moment, Emmeline unclenched her teeth and exhaled.
"Okay," she said at last. "Give me the rest."
"You sure?"
"I didn't want to do this, Potter. You made me. Stop pretending you care. We had a deal, and we've started this, so you better not bail on me until it is over. Now shut up and give it to me."
"But —"
"Yes. My butt. Fuck it."
"Emme—"
"FUCK MY FUCKING ARSE, YOU FUCKING ARSEHOLE!" Emmeline howled. She didn't know if it was her reaction, or her commanding tone, or just the way her arse relaxed slightly at that exact moment, but Harry rammed his hips forward, slamming the next three inches all at once.
"FUUCKKK!" She howled.
"I'm sorry—"
"FUCCCKKK!" She howled again.
"You told me to —"
"FUUCCCKKKKK!"
Emmeline didn't care. She was cumming. Her arse muscles were spasming like anything, the same way her pussy had when his cock ran its marathon in and out of it. Her whole body shook and shuddered like she had been hit by a powerful vibration charm. And of course, there was the entire 'screaming her lungs out like she was being brutally murdered' bit as well.
And then, as if like magic, her chute relaxed, and Emmeline dropped like a marionette on the bed. She sighed rapturously, drooling just a little bit with her face turned to the side. And her legs were together, a position that really squeezed her arse tight around the thick cock lodged in her backside.
"That was… crazy fast," Harry observed. "You came before I even got the chance to push my entire dick in."
"That's on your massive cock, you arsehole," Emmeline snapped, but there was no heat behind her words. "Nobody told you to go get a freak cock like that, you demon."
"Come now, Emmeline, you're hurting my feelings."
"And you've got your cock lodged up my arse. What's your point?"
When Harry didn't respond to that, Emmeline sighed. "Sorry…. just…." She murmured. "Just give me a little… Ugh! That was the biggest orgasm you've given me yet. I feel so sensitive."
"Better now?" Harry asked.
"...Yes. I should've tried this out a long time ago. I didn't know it could feel this good."
He snorted. "Should've known you'd say that."
"...shut up!" said Emmeline heatedly. You can move now. Fuck my arse, Harry. Fuck it."
She felt him get in position, hold her arse cheeks slightly upwards, making her constrict at the sudden movement, before she could bring herself to relax again. She felt his cock slowly leave her tight backside, and almost wept at the sudden feeling of deprivation that threatened to overwhelm her. Not for long, because he came back soon enough, this time pushing himself just a little more, and then back again. Between her own wetness, her own juices lubing up his cock, and the tightness, it all added up to an incredible amount of friction, which felt amazingly good, and yet painful at the same time.
"Fuck my arse!" she murmured, as he began speeding up a little. "Merlin's beard! I'm going to cum again! Harry! Oh, Harry! You'll trap me in my ever-piling pillar of debt, won't you? At this rate, I'll never be able to pay you back."
"Don't put that on me, Emmeline," said Harry between thrusts. "You asked for it."
"I know," she sighed as he thrust again. "You won't see me complaining."
And so he did. He began fucking her a little harder, a little faster. Emmeline whined as he pulled all the way out, filling her with a strange emptiness that quickly vanished as he pumped the mushroom head back with full dedication. He grabbed her hips and swiftly filled her with every inch of his dick once more.
"Oh! Fuck! I think I came again when you rammed into me," she grunted. "Do it again!"
"You still keeping count?" asked Harry, pulling all the way out, and quickly eclipsing the hole by slamming back in.
Emmeline let out a bark of laughter.
"Merlin, you're enjoying this, aren't you?" asked Harry.
"Yes! Yes, I am. What do you do to me, Harry? Just a couple of days ago, I was an honest, married woman, and now I have your cock lodged up my arse."
"Maybe you were bored to death by being a proper married woman," said Harry, as he began pounding into her arse faster and faster. He was in action mode now, his hands on her lips, his torso driving his cock in and out of our tight butt, rimming it faster than Emmeline could even feel it. She had a feeling that her arse would never be the same ever again.
"Oh! You fuck! You fucking sex demon!" She screamed out, turning her face till she rested on her cheek again, vocalising her pleasure without interference. The recent experience with him, combined with the constant surge within her, demanding to be fucked raw by this incubus, demanding her to be treated with even rougher sex beyond anything she had ever felt. Just the feeling of his cock within her made her feel pleasure in a way she had never thought possible, and now that she had tasted this forbidden fruit, she'd be damned before she let him go.
"You're going to cum again, Emmeline?" laughed the bastard, slapping her arse. Emmeline couldn't even do anything as he pushed his hands through her shoulders, and pulled her back, before hugging her from behind, his hands gripping her over her breasts. There she sat, her legs spread upon the bed, with his cock spearing into her arse from behind. She couldn't even express just how much tighter this new position felt, but all she could feel was that somehow, he went faster.
"UGH! MERLIN! Yes!" She gasped, barely keeping it together, her body beginning to shake.
"Do it, Emmeline. Just let go and do it," he commanded, his pace not relenting, not letting up as he drilled her deep and hard.
"UGH! UGH! UGH! FUCK! AAHHH!" Emmeline screamed at the top of her lungs, her entire body shuddering, her arsehole locking down around his driving cock. He squeezed her breasts and mauled them, while impaling her over and over, her entire body shaking with his thrusts, her hole now as tight as a clenched fist. Yet, he didn't stop, continuing to fuck her arse even as her body became wracked with pleasure.
"FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!" She moaned, her body shuddering as a titanic orgasm coursed through her, her pussy gushing again, her mind feeling like it was being split into two. And all throughout, Harry kept fucking her,unrelenting. Her arse kept squeezing his bloated prick as she underwent the massive wave of pleasure but he held strong, continuing to fuck her as hard as possible.
And then it was over.
Emmeline felt his grasp go free, and she collapsed upon the bed. She barely managed to push her face to the side again, seeing him from the corner of her vision as he grabbed the empty glass from the table, and began jerking into it, spewing impossible amounts of cum into it. Just like before, the jizz spurred out in massive quantities. No doubt it was the incubus part of his ancestry that was responsible for it. There was simply no way a normal wizard could cum that much.
"That cum belonged to my arse," she complained, as he put the half-filled glass down on the table. "My arse squeezed it out of your cock."
"By that logic, I'll never get to fill the glass, Emmeline," said Harry. "Besides, you already have enough in you."
"No, I don't," said Emmeline, surprising herself with her words. She had never quite been this sexually active before. Just what was it about Harry Potter that turned her into this sex-starved creature? She didn't know, and to be frank, she didn't care. All she wanted was to feel that cock deep in her again, and again and again, until neither of them could keep going any further.
"Emmeline," said Harry, a trace of worry lacing his tone. "We've had sex earlier in the afternoon, many, many times. And most recently, in your pussy and I just freshly fucked your arse. Don't you think that's enough for a—"
"You let me be the judge of that, Potter," she barked. How dare he look down on her? She was a mature woman, and incubus or not, he was still a teenager, and he had no business looking down on her. "We had a deal, which means I'll keep having sex with you until I either fall unconscious, or I make you cum as many times as you did me. Now stop talking and come fuck me some more."
There was no more talking after that. She and Harry had sex four more times that night. Four fucking times. Any boiling tension remaining between them exploded outward as the two of them went at it like animals, fucking for half the night. After having him explode inside her pussy again, she took his next load on her face and mouth, and then had to bear with him rubbing his cock across her face, when he made her cum five more times in return. He fucked her in the arse twice after that, and this time, she fucked him back with greater vigor, looking to prove to him how she was the best fuck ever.
And by fulling giving herself to him, Emmeline saw no reason to hold back any longer, no longer concerned about overinflating his ego or trying to pretend it was anything but her wanting to get fucked raw by his cock. It all spilled out of her, calling him 'amazing' and 'sex god' and the 'best fuck ever'. And then in the heat of passion, with him holding her spreadeagled by her hands and knees, while jackhammering into her, she felt so completely dominated by her sex god that she couldn't stop herself from screaming out.
"Fuck me! Love! Fuck me! Just keep fucking me! I'm yours. Completely and utterly yours."
It was pretty shocking, especially given that this was officially the first day she had gotten fucked by his cock, and her words hit her deep within, but she couldn't find it within herself to care. She had concluded in her head and heart that she needed Harry's cock, Gideon be damned. It didn't matter if he was a twisted, scheming, lying, pedophilic son of a bitch, or just a greedy bastard that Harry and Hestia were painting in a bad light. It didn't matter if she was still officially married to Gideon or that she had a son that was about to leave for Hogwarts in less than two weeks. She had never been fucked like this before, and she'd be damned if she had to keep away from this cock ever again.
The fuck session was long and intense, and nasty, the heated air and even more heated action leaving them a sweaty and exhausted mess at the end of it. When they finally pushed themselves to their limits late into the night, with Harry's balls completely out of ammo — something she was very glad for. She was almost thinking that his body was just perpetually producing cum every waking moment — nothing bad of course, but it felt great to know that she had perfectly satiated an incubus without any outside aid. It didn't matter that her whole body felt like a giant, big bruise, or that Harry had cum all over her face, her breasts, her hair, her abdomen, and her back. It didn't matter if she had his cum streaming out of her mouth, her pussy and her arse, or that at some point, he had shoved his dick right out of her arse into her mouth and she had cleaned it through like a true whore. Her entire body was one thick, nasty mix of cum, sweat and saliva, her shiny flesh sparkling, with his naked weight right above him, his cum contrasting nicely with her tan.
And yet, none of that could shaft the relaxed grin forming on her face.
This was perfect. This was going to be her life now. She would be getting this… every fucking day, if she could help it. Okay, that was not going to happen because of the Quidditch World Cup, and everything that would follow, and then Harry would leave for Hogwarts, leaving only the weekends for them to engage in heated sex. But that was fine. She would overwork herself to death if needed be, just so that she could keep her weekends free for him. Emmeline knew she wasn't quite being rational, and knew that being with him that way probably meant that she'd probably have to join Hestia in bed, but it didn't matter. She had never met a man who came anywhere close to some of the things he was capable of, and she had seen enough display of his power and his ability to manipulate others to realise that the future was going to be dictated by Harry Potter, and not by Albus Dumbledore. No doubt this was why Hestia had chosen her side, and now, it was time for her to do the same.
Yes. She had so much time to make up for, and with no reason to hold back anymore, her mind was already cooking up so many wonderful plans to give her sex god everything he wanted — information, resources, help in the psychic arts, and tons of sex. She had no doubt that she was the best he ever had, and she intended to prove it.
No matter the cost.
Her eyes drooped at that thought, and Emmeline surrendered herself into blissful oblivion.
….
….
….
Rejoice! You have become a Lilim!
LILIM - EMMELINE VANCE
AGE - 32
INCUBUS LORD - HARRY POTTER
….
Emmeline woke up, and found herself lying on the bed, her entire body feeling stiff with the dried cum.
That was bloody stupid, she thought. As much as she loved the naughty nature of it last night, it definitely didn't feel like it. She made a mental note to herself that the next time she'd make it a point to clean up after she and Harry made a mess. Maybe she could leave it on for a while just to enjoy the moment, but she needed to scrub them off before bed. If nothing else, a cleansing charm would do the trick. Her entire body still felt absolutely sore, and a quick tempus charm told her that it was seven in the morning, not quite her usual wake up time, but still late enough, especially since she was technically supposed to be in her room, and not lying pressed underneath Harry Potter, naked and her body laden with dried cum all over. And what was with that stupid dream involving a strange screen and something that called her a….
Her thoughts died, as blank shock pervaded through her entire body. There it was, a floating phantomesque window, with words written on it. Even in her state, Emmeline had enough presence of mind to recognize that it wasn't exactly a conjuration of the Flagrate charm.
And it said —
Rejoice! You have become a Lilim!
LILIM - EMMELINE VANCE
AGE - 32
INCUBUS LORD - HARRY POTTER
It was like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water upon her head — like that, she was awake and alert. She blinked twice, and several times more, but the apparition didn't disappear. Instead it floated in front of her, like a strangely futuristic scroll of sorts. She raised her hand, and despite the pain from the nonstop sex last night, she managed to raise it all the way, only to find her hand phasing through it, feeling nothing but air, revealing it to be an illusion.
What magic is this? She wondered, as more information presented itself.
AFFINITY
Transfiguration — 20%
Charms — 39%
Psychomancy (Occlumency) — 67%
Psychomancy (Legilimency) — 72%
Martial Magic — 36%
Spatial Magic — 21%
Magical Analytics — 9%
Alchemy — 16%
"Harry?" she said bleakly, pushing the still sleeping incubus above her. Gently pushing him off her, she twisted her body, ignoring the tremendous ache all over, and gently prodded his sleeping form.
"Whassit?" He murmured.
"Something weird is going on," she said urgently. "Tell me, do you see this? This thing calls me a Lilim, and you as my Incubus Lord."
And just like that, Harry's eyes snapped open.
"It WHAT?"
Emmeline winced, the loud sound hurting her ears. "Don't you see it? This floating thing? There's even this list of subjects, with percentages on —" She paused, and then it clicked. "You — you're not surprised. You know what this is."
The look on his face told her all she needed.
She pushed herself away, arms crossed as he sat up. "What's going on, Harry? What kind of crazy illusion is this, and what have you been up to?"
He nervously ran his fingers through his hair. It was a striking difference between the utterly confident, suave bastard that had her number and had turned her into his pet whore. This Harry reminded her of the person she had met the first day — brazen and traumatised about forgetting the dream. No doubt he was sorting through where their relationship stood now, and what he could trust her with, given the light of their previous agreement and her position both as Head Obliviator and a member of the Order of the Phoenix.
"Harry," she said softly. "I'm on your side. Just like Hestia. I can swear an oath if that will suffice. Hestia was right in choosing you, and I see what she saw in you. You can trust me with this."
Her words only magnified his tensed expression.
"Alright," he said at last. "I know you might be a little surprised with what happened, but I swear there's a perfectly good reason behind this."
"Good," said Emmeline, keeping her voice chipper and perky. There was no need to show needless antagonism in such matters, least of all with him. She cocked her head to the side, and waited for him to come up with an appropriate response.
"Well," he said slowly. "It's… well, a long and complex story."
"It better be," she agreed politely, mentally running through potential simulations about the nature of this illusion floating before her eyes. With a flick of her fingers, her wand shot into her hand, and she began casting all kinds of diagnostic charms, only for them to return negative.
"Or?"
"Or… I suppose if this really has something to do with you, and can be a problem for me, I suppose I'll be very, very angry."
"So, you are not very angry now?" he asked, hopefully.
"No, just annoyed and curious." Both about this strange magic, and the way their relationship dynamics had changed. "What is this thing and how did you pull it off?"
"Uh, why don't you tell me what you know about it, for a start?"
She glared at him.
"I've got a good reason for this. Trust me."
"It better be," she murmured, narrowed her eyes. "I was jolted awake from my sleep, and I saw this floating screen before my eyes, describing me as, of all things, your Lilim. Now I know that you're an incubus, and all the fuckery that is your Lecherous Shrine, but I don't remember getting turned into a succubus myself."
"And it listed your magical affinities in terms of percentages,right?"
"Yes."
"And… those percentages are an appropriate estimation of your skill in those disciplines?"
Her eyes narrowed further. "Most of them, yes. I have never studied Alchemy, so I do not know if I do have a 16% affinity for it." She paused, and put her hands on her waist. "What is going on, Harry? You are powerful, I know it. Perhaps as much as Albus Dumbledore or even the Dark Lord. But you're also just a third-year passout. Is this another of the Dark Lord's skills that you've been syphoning through that cursed scar of yours?"
Before he could answer, she spoke again. "And I do not want to even consider the possibility that, cursed scar or not, you're so deep into the Dark Arts that you can pull a dark hex on me using Representational Magic. Yes, we've been here all night, and despite my surrendering to your prowess in bed, I do not think even you can pull off a temporally - delayed enchantment without your wand either. Not to mention I am a sixth-level Occlumens, and despite it, I cannot stop this illusion from affecting my mind. I can only imagine that it has something to do with Lecherous Shrine, since it's the only thing capable of bypassing my defences. Is that what's causing this?"
Yes, he was great in bed. Yes, Emmeline had chosen him over the Order. Yes, the fact that she was married and had a child didn't even register before his cock. But that didn't mean she thought with her cunt, not in these cases. If she wasn't satisfied by his explanation, this could and would ratchet up from 'extremely bad' to 'time bomb ticking the final seconds'.
"Well?"
He closed his eyes, exhaled, and then opened them, meeting her gaze with a pleading look that came out as a grimace. Admittedly, not the best start. "Things are a lot more complicated than they look. And it is kind of the reason why I am like this, and not the third-year passout that you'd have expected."
"Fine," Emmeline huffed, crossing her arms again. "But this better be one hell of an explanation," she snapped. "If it doesn't involve something like advanced magitech, demonic powers, potential time-travel or maybe the end of the world, or something along those lines, then I'm still going to be angry."
"You know," He rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. "Actually…"
Notes:
If you want to support me, find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Chapter 96
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 3 - THE INCUBUS AND NECROMANCER
I explained what I could do about my 'time-travel' story, mostly retelling everything as I had revealed to Hestia, only in a more polished version, now that I wasn't asspulling the entire thing on the go. I even added some of Hestia's own deductions into it, making it more concrete, focussing on the demonic invasion and the absolute massacre of Order members. At times, I skipped a few parts, like the events in third year, and the Yule Ball in the fourth year, because they really didn't have much to do with the actual overlying situation, but I managed to hit most of the highlights. It did have the added effect of allowing me to focus on the more striking issues, such as Emmeline's own ghastly demise, and the fall of the Ministry and Wizarding Britain.
Watching her face as I told her how Severus Snape had supposedly let her die to maintain his spy cover intact had been beautiful.
Throughout the tale, which took the better part of an hour, she just sat there, unmoving like a mannequin, her face utterly devoid of any and all emotion, never speaking, never interrupting, letting me finish my tale, her eyes flickering constantly, sometimes in intense thought, and at other times, whenever I mentioned something she considered vital. I didn't know if she was just that good at multitasking, or used her Occlumency to her benefit.
"So," Emmeline finally said after everything had finished, "You're making changes to abort your own timeline."
I blinked. Out of all the things, she had chosen that particular facet to initiate conversation.
Her eyes met mine.
"What have you done to change things so far?"
"...sorry?"
"You've got the knowledge of the future, which means you know exactly who sides with whom. You know of the key players, you know about the chief losses and the worst events that will transpire over the next several years. I'm guessing that is where you get your information about Gideon and Broderick, which is why you are here, working him into playing into your hands."
Before I could respond, she stood up, and summoned a bottle of firewhiskey and two glasses. As always, magic didn't care about the mechanics and a bottle and a pair of glasses just zoomed into the room through the door that snapped open, only to close right back. She filled the glasses, and passed me one. Taking a sip, she paced ahead and around the room, contemplating.
"So… the house of my forefathers, my mansion, my ancestral legacy…. and it will all be gone in just three more years." She snorted. "I'm not sure how that's supposed to make me feel."
"Uh," I said, and stood up. "You realise I'm trying to avoid the exact same thing?"
"I know," she said and exhaled. "And I also know Unspeakables from the Time Division. They are fully assured of the fact that the universe follows the principle of determinism. Events are completely determined by previously existing causes."
She was talking about Sturgis Podmore, I assumed.
"So there's nothing as free will?"
"I never said that. We have some degree of freedom, some control over our choices, deliberations and actions, so long as they fall into set patterns. But ultimately, the path of Destiny is set. That the Hall of Prophecy exists is proof of that."
She turned to face me. "There are close to fifty-seven thousand prophecy orbs stored there, Harry. Fifty-seven thousand events that have been set in time, and that's just for the land of Wizarding Britain. No matter what you do, those events shall come to pass. You may have travelled to the past, but altering it significantly is more than mildly difficult."
"You're talking about paradoxes?" I asked. "Like, if I go back and kill my grandfather, then how was I ever born to go back and kill my grandfather?"
Amelia snorted. "Paradox is… an overrated threat. There is a quality similar to… inertia at work. Once an event has occurred, there is an extremely strong tendency for that event to occur. The larger, more significant, or more energetic the event, the more it tends to remain as it has originally happened, despite any interference. Even the limited study of controlled time-travel has proven that you do not truly change the future, and often, the actions of your past self are because of the actions of your future self— a loop in the timestream that ultimately does not nothing to branch the timestream. There is… a self-consistency principle set in motion, so if an event exists that would cause a paradox or any 'change' to the Past whatsoever, then the probability of that event happening is zero."
I frowned. "So… there's a law of the conservation of history?"
She snorted. "I've never heard it put that way, but it's accurate enough. In any event, overcoming that inertia requires tremendous energy, will, and a measure of simple luck."
"So if I try to go back in time to kill my grandfather…"
"He kicks your arse. Fleamont Potter was a terrifying wizard, and a master at battle-transfiguration. He single-handedly led the DMLE in the first war for many years. I heard it took Lord Voldemort himself to kill him. But I digress. The more drastic the change, the more it goes against the predetermined path set through the prophecies stored in the Hall of Prophecy. Meddling with time is an irrationally, outrageously, catastrophically dangerous and costly business, Harry. You really should not have done this."
I know I have been living through some memorable shit recently, with more curve balls thrown my way over the last two weeks than most people suffered through in an entire year, but I have to admit, this conversation with Emmeline was the most surreal thing I was experiencing so far. The Head Obliviator hadn't even, not for a single moment, drew sceptical looks and challenged the basis of my claims. She hadn't even demanded a single proof behind my shocking statements. No, instead she had taken them all at face-value and was instead filled with a sense of fatalism, and was now telling me why I didn't have any chance at saving the 'hypothetical' future.
Really, it was like everytime I interacted with the woman, she surprised me in an entirely different way.
"Emmeline," I tried, "I have already changed many things since coming back."
She smiled, and it was a dark one. "Maybe you have, but tell me, Harry, in the grand scheme of things, have you truly changed anything? Those objects that you know will bring Voldemort's downfall, have you ended up destroying any of them? You say that he will return at the end of your fourth year, and that he is supposedly frail right now. But have you truly been able to bring about any changes yet?"
"I —"
"Yes, you've gained your mantle of the Lord Potter, and yes, you are probably more knowledgeable and powerful than before, but can you guarantee that you can bring about substantial changes? How can you possibly claim to alter the future when you haven't altered a single important event you mentioned?"
"You're right," I nodded with a sigh. "I haven't. Everything that I have been doing is purely cosmetic compared to the greater picture, but that's how it begins. Every wave was once a tiny ripple. Give it time, let the tiny changes accumulate, and you'll have a domino effect that will cause a new tide that throws everyone off."
"That ripple cannot become a tide, Harry," Emmeline snapped, whirling back at me, her fists clenched, and her expression, furious. "There are rocks in place, prophetic events that have already determined the future. They will not allow your tiny changes to form dominoes. They will not stop Voldemort from destroying everything I hold dear. They will not stop them from killing me."
She was practically yelling at the end of it.
Figures! Emmeline was a stubborn witch, one that refused to give up no matter what. She had not broken even after hearing that her husband had conspired against his brother and father and led to their deaths, was probably in cahoots with Greengrass and Malfoy, and potentially a Death Eater sympathiser. Oh, and a paedophile. She hadn't broken even after her harrowing experience inside Lecherous Shrine, or when I had altered her accepted paradigms about Albus Dumbledore. Even with the new arrangement between us, and her swearing to be on my side — thanks to a 100% anchorage, and her recently-found Lilim status, she hadn't quite lost control of her emotions.
But hearing about the desolate future from my own lips, hearing about how it ends — that was taking a heavy toll on the woman. Her own pride was set at war with herself. The stubborn witch I had come to know would not accept defeat, but the pragmatic part of her that knew and accepted the rules of reality knew that resisting the future was futile in every way.
Damn it. Why couldn't things ever be simple when it came to this woman?
Then again, what was I expecting? Dealing with Emmeline was always a double or nothing game. I had prepared to win her over, do my best to sell the time-travel story, and hopefully avoid her from jumping to bad conclusions. Instead things had taken an absurd turn, and unless I did something drastic, I could lose Emmeline forever.
I gazed up at the door, at the intense warding all around it. There was no doubt that we were protected from any and all methods of eavesdropping. I made up my mind, and began to recite.
"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies. And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal…"
She looked at me, surprised, as I went on.
"But he will have power the Dark Lord knows not, and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies."
"That — that was —"
"A prophecy made by Sybill Trelawney in 1980," I said. "Albus Dumbledore was the recipient of this prophecy. A death-eater heard the first part of it, and reported it to Voldemort, who immediately acted on it. And then I was born, on July 31st ..."
"As the seventh month dies…." she murmured, looking at my face, closely, like she was trying to memorise every inch of it. "A power that the Dark Lord knows not…"
"Dumbledore always thought that the power was Love," I told her, chuckling darkly. "It did nothing to stop Voldemort back then, though I suppose it did save my life several times. Quirrel couldn't bear my touch back in first year because of my mother's protection, left by her love for her child. It was what supported the protections Dumbledore placed at Privet Drive. But hilariously enough, I'm back in time, and somehow, I'm an Incubus—"
"A creature of love and lust…." she whispered. "Whereas Lord Voldemort follows the path of the Necromancer, the power of Death."
I nodded in agreement. "Love and Death are two of the five primal forces studied in the Department of Mysteries —"
"Six," she corrected me.
I arched an eyebrow. "Love, Death, Time, Space, Thought… unless you're going to include the Hall of Prophecy?"
She smiled. "If I had any doubts about your claims, you just settled them. Only those above Clearance level 6 are allowed to know about those rooms. And yes, the Hall of Prophecy is part of a larger chamber. They call it the Chamber of Destiny."
I inhaled. Now either this was coincidence, or proof that Fate and Destiny were already lubing their cocks and getting ready to fuck me sideways.
Whatever.
"Even so, it's rather strange that you never knew it, considering who you are."
At my stare, she elaborated. "Harry, your mother Lily Potter was an Unspeakable, one of the very few to be hired directly by the DOM bypassing any and all standard procedures. I know this because this is one of the highest ranking Order secrets, and because I've worked closely with your mother in the past when she was a member of the Order."
A chill ran down my spine.
"Lily Potter was… an Unspeakable?"
"Evans," Emmeline clarified. "Lily Potter was selected as a DOM intern in her fifth year at Hogwarts. By the end of her sixth year, she was already a fully hired Unspeakable. Harry… your mother worked as an arcanist, a researcher of ancient mysteries, in the Chamber of Destiny."
"...Fuckme!"
Lily Potter, Unspeakable? Chamber of Destiny? And here I was thinking that my insertion into this world was already a mystery above all others. But if Lily was someone already involved with Fate, it certainly explained why she was the one to pull off something so esoteric and powerful that not even the Dark Lord Voldemort could counter it, and that led to his downfall, while Harry Potter survived and became the Boy-Who-Lived. If that was the case, then what else was going on behind my back? Knowing my luck, the freaking Department of Mysteries, who from everything I had known from hearsay, were freaking terrifying bastards with access to all kinds of magical resources that made NEWT-level spells look like firecrackers. And if they were somehow tracking me then…
Emmeline paced some more, frowning in deep, intense thought, oblivious to my inner turmoil. Seeing her do that, naked and covered with my dried cum all over, presenting an extremely bizarre dichotomy that I couldn't just pull my eyes away from.
"The prophecy claims that you have the power to vanquish the Dark Lord, a power He knows not. I suppose one can argue that no Necromancer will ever comprehend the power of Love. But…." she frowned even more, "it says nothing about who wins in the end. And you survived in the future for eight years despite the fall of Britain, so that means the Prophecy was still active… and now that you're here, it is still active, and that means—"
She whirled back at me, her face blazing. "That means that Voldemort's victory is not set in time. The time in the past, the time you lived in the future, and the loop you will now live in, they are all part of the same timestream, the same line that ends at the point when both of you will face each other in a final battle. That means… that means the fate of those that lived in the future you come from, don't have to match the fates of those that are living now. Even though they are all the same people, they are living in two different variations of the same timeline, stuck in a loop, at least, until Voldemort resurrects and manages to destroy Britain again. But until then, we — we have a chance! Until that happens, nothing is set in stone."
Emmeline was staring at me with an odd look on her face, one which was part surprise, part exhilaration and part calculation. It looked like she was finally starting to realise that things might not be as fatalistic as she had imagined.
"So anyway," I tried to put things back into topic. "What do you think of it now? Still gonna tell me I should just quit trying and look around for purchasing a nice coffin for when the time comes?"
She let out a wicked little laugh. "No, Harry. You don't. I was wrong! You are going to win it this time, and I'll do everything I can to ensure that not only do you win, but you change the world — our world for good. Yes, yes, that is exactly what will happen. We will make it happen."
Okay, now I was getting curious at just what byzantine plan she was cooking up in her anarchic mind.
"Tell me about this magitech," she said. "The Tether system, I believe, you called it?"
The abruptness with which she changed the topic was enough to throw me in a mental whiplash. "Uh, yes. What of it?"
"Explain it to me. How does it work? What does it mean for me to be a Lilim? How does me being one affect you? What about the other women you sleep with? Will all of them also gain this system?"
I really should stop being surprised. Despite her twisted, submissive angle, Emmeline had an extremely sharp mind. One did not rise to the position of Head Obliviator by being lucky. Being from a respectable pureblood family opened the Ministry doors easily, but once you stepped in, it took sheer merit to get through the ranks. The moment she overcame the mental block she had imposed on herself, she was instantly thinking of ways to turn this to her advantage. Crazy or not, you can't not love this woman.
Though, the pin-pointed questions also meant that I'd have to be uniform with my answers, and go with the truth.
That was fine.
"The origins of the Tether system was to reevaluate the way we look at magical education and growth," I told her. "Let's put it this way. Every family specialises in a particular magical discipline, right? Something that they store up there in their family grimoires?"
It was a lesson I had picked up from Amelia. And Emmeline being a member of the Ancient House of Vance, would obviously see through my train of logic.
"Like see, my father, my grandfather and his father before, all of them started studying from the Potter grimoire as soon as they got their wands. The minimal transfiguration affinity to cast even the beginner-level spells in that Grimoire is at least fifty percent. I was born with only fifteen percent affinity, so I couldn't have ever managed to cast a single spell from that grimoire even if I tried all my life."
"I sense a but."
I grinned. "As an incubus, I gain strength by sleeping and fucking other women. Technically, I gain some of their affinities."
"You mean you steal them," she accused.
"Gain," I repeated. "Their affinities remain unaffected. In case you're wondering, I gained massive affinities from you in Psychomancy. Thanks for that."
She rolled her eyes. "So what now, I imagine sleeping with all these girls and women throughout the summer has been your attempts to gain affinity? Is that why you're so powerful? By fucking other women?"
I smiled. "Partly. My own percentages are pretty shocking right now."
"Oh?" She raised an eyebrow.
I rolled my eyes, and quickly consulted my screen. "I am already above 70% affinity in Transfiguration, Dark Arts, Martial Magic and Charms. My affinity with Occlumency is already above 60% and Legilimency is quickly catching up. I believe I can cast every single spell taught in NEWT years silently so long as I have the concept and incantation right."
Emmeline gave me a flat, direct stare. "I'm conflicted between whether to yell at you, or be shocked by the numbers you just gave me. Especially Charms and Dark Arts. Just who did you sleep with to gain those kinds of numbers?"
I smiled. "Narcissa Malfoy."
"Tch," she gritted her teeth. "Should've known."
Technically, I had gotten Charms from nearly everyone. Narcissa just supplied me the largest chunk.
"She's also the reason I've got a high affinity for the Dark Arts, but that's for later. The entire day won't be enough to explain everything I'm juggling around."
"Figures," she said. "What can you tell me?"
"I can tell you that being a Lilim has its own set of advantages."
Like Perfect youth, but she was going to get that sooner or later. I think. I mean, Hestia got it within a short while of transforming into a Lilim, so this should be no different. Unless, every Lilim got different perks?
"What kind of advantages?"
Quickly, I fetched her status window.
LILIM - EMMELINE VANCE
Age - 32
AFFINITY
Transfiguration — 20%
Charms — 39%
Psychomancy (Occlumency) — 67%
Psychomancy (Legilimency) — 72%
Martial Magic — 36%
Spatial Magic — 21%
Magical Analytics — 9%
Alchemy — 16%
Configuring Spiritual Baseline for Lilim EMMELINE VANCE underway…
"For one, it'll get you a perk to start with, a very interesting and highly sought after one, if I might say so. And if you perform acts of devotion towards me, I can grant you increased affinities and other perks."
"And what do you get out of it?"
I grinned. "Simple. The more I sleep with you, the more I can synchronise with your affinities and gain them. So, by helping you grow and become stronger —"
"You're making yourself stronger," she finished.
"Exactly. And so long as my Lilims stay alive, I cannot be killed."
"This is sounding more and more ludicrous by the second," she said. "And if it really works as you claim, then it's far more terrifying than I can even imagine."
"It is," I said. "Mind you, the Tether System is only about the quantification. The Lilim network belongs to the Incubus Lord."
"So you are an Incubus Lord."
"In name only," I corrected her. "I still need to activate the Shrine fully to activate all its powers."
She stayed silent.
"I'm not saying this happened," I began, carefully choosing my words, "but I believe that the path of the Necromancer also provides a similar setup. They might not have the quantification of the Tether system, but perhaps, the Death Eaters also share a relationship similar to the one between the Incubus Lord and Lilims. Perhaps an enchantment, or a ritual connecting their souls and magic with Voldemort, allowing him to both draw power from them, and also provide them with boosts in Dark magic?"
"You're talking about the Dark Mark."
I nodded.
"It is possible," she murmured. "Attaining the Dark Mark is regarded as the most prestigious thing you can do among Death Eaters. The reason for it was never quite clear, why pureblood men and women would gladly be branded like cattle, and displayed them proudly in public. Perhaps the Mark allows him to do exactly what you just proposed."
"Yes."
"By that logic, the more people you add to your network, the more Lilims you have, the stronger you grow, and the more benefits we get, through these… acts of devotion?"
"Yes."
"In that case, the most logical course of action for you would be to assimilate women from the Ancient Houses, the Nobility." She looked at me curiously. "Am I right?"
"Well…" I half-shrugged. "I'm not really sure about that. I mean, everyone has magical affinities, so —"
"I'm not talking about affinities, you dolt," she snapped. "I'm talking of Family magic. The hidden, powerful magic that passes down bloodlines. There's got to be a reason why Voldemort specifically chose his Inner Circle from the families he did. Black, Selwyn, Malfoy, Rosier, Nott, Avery, Lestrange — every single one of those families have been invested in expanding the frontiers of Dark magic, magic that is compatible with Voldemort's own affinities…."
She clenched her fists and softly punched the parapet. "So that's why he's so damn powerful. I always knew that there was something weird about him. Rituals or not, Necromancy or not, nobody could ever be that much powerful. We thought we were fighting the Dark Lord, but in truth, we were always fighting the strength of his army, fueled into him via the Dark Mark."
She whirled around and met my eyes. "You'll have to do the same, Harry. You are prophesied to be his Equal, right, then you've got to become his equal. If he's got the men of those families branded like cattle, and is drawing on their power, then you have to do the same with the women. The girls. I, no, the world needs you to add the women from the Ancient families into your network, turn them into Lilims, draw on their affinities and control the Wizengamot through them."
I blinked. Was she really saying what I thought she was?
"Yes," she went on. "All this time, I was thinking that despite your power, it'd be quite some time before you learn your way into establishing yourself as a proper Wizengamot Lord. The Boy-who-Lived holds attention, but you need a lot more than that if you want to bring change. Maybe a few years of establishing coalitions, buying votes to prevent unfavourable amendments from being passed, and tainting the opposition with manufactured scandals to keep yourself afloat, while you finish your NEWTS… At least enough that people know your agenda in and out before you make a move for Minister."
I gawked at her.
"What?" asked Emmeline defensively. "I joined the Order of the Phoenix to bring change, and as much as I am, or rather, was loyal to it, it has always remained an infiltration network, gathering recon and submitting all the data to one major sink — Albus Dumbledore. And as much as Hestia's words sounded cruel, it's true Albus Dumbledore has been content to play the passive game. Instead, if we could get you to rise as the active alternative, someone that's both part of the Order, while being a mover in the Wizengamot, all that recon could finally be useful."
"You… you're asking me to infiltrate the Order?"
"Why, of course," said Emmeline, as if it was only the most natural thing to do. "You've shown Albus Dumbledore that you're going to take direct action. It's merely a matter of time before he invites you to the Order, to keep you quelled and satiated if nothing else. I thought it could be a good way for you to further your contacts and move into the right circles. But I had been thinking too small. Too limited. But this, this changes things. You cannot fight someone that is ignoring the rules by following the rules. To be his Equal, you have to be a Rule-breaker yourself. Between the two of us, we can systematically take down the more relevant Death-eaters and put them behind bars. We can even manufacture scandals about their scions, and arrange situations in which their wives or mothers act as the next Regent. And if you get your hands on them then, those houses will be in your pocket. Forget making yourself a power in the Wizengamot, you can own the fucking thing!"
Where was this woman hiding all this time? She was practically reiterating my own goals and presenting them to me. Only my method was akin to a virus that slowly spread around, infecting one tiny portion at a time. But Emmeline — Emmeline wanted a plague. An odyssey that would change the face of Wizarding Britain forever.
She was good, if a little too fervent about this. I needed to pull the brakes, and control her energy and enthusiasm, and direct it with greater efficiency.
"Emmeline," I said as softly as I could. "Are we not getting ahead of ourselves? You realise you're talking about me twisting those women — married women, and making them into my Lilims."
"So was I," she snapped. "And—"
She paused right there.
"...And?" I asked, my tone bordering on dangerous. "Go on. Finish it."
"And nothing."
"Oh no, no, no," I told her, my voice silky and cold. "You don't get to pass on that. Go on, say it. You were a married woman and what? I seduced you? I forced you to sleep with me?"
"...No."
"I forced you into being unfaithful to your husband?"
"No, no you didn't."
"Perhaps I coerced you to fuck me earlier in the forest? Or perhaps I tricked you into sucking my cock, letting me fuck you over and over all night. Did I do that, Emmeline?"
"No," she said, a little louder. "I asked for it. It was all me."
"Exactly," I told her. "It was all you. You offered the arrangement at my home. You demanded that I fuck you. You put up the ridiculous debt that made me fuck you all night long."
"Yes, yes, I did," she said, stammering uncharacteristically. "I — I mean —"
"I do not treat others like they are less than human, Emmeline," I told her coldly. "Doesn't matter if I fuck them or not."
"But they might as well be, Harry," she said. "I know exactly how most pureblood women live their entire lives, Harry. Either as a trophy for their wives to show off, or a whore in their beds after they come back drunk from partying with their friends. Tea-parties and Ministry balls become their life. In the grand scheme of things, they are trash. No, they are worse than trash. Their position, their power, their potential — those women forsake everything and become relegated to a possession. At least this way, they'll contribute something for the Greater good."
"And of their choices? What do they get out of it?"
She smiled. "They get pleasure like they've never known, from a person that will show them more respect and affection than their husbands ever will. Think Harry, think about the future you left behind to come back. What happened to those women after Voldemort took over? At least this way, they'll be in charge, they'll have pleasure, and they'll be fucking alive. In the grand scheme of things, I call it mercy."
It took me a second for the implication to sink in.
A strange intensity shone in her eyes.
"We can do this in a three-pronged approach," she said. "One would be strictly on military terms and that would primarily be the DMLE's responsibility. You're close with Amelia Bones, yes? Once you're Lord Black, Lucius Malfoy's control over the Wizengamot will be lessened. We can use Narcissa Malfoy to gain information about Death Eaters, find out what skeletons lie in their closet. We can capture them, and I'll help scour their minds to access their deepest secrets, and then we can use those to launch direct investigations on them, and get the bastards behind bars. The second, will be political in nature and that will be through the Wizengamot, where you use your position as Lord Potter and Black to form coalitions. Hestia told me how you're going to marry the Bones heiress. That will gain you the voting power of the Bones faction. I'm certain that House Abbott and several other Houses will also consider joining you, especially with the new base. The third, will be you, using your powers to charm the ladies of these Houses to act as extensions of your will."
"I don't need mindless drones, Emmeline."
"For the love of," she scoffed. "I'm not talking of mindless drones either, Harry. Can you imagine how boring the sex will be if the other person is just a drone? Oh no, they will be living their lives, but their hearts and minds will be devoted to you. As your Lilims, they will aspire to do what you wish to be done."
I did not retort this time around.
"Isn't what you're doing the same, Harry?" She demanded. "Here you are, fucking me, and staying the night at Greengrass Manor. Are you telling me that your plans don't involve the Greengrass women?"
"I never foresaw the Head Obliviator advising me to seduce married women and cuckold their husbands. Whatever happened to the woman that was worried about me falling into the dark?"
"She sank in an ocean of pleasure and declared you as her god," said Emmeline, smirking. "Seems quite fitting, since you are altering our own fates. What is that, if not the act of a god?"
"And now you flatter me."
"It's not flattery if it's the truth," she said simply. "I am your Lilim, aren't I? And soon will others. I can get you in the right parties, and establish connections with the right women. In time, we will have them all following your words as law."
I admit, I didn't see that coming. But then again, she had to be irrationally twisted in my favour to become a Lilim in the first place.
"And what of Malfoy? Will she too —"
"Narcissa's agenda is… complicated," I admitted. "I'm still not completely certain what her end goal is, but her agenda currently matches mine. She will aid me in becoming Lord Black, and in return, I will revert her to being Narcissa Black all over again. What happens after that is uncertain."
"Well then," she said. "You better work on taming that shrew before that happens."
I arched an eyebrow. "You realise that means she'll be part of all this."
Emmeline let out a wicked laugh. "Oh Harry, not only am I expecting that to happen, it would be most welcome. I cannot wait to see that twisted bitch become your puppet."
Pot, I wanted to say, meet kettle.
"But more than that, I wonder…." began Emmeline, before something attracted her attention, and she paused. I followed her gaze and spotted the object that had suddenly gained her fascination. The glass still sat on the table, only, it was absolutely empty once again, devoid of the cum I had spurted into it last night after fucking her anal-chute. Exasperated, I turned to Emmeline, only to freeze at the conflicted expression on her face.
"Harry," she said slowly, and a dreary cold breeze swept down my nape. "Who licked the glass dry?"
Notes:
If you want to support me, find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Chapter 97: Chapter 97
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 3 - THE INCUBUS AND NECROMANCER
A cold draft swept through the room.
"...Harry," Emmeline repeated. "Who… who licked the glass dry?"
True to her word, the empty glass now sat on the table, looking utterly inconspicuous, and at the same time, filling him up with a sense of dread.
"It's impossible," said Emmeline. "I warded the room. Nobody could have opened it from outside without my consent. Even attempting to unravel it would let me know."
"Maybe you were too tired to—" I began.
She shook her head, quickly casting a cleansing charm on herself, along with several cosmetic and glamour charms to make herself look like she had just had a relaxing bath after a long night's sleep. Summoning her robes, she said. "Asleep or not, it would set off the alarm. It couldn't have been from outside."
Both of us looked at each other, eyes widened as we came to the same realisation.
"But — but it couldn't have been anyone inside," I told her. "Hestia and I were in here, and she warded it shut. After that, she left and you came in, and warded it again."
Emmeline kept casting all kinds of diagnostic charms all over the room.
"Clearly there was someone here," I went on. "But who? Broderick and Gideon are both away. That only leaves Daphne and her mum. But Daphne left for her room early. And Anastasia —"
I froze, and looked at her. "We left Anastasia in the kitchens, and then me and Hestia took a little stroll before we came to my room. We never saw where Anastasia went."
Emmeline arched an eyebrow. "Are you telling me that Anastasia Selwyn wanted to spy on a teenager so bad that she infiltrated here, undetected, just to watch us have sex?"
"Well, somebody did," I snapped. "And you just said that the wards were not attacked. So someone must have opened the doors from within, right? Perhaps when we were asleep? It could be one of the house elves but…" I glanced at the glass on the table. "I doubt any elf would want to drink my cum from that glass."
Emmeline walked over to the glass and inspected it. "You're right. Someone did this manually. I can even see the swipes of the tongue." She paused. "Well, it could also be an elf, I suppose. You are an incubus after all."
I wanted to deny that, but I knew perfectly well how erratic my own powers could be. "I doubt an elf would've needed to open the door to leave."
Emmeline nodded. "So not an elf. A normal person. A witch. Someone that was present here, in this room, undetected. Someone that saw you and me talk, have sex, saw me openly cheat on my husband, and then had the galls to drink that cum from that glass and walk away after both of us fell asleep."
A flash of insight came to me. Something from the follow-up movies.
"What about Appare Vestigium?" I asked. "Have you tried that?"
"Appare what?"
"It's a tracking spell, used to highlight magical activity within an area. It can also be used to track magical footprints within an area."
"How do you know that?" asked Emmeline, narrowing her eyes. "Tracking spells of that sort are only taught to Senior Aurors and they are oath-bound to never teach it to anyone else."
I grinned. "From the future, remember?"
A convenient excuse, but infinitely better than the truth. I couldn't possibly tell her that I had seen Newt Scamander use it to track Tina Goldstien's footprints in the movies. I wasn't supposed to remember it with that much clarity, but hey, that's an eidetic memory for you.
Emmeline scowled, as I got down to business. My charms affinity now stood at freaking 91%, my first-ever to reach into the nineties. If I was lucky, I would be walking into my fourth-year as a Charms prodigy. With a 100% affinity in the subject, I could potentially cast almost every charm out there silently, and with practice, wandlessly as well.
All I needed to do was learn them in the first place, something I had been steadily doing all over the summer.
Unfortunately, I didn't know the wand movements, so I had to improvise things a bit. But hey, if you aren't cheating, you aren't trying, and I knew exactly how to amp up a spell's potency enough to discount the necessary wand movement perfectly well.
"Appare vestigium," I hissed.
A wave of golden dust erupted out of my wand, and spread across the entire room,settling down upon the floor. Within seconds, the dust had vanished into the surface, leaving behind multiple sets of footprints that walked in and out of the room. I pushed more power into the spell, and then after-images of the owners began to arise. I saw Anastasia walk into the room, give it a look-over and walk out. Two elves, both male, popped into the room multiple times to add the amenities, and prepare the room for the guests. I saw a golden spectre of myself enter with Hestia in tow, engage in conversation, and leave for dinner, and then —
"Look there," Emmeline yelled, and I followed her gesture, and noticed the set of footprints that slowly entered the room, but this time, there were no spectres arising out of it.
"Must have disillusioned herself," said Emmeline.
"For that long?" I asked.
"An invisibility cloak then," she said. "Or some sort of family heirloom that does the same."
The footprints stayed there, huddled close to the wall where an empty chair sat. Just moments later, shades of Harry and Hestia entered into the room, but the presence stayed there, unmoving, except for the occasional shifting of feet.
"Invisibility and silencing charms," concluded Emmeline. "Uh, twist your wrist a little. Clockwise. Usually that's the standard for fast-forwarding in temporal charms."
I didn't ask her how she knew that, but she was right, which was awesome because the charm was incredibly taxing. Even for me, and that's saying something. The after-images sped up, and then Emmeline's form entered, but those sets of footprints stayed exactly where they were, at the chair. As things began to get heated up, the footsteps started shifting randomly, denoting anxiousness or perhaps, indigestion. Or maybe both, given the kind of sexual energy I must have been emanating all that while. And then —
They stopped moving. Altogether.
Minutes passed by.
And so did hours.
But the footsteps remained exactly where they were.
Sometime post midnight, when both me and Emmeline were sound asleep, the footsteps came active again. They sauntered across the room, no doubt checking on our sleeping forms, lingered around the table for a moment, before quickly exiting out of the door.
"What a bitch!" Emmeline remarked. "She could've just walked out of the door, and neither of us could've noticed. She could've used this against us, and neither of us would be any wiser. But she just had to drink your cum. She wants us to know that she was there, that she saw everything, and oh yeah, that she loved the taste of your cum."
"Why do you sound more annoyed at the last bit?"
Her left eye twitched. "Why shouldn't I? It belongs to me."
I rolled my eyes. "Priorities, Emmeline. And she didn't quite get away as you think."
I approached the chair, and there it was, a tiny piece of magical residue in the form of human hair.
"No such thing as a perfect crime after all."
Emmeline's eyes widened to saucers. "We can use that. I know a tracking spell that can lead us to the perpetrator."
"Let me guess," I said, grinning. "Avenseguim?"
Emmeline stiffened. "I have to ask, were you a Senior Auror in the future, Harry Potter? Those spells are highly classified as per Ministry law."
"Can you cast it or not?"
"I… can," she admitted. "But only because I'm the Head Obliviator and that spell tells us if some muggle was around."
"Good, in that case, you and Hestia can go locate the source of this hair after breakfast, while I get on with my meeting with lady Greengrass."
"And if she's the one that did it?"
"In that case, both of you need to come after me as quickly as possible. Who knows what that woman might want to do with little old me?"
She rolled her eyes.
Emmeline conjured a vial and stored the hair inside. Both of us left for breakfast, where we were joined by Hestia. I quickly filled her on everything, thanks to an obscuring ward that Emmeline cast around us. Hestia kept giving looks at her mentor who just kept oscillating between embarrassment and annoyance.
"The Lady did show interest in him," said Hestia. "I think it's her."
Emmeline crossed her arms. "She might be. Anastasia is one of the most level-headed women I've come across, but she's got Selwyn blood in her. The lot are psychopaths, they are."
"We'll find out soon enough," Hestia agreed.
I frowned. "And now she thinks she has something to hold over me. Enough that she doesn't even care that I know she was here."
"Maybe she just wants a chance to jump your cock?" offered Hestia.
"If only it were that simple," I murmured. "Luckily, I have a meeting with her right after breakfast."
"Oh, goody! What are you going to do, ask her? Apologies, Lady Greengrass, did you perchance invite yourself to my room, eavesdrop on my personal business and drink my cum off from the glass?"
I laughed at her sass. "It's a good place to start."
Emmeline rolled her eyes at our conversation and said something along the lines of 'doomed'.
We reached the dinner hall, and found Anastasia present there, clothed in flowing robes of dainty white that emphasised her long legs and her buxom figure. Her demeanour gave nothing away, and instead, she confirmed if we were still having our meeting post breakfast. She apologised for her husband's absence, claiming that he was away on certain unavoidable business, and would not be returning before the next morning.
Not really a surprise, because I intended things to go that way. And if things had gone according to plan, and Anastasia really was the one hiding in my room, it was about to turn out into a most illuminating conversation.
Daphne too, was present in the dining hall, her face hovering over her bowl, as she focussed on stirring her soup with a spoon and absolutely ignoring everyone else, especially me, but I was already somewhat used to the girl's eccentricities to be surprised anymore. Astoria was still missing, and I had begun to think she was either not present in the manse, or simply forbidden from appearing in front of him.
"Guess I should contact my manager at Gringotts to update my will," joked Emmeline. "Who knows what Gideon will do if he finds out."
Something about the way Hestia looked at her told me that the Obliviator was only half-joking.
"In that case," I assured her. "It's in your best interests to ensure that my plans go smoothly ahead."
"I'd have agreed, if someone would've actually told me what you're up to," snarked Emmeline.
"Perhaps Hestia can get you up to snuff while I'm gone for my meeting?"
"Harry," said Hestia, lowering her voice down to a whisper. "Is this really a good idea? I ought to be with you."
"You don't," I told her. "I'm supposed to meet with the Lady in private."
"Who's preparing to blackmail you for good."
"We don't know that for sure."
"Yes, and by the time you find out, it'll be too late," Hestia snapped.
I gave her a level look. "Do we really need to talk about my ability to fight again?"
That shut her up.
"Go with Emmeline," I told her. "Find out who was the culprit. If it really is her, then you two will probably be following me soon."
I held out a small vial, containing a few of my hairs and pushed it into Emmeline's hand. "For insurance."
Hestia gave us confused looks.
"She'll explain later," I told her and left.
Unsurprisingly perhaps, Lady Greengrass led me away from the main manor to the plantations on the southern end. As we walked, I could feel subtle webs of magic woven throughout the path along the road. With every step we took, we easily crossed ten feet or so. Within the next couple of minutes, we were so far away that the closest person was probably a mile away.
"Where are we going?" I asked her.
She gave me an oblique look. "Somewhere we can talk in private."
"Forgive me," I said, acting oblivious. "I'm unsure why a casual discussion would need us to come this far."
Anastasia gave me a quizzical smile. "I'm sure you have some idea, Mr. Potter. Now, please follow me."
She led me to a large, old wooden house, a dark and brooding structure, even on a sunny day. There was little light inside, just a few subtle spots, here and there, scattered throughout the place. I started to turn to ask her what we were doing there, but she held the door handle tight and shut it carefully, and a few wards got erected right away.
Basically, the sort of place to kill and dispose of a body, or to conduct a deal without anyone eavesdropping.
Perhaps I had been right about Anastasia Greengrass? Maybe she had been present in the room and heard everything, including my talks with Hestia. But even so, just one question remained. Not why she drank my cum — that was obvious. Not even someone like Emmeline Vance or Amelia Bones, both having extreme Occlumency defences, could resist my Devil's Charm.
No, the correct question was —
Why didn't I get a World anchor from her?
The rules were simple. Every time I emptied myself into someone, whatever hole it might be, that triggered a reaction that turned the person into my World Anchor. By all logic, she should've gotten added to my list.
And yet, nothing as such had happened.
But how?
Was it because it wasn't from the source? Maybe keeping it in the glass for those hours had decreased its potency to create world anchors somehow?
So many questions. So little time.
"Feels a little too private for a casual discussion, Lady Greengrass."
"Desperate situations call for desperate measures," said the woman. "And you've made me… very desperate, I'm afraid."
"I don't—"
"Stop lying to me," barked the woman, sliding her wand out of her robes. I tensed slightly, but my wand stayed within my arm holster. It was a deception. If she so much as twitched her wand towards me, I'd silence, stun and bind her, leaving her hanging upside down from the ceiling before she finished the incantation.
Having a 91% affinity in Charms did that to you.
Instead, all she did was cast several imperturbation spells at the walls. If she saw my sudden stiffening of posture, she didn't acknowledge it. Once she was finished, she focussed on me again, though this time, her gaze was thoughtful and speculative.
"When you first arrived, I thought you were a fool, Harry Potter, for agreeing to my husband's deal. Whatever it is you want Phyllida for, you didn't even bargain very much with my husband. Believe me, he was willing to bargain for a lot more, just to get you to accept that deal."
Her voice was tightly controlled, deliberately caustic, projecting superiority with every uttered syllable. Did they teach pureblood children to do that?
"Oh?" I said, in a disinterested tone. "I suppose your husband is an aggressive player then. He convinced me to get on ahead with just that."
"And you seem to play a rather relaxed game," she shot back. "One might think… you're not even trying to win."
She was right.
"Perhaps," I said, conjuring a smaller variation of Albus Dumbledore's throne-like chair placed in the Great Hall, and sat upon it, crossing my legs.
It made her smile.
"I received a Floo-call from my husband last night, sometime after dinner. He's currently… held in custody at the DMLE. He said that Auror Robards found some irregularities in his documents and took him in for interrogation over financial fraud. He claimed that they even got Gideon's name involved in some of those cases, and detained him as well."
I tried to look sympathetic. "That's… unfortunate. I imagine our deal will be put on hold until things are better."
Anastasia pretended to not hear me. "He told me that the only thing that can protect him from being shoved in DMLE custody right now, is if you sign the papers, authenticating your purchase of Phyllida Greenhouses, and backdate it by two months as we discussed the other day. His lawyers have been able to put a stay order on the interrogation for twenty-four hours, and he needs the purchase agreement submitted by then, or else…"
She met my gaze. "Or else, he will be accused of financial fraud and detained until a proper DMLE trial."
She held up a stack of papers, and dropped them on the table beside us.
"A fully drafted copy of the agreement papers. Broderick asked me to ensure that you signed the papers."
"Ensure…" I repeated, tasting the word. "That's a rather heavy term, Lady Greengrass. Is that what you brought me here, far from the mansion, to coerce me into signing those papers?"
She struggled to keep the grimace from her face. Whatever her plans were to confront me, my unnerving directness had her on her heels. Anastasia frowned and gathered herself, studying me as she said after a brief moment. "That is the plan, yes."
I studied the walls with interest, getting a feel of them using my improved ability at magical sensing. None of the spells were terribly complex, or powerful. There was a reflection ward placed upon the walls just in case I attempted blunt force, but the ceiling was bereft of it.
"Well," I said at last. "That's unfortunate."
"Is it?"
"Quite," I said, still sitting down on the chair. "I admit I was a little hesitant about your husband's terms the other day, but his offer was still quite alluring. But now… knowing he's being tried for financial fraud… No offence, Lady Greengrass, but I'm not sure why I should involve myself in this matter and malign my own reputation."
Her piercing eyes remained on me. "You're telling me you had nothing to do with the sudden prosecution?"
I snorted dismissively. "Are you accusing me of having the DMLE on my leash, Lady Greengrass?"
Anastasia did not look disconcerted, even slightly. "Someone dropped a bunch of papers on Madam Bones's desk. Bones ordered Auror Robards to investigate my husband, an auror that's infamous for being a stick in the mud. And Lucius is conveniently away. And you are conveniently available to bail my husband out, only to refuse at the last moment."
A flicker of amusement slipped through my features. "That's highly serendipitous. And as flattering as that is, I think you're overestimating me, Lady Greengrass. I'm just a third-year passout, after all."
Her eyes narrowed. "You think this is funny, do you? If I can see this, so can my husband. Even if you refuse to sign the papers right now, even if my husband gets prison time, he'll be back the moment Lucius Malfoy returns. And then, he'll find out what you've done, and there'll be hell to pay."
I couldn't help but snort again. "Really, you know the exact circumstances behind your husband's interrogation? It's true that I want Phyllida, and I sent Greengrass Exports a purchase offer, but they turned me down. I went to Gideon Abbott and he got me a way in. Let me remind you, it was your husband that approached me, not the other way around. And just because I don't want to get tangled with the DMLE, I'm suddenly the bad guy?"
She stared at me. Hard.
I maintained an indifferent gaze.
Finally, after what seemed like several seconds, she slumped in acquiescence. "Fine." The word came out from gritted teeth before she smoothed her expression out. Taking another moment to compose herself, she said. "You're right. Of course. There is no proof. But if you do not sign this, then my husband will go to prison, and you'll lose your chance at getting Phyllida Greenhouses for good."
"As I said. Unfortunate."
She did not retort, and I wondered if I had it wrong. Was it really Anastasia who had been in my room? No, she just said that Broderick had Floo'd her after dinner. That wouldn't be possible if she had been stuck in my room until after late midnight. But if not, then who?
And how did this mysterious person avoid becoming my World Anchor?
Giving up on her, I stood up, when she spoke again. "I propose a deal, Harry Potter."
That stopped me short. "What have you got?"
"A lot of things," she said. "Phyllida Greenhouses, say, for a longer term? Add to that my own services as a herbologist and potioneer. Isn't that what you were angling after, given how you had Miss Jones run me through the preamble yesterday?"
I said nothing.
She took a step forward.
"My husband… isn't a kind man, Mr. Potter. If I cannot get this done, he will… take it out on me, and Daphne. Astoria is betrothed to Draco Malfoy, which renders her untouchable. But Daphne… Daphne's disposition makes her a bad option for marriage, and my husband understands nothing except profit."
She was spinning a fine yarn, but all I heard were empty words. Then again, the greatest lies were often ones that held a sliver of falsehood in an ocean of truth.
"If it's profit he craves, surely this is a bad deal for him. It doesn't take a genius to know that your skill at herbology and potions play a big part behind Broderick's success. So, why would he be interested in sharing his golden goose? And the longer I have Phyllida, the longer it hurts him."
She tensed, her brow creasing in a furrow. "He will understand, if you were, to let's say, make things more palatable."
"Like?"
"Like… if you were to make things between House Potter and House Greengrass a bit more… firm. A treaty of mutual support, perhaps? We could even bind things together, through marriage to my eldest. Regardless of her disposition, Daphne is full of talents. Plus, Greengrass Exports has great reaches all over the continent. It could be a great asset for someone looking to expand by, say, GGB Inc. Isn't that your latest enterprise, alongside Moonforge?"
My eyes pierced hers. "How are you… aware of that?"
"I have my sources," she said. This was a calculated move on her part. She was beginning to show her cards, expecting me to reveal mine in return. GGB Inc. was my newest venture through which I was dealing with potential buyers for the basilisk carcass. It was something no one outside me, Hermione, Hestia and by extension, Albus Dumbledore knew about.
Very well, two could play this game.
"I… see," I said, tapping my fingers along the arm of the conjured chair. "I'm glad that you keep up with the news. Why, one would think that your talents are almost… wasted. Someone of your skill would, perhaps, believe that the role of Director of Greengrass Exports be more suited to her?"
She raised an eyebrow. I had posed it as a question, but it wasn't.
"Makes me wonder exactly why Anastasia Selwyn is so willing to play the role of a glorified slave, while her husband reaps the profits."
She crossed her arms. "It comes with being a wife, Mr. Potter. It is my duty to ensure his prosperity."
"And here I thought you were afraid of him torturing you."
"Every relationship has its problems, Mr. Potter. I'm certain your own parents would've had their fair share, had they managed to live longer." She took a deep breath, reigning in her anger. "We digress. I've given you a superior offer, one that will make this your worthwhile. Now, do we have a deal?"
"A superior offer? I think not," I told her without the slightest inflection. "Better than the previous offer perhaps, but not enough for me to deal with the DMLE. I remember Auror Robards. After that fiasco with Draco Malfoy, he'll probably launch an investigation on me if my name shows up on his radar."
"But… but you…." She stammered. "I told you about how my husband is, Mr. Potter. I thought, as a man of morals, of vision, you would —"
"Fall for your excuses?" I asked. "You spin a nice little tale, but I'm not a fool. This isn't you acting out of desperation. No, you took this path because that is exactly what your husband wants you to do. You thought that I'd be so horrified with the idea of him torturing the two of you, that I'd willingly accept your offer, and he'd get a free insight into my business. And all it would cost him would be handing Phyllida to me for five years."
"I… That isn't…"
"You thought you had me figured out, didn't you? That you'd play the damsel in distress card, and bind your eldest daughter to House Potter, so that you could assimilate my family fortune later?"
Her wand appeared in her hand. "I need you to sign the papers, Mr. Potter."
Was she thinking she could threaten me magically? The more this conversation was unfolding, the more I was growing confident that Anastasia wasn't our infiltrator in a magical cloak.
"Or what? Are you really threatening me, Lady Greengrass? Knowing that I have witnesses in the form of the Head Obliviator who's seen me walking away with you? Disregarding that, do you really think you can beat me in a fight?"
"You are incredibly arrogant for someone supposedly humble, Mr. Potter."
"And you're too quick to underestimate someone for one so supposedly observant, Lady Greengrass."
"Why are you doing this?" She demanded. "If my husband goes to prison, Phyllida will no longer be yours. That property will be tied up in litigation while the case runs in the Wizengamot. Sooner or later, my husband shall be released on anticipatory bail and then he'll turn the full resources of House Greengrass, as well as Lucius Malfoy's connections against you. This will not end well, Harry Potter. You can mark my words."
"Oh?"
"Yes," she went on. "You might've forgotten this, but I'm Anastasia Selwyn. Daughter of Eustace Selwyn. My eldest is one of the many heiresses in line for the Selwyn throne, whose wealth eclipses yours."
"Really?" I drawled. "Is that why you and your husband have spent all those years trying to manipulate Tracey Davis into being your little pawn?"
That, more than anything else, shocked the woman into silence.
"Now then," I said, smiling predatorily. "Why don't you stop this game of chicken, and instead you tell me what you really want to offer, Anastasia."
Notes:
If you want to support me, find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Chapter 98: Chapter 98
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 3 - THE INCUBUS AND NECROMANCER
"Why don't you stop this game of chicken, and instead you tell me what you really want to offer, Anastasia?"
For a second, Anastasia's mind was in shambles, trying to comprehend the situation she was in. She had always known that Harry Potter was a wildcard, with strong influence and connections to Albus Dumbledore. Doubly so, given with his erratic movements this summer. She had been strongly against bringing Potter into this mess, but for Broderick, Gideon's words were gospel. And the sheer idea of tying her Daphne with him — it was simply inconceivable. Why would Potter, notorious for his anti-Slytherin stance, even desire to marry Daphne in the first place? Just to get his hands on a greenhouse for an investment he hadn't even cared for before this summer?
It made no sense.
She knew that striking a deal with Potter in Lucius's absence was bad news. And that Auror Robards sniffing around Greengrass Exports at this exact moment, and Potter's sudden interest in Phyllida — there were simply too many events tied together to even consider it all serendipitous. Someone was playing the strings from the shadows, and Broderick kept pointing out that Potter wasn't that person. Even Gideon agreed with that.
So why did it feel probable the more she dwelled on it?
Broderick wouldn't listen to her suggestions, because business was the 'man's job', and if she tried to exert her opinion, he'd beat her. The first few times he did that, she almost wanted to kill herself. That she didn't do so was for two reasons — firstly, because there'd be no one to take care of her Daphne. And the second, because part of her, a dark, suppressed part of her, actually loved it. To be hit, to be humiliated, to be strung upside down and fucked like a bitch like….
She closed her eyes. Why was she remembering all of that? Ever since Potter had come to visit Greengrass manor, she had been feeling antsy. Not just for sex, but for its darker aspects that she craved. The kind her husband meted out to her when he was truly enraged.
A part that Anastasia never let anyone know existed.
"I —" she began, but Potter cut her off.
"Why don't you sit down, Lady Greengrass?" offered Harry Potter. "I'm sure you're already stressed out. There is no need to strain your legs any more than needed."
He waved his wand lazily, as the wooden floor sprouted out a rather ornate chair for her to sit. After a momentary hesitation, Anastasia touched the chair, feeling its solid constitution. Transfiguration of this quality was more than enough to gain an Outstanding in one's OWLs, and Harry Potter was about to start his fourth year. Nothing about him made sense.
"Unless, of course, you want to return to the mansion?" He asked idly, taunting her. "Lady Vance wanted to talk to me a little more about the circumstances at Hogwarts. I promised her a meeting today."
Anastasia clenched her teeth. Emmeline Vance was another issue she didn't want in this deal. The Head Obliviator was a law-abiding employee of the Ministry, even though she did her best to mostly turn a blind eye towards her husband's activities. It helped that unlike Broderick, Gideon was smart enough to avoid anything wildly illegal, and instead, used legal loopholes to garner wealth. Emmeline would not stand her resorting to trying to force Potter, assuming she could even do such a thing.
Duelling was never her strong suit.
No, she needed to convince Harry Potter. He wanted Phyllida, and wanted it enough to go through a subpar deal with her husband. There was a method to his madness and she just needed to figure out what it was.
"As interesting as this discussion was," said Harry Potter, standing up. "Perhaps we should return to the manor? It's unfortunate that I couldn't have Phyllida. The least I can do is not waste any further time. Unless…." He leered at her. "There is actually something worthwhile that you can offer me?"
Barely holding back her annoyance as she rubbed her eye with one hand and strummed her fingers on the tabletop next to them. No matter how bad her apprehension was, it melted against the utter fear she felt sitting in front of Potter right now. She had tried playing the concerned Samaritan card, and upon failing, tried pleading to his Gryffindorish tendencies. Her attempt at intimidation was half-arsed, not that it would've worked against him anyway. Despite his average scores in school, just standing next to him in person was enough to reveal that Potter had a ton of raw power in him. Seeing him perform those feats of silent conjuration only cemented that suspicion that there was more to him than met the eye. She had cunningly tried offering her own services, and suggested a potential betrothal with Daphne to add support to her offer.
Potter had torn through her tactics like a hot knife through butter, and drove her to the point of desperation. If he didn't sign the agreement, if he didn't purchase Phyllida and agreed to backdate it, Broderick would face prison-time. And knowing Robards and Amelia Bones, they'd use the upcoming Quidditch World Cup as an excuse to delay a trial, and keep him locked up for long.
The Selwyn in her viewed these ramifications with a mix of approval and alarm, knowing a sneak tactic when she saw one, even if there was no way for her to prove it. It didn't take an expert to sense her frustration, and Harry Potter was clearly enjoying it.
There was still a final option left. A distasteful one, she thought forlornly. One that every pureblood woman was taught to wield from a young age. Their body. Their skin. Their sex. Men of power, men of position, men of wealth — it didn't matter who they were or what they boasted, they always, always fell before this weapon.
Her scowl vanishing from her face, Anastasia considered her options. Broderick had commanded her to get Potter to sign the agreement at any cost. And Potter, despite his precociousness, was a healthy and no doubt virile young man, so there was no reason why a flash of a smile and a careless lean to display a bit of skin shouldn't garner a reaction from him.
"You have me stuck at a quandary, Mr. Potter," she said. "I offered all I could, but you are not happy. But I need the signature."
"Oh, I know that."
Maybe she had simply been paranoid, or acting out of foresight, but she had busted out her favourite white sundress, one that flattered her body, showcasing her slim waist, her juicy arse, and her massive firm tits, while still remaining tasteful. She only displayed a hint of her sizable cleavage, and the way it hugged her firm shapely ass remained classy while making the sight mesmerising. She had on her favourite black high heels, and the rest of her legs up to just above her knees were left bare. She had incredible legs, and it was only when she was looking to seal the deal that she really showcased them, her gams taut and firm and smooth. Even non-leg men couldn't stop staring at them when put on display like this. Plus, she had on her sexiest underwear, an expensive matching white lace number, the bra struggling to contain her heavy, fleshy breasts, and a thong so skimpy it left nothing to the imagination. She knew she was good looking, and she knew she had an incredible body. She just didn't expect to use it to seduce a young man her daughter's age.
She stood up, and noted his gaze still for a moment on her long legs, occasionally slipping towards her bust, visible through her enticing cleavage. She walked up to his chair, a deliberate, excessive sway on her hips. She made sure to accidentally rub her sides to her body as she stood next to him, knowing it would halfway turn his brains to mush.
"So, Harry," she said, adding a small purr to her voice, as she put one hand on his shoulder, feeling his strong shoulders. "May I call you Harry?"
He smiled. Lazily. "Sure. You can call me anything you want."
Anastasia was slightly perturbed at finding him calm, a bit too calm for his tastes. Still, it was too early to tell. The stories depicted the boy-Who-Lived as an introverted teenager that shied away from the pleasures of the female flesh. Even the only female that he was always seen with was likely treated like a sister. Meeting Hestia Jones had corrected that opinion, but still, how much trouble could a boy not even in his twenties cause?
"I'm really stuck in a dilemma, Harry," she said in a husky tone, deliberately putting her chest out, creating a deep view of her cleavage as she lowered her face towards him. "Surely there is some way in which we can come to an agreement?"
His eyes flickered to her cleavage and stayed there for two long seconds, before flickering back to her eyes. Anastasia smiled, and felt a pang of disappointment. Harry Potter had proven himself one cool customer from the very beginning, so seeing him turn to putty with just this was such a letdown.
"I don't know, Anastasia," he said, smiling, his left hand slowly caressing her left arm, before climbing up with featherlight touches.
She shivered at his touch, while also gritting her teeth at his presumption, and gave a small shake to her shoulder, hoping he'd pull his hand away at her subtle rebuke, but he kept his hand moving despite it.
"I mean," said Potter. "You are asking me to take on some serious trouble for paltry benefits."
And just like that, her earlier panic was back in full force. The situation was worse than she assumed. Potter had just called her offer 'petty benefits', shafting away all her illusions about this being an easy win. If she wanted those signatures, she'd have to up her game, regardless of the consequences. Broderick wasn't someone that liked hearing 'no', and regardless of her feelings, she knew that their marriage was little more than a business arrangement, a profit and loss equation for her husband. So long as she produced profits, she was of value. The moment she wasn't, she'd be discarded.
Just like her daughter.
She gazed at his supremely confident face, and wondered how badly she had misjudged the situation. He knew that she was trapped, and knew that she had nothing to sway him with. And the only thing that he showed remote interest in was…
"Perhaps…." she said, swallowing. "Perhaps we can come to a different… arrangement? Something… personal?"
"Oh?" He asked, playing along, wolf to her rabbit. "And what would that be?"
"Something…" she licked her lips, and put her other hand on his other shoulder. "Something shared between two people that like each other?"
Harry Potter stood up, his hand leaving her left arm and sliding down until it fell to her waist. Anastasia felt his breath on her face as he stood inches away from her.
"And who would those two people be?"
She looked at his lips, and slightly parted her own, wondering for a moment just how aggressive he would be if she put her lips over them. And even when she managed to keep her gaze away, it fell on his crotch instead, enchanted by the sheer size of the tent building up there. His fingers on her waist left an electrifying touch, and Anatasia realised that her nipples had gone noticeably stiff, and her pussy wet.
Very wet.
What the fuck?
No. No! No! This didn't mean anything! It didn't mean she wanted it, because honestly, she didn't. Did he notice? Was that why he was so confident and full of swagger? Because her nipples were hard? Maybe they had been like that before. No… they weren't. They only became stiff after he stood up all close to her, and his fingers touched her skin. But that didn't mean anything! It was… it was…. Okay, it was like this. It was like he — a piece of chiselled muscle and packing a lot of magical power, had just given her a mental dance the likes of which she hadn't experienced in quite some time, almost like waving a stiff cocktail in front of a recovering alcoholic. She wanted the feeling the alcohol would give her… but she didn't want it from this glass. She was a married woman, and her husband… her husband —
Her husband wanted her to get Potter to sign the agreement. No matter the cost.
No matter the cost.
"If you think that showing a little skin, and waving those melons in front of my face, will get me to sign those papers…" said Harry. "Then you are gravely mistaken. I'm not that sex starved to sign just to clap those cheeks."
"Clap those cheeks?" She asked, baffled and confused at the statement, even in the face of the madness of this conversation. She wasn't naive to the world… but that was a new one for her. Her incredulousness only made him smile.
"I could've said something about feasting on that cake…" he said with a laugh. "But I won't."
"And…. why?"
"Because…" he whispered in her ear, coming incredibly close to her, enough to make her nipples now hard enough to cut through glass. "Because I'm not stupid enough to let you charge me for Line Theft."
And with that, he stepped away.
Or at least, tried to.
Acting out of instinct, Anastasia moved forward, and grabbed his hands, noting the surprise in his eyes. She placed both hands back on her waist, and put her own around his neck.
"Perhaps… I can persuade you, Mr. Potter? We can be useful to each other in various ways."
His fingers danced across her skin, crawling all the way up her stomach, keeping a spidery touch as they crossed over her breasts, all the way up her chin to her lips. Her mouth opened without a conscious thought, and his finger slipped inside. Her lips clamped around it. A wave of anticipation went through her body as her tongue touched him. Something in her mind clicked, and she came to a decision. Slipping her hand down to his crotch, she widened her eyes as she felt its size. A strange enthusiasm rose in her, causing her hands to tremble.
"How?" he asked.
Her response to that was to give up her attempts to control her shallow breathing, as an arousal unlike anything she had ever felt engulfed her mind, somehow born from the utter loss of control. She leaned forward and captured his lips, his tongue assaulting her mouth instantly, exploring her flesh with great fervour. She pulled back, her tongue lingering on her lips in disbelief. It had been a long time since someone had kissed her like that, and even the best ones in her admittedly limited experience was far, far eclipsed compared to the one she just received, filling her with a pleasure she never felt before.
Anastasia hadn't had sex half as good as that kiss.
"I'm a woman full of talents, Harry," she purred. "If you were to sign this deal, then you get to have me working for you. Perhaps, we can share a lot of… intimate moments together? Your secretary is pretty, but she is eclipsed by the pleasures this adult body can give you."
He laughed. "Moments ago, you were proposing your daughter's hand in marriage, and now you want to sleep with me?"
A rush of bullheaded anger rose through her. This… this wasn't about signing those papers any longer. It was a battle of wills, a competition to see who'd give up first. And Anastasia was a petty bitch. Everything so far had gone Potter's way… and not even the offer of sex was enough incentive for him to give in. It didn't help that he was just that good at it. How? She didn't know, but her instincts screamed that sex with this hunk would be an unforgettable experience that she would revisit again and again for the rest of her life. But did that mean she'd have to give up? He needed to learn a little humility, and she'd deny him victory even at the cost of her own joy.
Then again, maybe this was her fate.
She was too beautiful to not get laid, but for a woman of such intense sexiness, she got far less than she deserved. Broderick had done the necessary and helped her pop out Daphne and Astoria, and while they did enjoy occasional sex, it was nothing mind-blowing. A nice pressure relief perhaps, but not the power-fucking she expected, making her scream in rapturous pleasure, reaching crescendoes that would send her to blissful oblivion.
Except for when he beat her.
"I'm curious," said Harry Potter. "You're a smart, independent, talented woman, Anastasia. A free thinker. Anyone with eyes can tell that you're the brains behind Broderick's success. Let's be honest, the only reason Greengrass Exports is flourishing isn't because of your husband's business decisions, but because you have maintained its quality at top-notch levels. Isn't that right?"
"And… and what of it?"
"Just makes me wonder, if it's because of the nature of your marriage contract, or is it because you actually love to play the role of the housewife, the doting submissive wife who does everything to please her man, ironically of course. A woman that greets her man at the door with a kiss on the cheek, dinner on the table, and a glass of firewhiskey for him to drink. A woman who makes sure her man's belly is full, his muscles relaxed, and his balls empty. A woman who slips off her clothing, exposing the filthy lingerie underneath. A woman who makes sure her man spends his evenings in the bedroom with her and offers up her body and all of her holes for his pleasure. A woman who puts her man's pleasure above hers, and makes sure his big cock is taken care of, and she can only thank him for the many orgasms she has in the process. A woman… who wouldn't think twice before jumping on my cock, if it means me signing this agreement and pleasing her husband."
He winked. "Is that the sort of woman you are?"
Anastasia swallowed. This man… he wasn't normal. He was something else. Something about his words hypnotised her. Made her feel like she was standing before him, naked, and he was able to see through her.
"What… what if I am?"
He smiled. It was a cruel thing. "You want me to sign those documents. I will do it. I'll take up on your offer. With just one condition."
She gasped. "And what is that?"
"If you do this, if you give your body to me, it will be for good. Your husband cannot have it. You will be mine."
"But that's —"
He didn't let her finish. "I'll stick to the original contract even. Phyllida becomes mine for a single year, only I command your services during that time. You shall swear to never spy on me, or never reveal anything you learn at my place to anyone without my permission. And during this one year, you stay mine. Broderick can have my sloppy seconds after that."
No! Anastasia thought, the fire still burning within her. This was the best offer she'd get. Potter was right. Handing Phyllida over for five years would cripple her husband's wealth by a significant margin. Compared to that, a single year, with her services — it was the perfect deal. The only complication was —
"Now, I'm not the type of guy to force a woman into something she doesn't want to. But, I need to show you something so you can truly make an informed decision." He said confidently, looking down at her. With that, Anastasia heard the sound of a zipper being pulled down.
She tried pulling back, but she was unable to look away. Like someone removing a snake from a cage, Harry Potter reached down and scooped his beefy cock out of his pants.
"Oh my!" Anastasia gasped, his cock looking even bigger than her previous glimpse. She didn't even realise it as she slowly sunk down to her knees, his beast of a cock was now inches from her face. Her eyes crossed as she gazed down the length of it, studying every nook and crevice. It was smooth, but there were some lines and marks, showing it had gone through some real battles. It was clear this cock had not gone unused, not that she had any doubts. This cock had seen a lot of action. This perfect fucking cock... pulsing with blood, with swollen veins and extremely large, round balls.
This was so wrong.
Anastasia was silent, and Potter watched how awed she was by being in such close proximity with his enormous cock. She chewed on her lower lip, the lust clear in her expressive eyes. Her nipples were throbbing underneath her top, and as she gasped a few panicked breaths, her breasts were being pushed out, bursting to escape her tight dress, eager to be exposed to the scheming bastard. He knew she was an enlightened, married woman, but she had been stripped of that. All she was now was a drooling, submissive size-queen bending to the will of a strong man.
"Look at it, bitch!" He growled, not hiding behind his stoic veneer. He was cold and calculating, putting her in her place. "Study it. Learn every nook and cranny of it, because you will be getting to know every inch of it very well." Anastasia didn't even notice or object to how casually he used the word bitch around her. Instead, all she felt were her nipples throbbing at being in proximity to that cock.
It was inevitable that his cock would contact her young hot body in some way, and that sent a chill through her. A chill that made her pussy very wet.
"He shouldn't have left you to me, you know that," Potter started. "What kind of man is that, to leave his lovely wife at the mercy of another man? Get the signatures no matter what — that's what he told you, didn't he? Is that why you dressed like that?"
His smile widened. "Just what kind of man just gives up his wife like that? What kind of man leaves his wife on her own, especially to an asshole like me? Leaves her to the wolves to save his own arse? A strong woman... an independent woman would not take that lying down. A real adult woman would not let her husband get away with that bullshit. A good, loyal wife would make her man pay for selling her out so callously."
Anastasia stared up at him, the young man she despised, but at that moment, it wasn't him she was furious with. It was Broderick. Broderick let him get to her. Broderick left her to this fate. There she was, about to lose her honour; there she was, about to bend backwards to accommodate that thick cock into her folds — all because Broderick did not want to take losses. Even though she was the type of woman who could normally care for herself, she had never felt more like a damsel in distress as she did in this moment, and her husband didn't care. He wasn't beating at the door, getting her out of this mess. He was probably still sitting with his attorneys, and the only thing about her in his mind was probably irritation — irritation at taking so long to get those damn signatures, uncaring that he was about to hand over his wife to another man his daughter's age without a fight. Potter was right. What kind of husband does that? That kind of act cannot go unpunished. She would have to make him regret it.
And she knew, deep down, she was about to surrender herself to this man. Oh, she would surrender it to him. At this point, he had SO earned it.
"You can really make him pay. And you know how to make him pay. You know what to do. You know what you want to do. You want it. I want it. And clearly, Broderick is willing to let you do it. So I ask you, what's stopping you?" Potter asked, his voice once again, inflaming the embers in her head like a maestro.
"I'm married." Anastasia whispered, fingers toying with her ring, her vows preventing her from fully giving in yet. "I vowed to keep myself for him, only."
"And he vowed to protect you. Protect you from things like this. And yet, here you are, on his orders, seducing a young man your daughter's age," spat Potter. "If he's willing to throw away his vows, why can't you do the same? Are you some dumb, pushover of a wife who lets her husband get away with whatever he likes? You knew that this deal was fishy! You knew that the vultures were circling, that my entrance into your life wasn't on some cosmic whim, but a proper, planned set up. You probably advised Broderick about this deal, didn't you? But did he listen? No."
Anastasia looked at him with her big eyes, emotional, not sure what to do. He had effectively and succinctly torn apart her marriage, the thing she drew her strength from. Broderick, the man she had vowed to love, despite all his shortcomings, had inadvertently placed her right there — sitting with Potter's giant dick hovering inches away from her face. There were so many swirling emotions. Swirling desires. She couldn't decide what to do. Should she run away, or should she suck it down to the root? If only she had someone to help her out. To ask what she should do. To guide her, guide her scattered mind. She felt so fraught. So beaten down.
"I know what you should do. I know what you need to do." Potter said, his voice silky smooth, like the devil on her shoulder, corrupting her.
"You… you do?" She gasped, her eyes no longer on him. No, her eyes were transfixed by the giant unit in front of her. It couldn't be emphasised enough how hypnotising the massive cock was to her young eyes. She couldn't pull her gaze away. The swollen organ, its veins and ridges, the throbbing tip, the huge balls... every inch of it was just so utterly perfect. For Anastasia, this was a dream cock, attached to a man she couldn't stand. Would that dislike be enough to stop her from succumbing to her obvious lust for the mammoth organ?
"Give up your pretences," said Harry Potter. "You are a Master Potioneer, aren't you? A talented herbologist. But Broderick doesn't wish to acknowledge that, does he? No, oh no, he does know that, and he's afraid of you. He's afraid of what you'd do if you decided to spread your wings and take flight. He's afraid that his golden goose will think for itself, and leave him crawling in the dust. Look what he did to you — living a life in shadow, unable to take the credit to what you deserve. Forcing yourself to be submissive to a husband that's clearly beneath you. And now, that same husband has brought you before another man's knees." He snorted. "You'd probably even suck my cock right now, if that makes me sign those papers. Broderick would be so proud."
Would he? Anastasia wondered. Would he even care? No, all he'd care about would be the signature, and be pissed off that she took this long to get it done.
But I'm a married woman! She told herself. That had to mean something! But her husband... her husband had abandoned her, left her to this fate. Arsehole! What kind of man does that to his wife? Leave her to the whims of a man they both knew was superior to her husband in all ways possible. Leave her fate in the hands of a man that they both knew was a dominator, a real son of a bitch, that was too arrogant to think about anything but his own pleasure, an arsehole who would use his wife like a cheap whore if he got the chance, a man that clearly knew how to fuck a woman and keep her loyal.
"Don't believe me?" Potter asked potter. "All I've got to do is say four words, and you'll realise for yourself that every word I've said is the truth."
"No," she whispered. "No. Please don't say it. Please don't say it."
He smiled. "Suck my cock, bitch."
Notes:
If you want to support me, find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Chapter 99: Chapter 99
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 3 - THE INCUBUS AND NECROMANCER
"Suck my cock, bitch!" Potter ordered, punctuating that last word with feeling.
All of Anastasia's defences shattered at this statement, the only response she could manage was a soft, lusty sigh. Any semblance of the married woman that walked into that room disappeared. Her eyes closed, her plump lips parted, her mouth salivated, and an itch appeared deep in her throat, an itch that would soon need a very thorough scratching. This all happened quickly, because in a matter of moments after Potter gave his stern, unyielding command, she took action.
Her lips curled into a wicked smile, a smile of pure lust. Her eyes flashed, and her tongue wet her lips. She couldn't resist the magnetic pull his massive perfect cock had on her anymore. Her mouth was drooling for him, for his massive, perfect, tasty looking cock and the hunger was too powerful to resist. And Potter watched, supremely smug, as her head moved forward, mouth opening wider. Watched the haughty, talented Lady Greengrass, down on her knees, poised to suck his cock. Her soft lips pressed against the head of his cock, giving it a loving kiss with her soft, plump lips. Her lips began to spread, sliding over the tip of his meaty cock, allowing it entrance into her married mouth. Her warm mouth kept sliding forward, her smooth lips sending jolts of pleasure as the tip of his cock popped into her mouth.
But Anastasia kept going, taking the thick shaft into her mouth. She could only take a few inches more before she paused, finding the mighty weapon too much to take in one go. Her energetic tongue ran across the underside of his shaft, near the tip, wanting to give this young man pleasure despite not being able to overcome the discomfort of so much meat in her mouth. But Potter was not satisfied with this helmet polish. He didn't care about any discomfort she might be feeling. Instead, he brought both of his hands to the back of her head. And like the arrogant, uncaring asshole he was, pulled her face forward, smoothly forcing a good chunk of thick cock down her tight throat. And the worst bit? Anastasia didn't hesitate or fight back as around eight solid inches of meat slid into her gullet. She just took it like the good little bitch she was. He held his cock in place, smirking at her, choking her for a few moments, causing tears to well up in her eyes, letting her savour the thick piece of meat lodged in her throat, letting it marinate in her saliva.
He held himself there, really staking out his dominance by staking his cock in her tight throat, forcing Anastasia to hold his weapon in her mouth despite her discomfort. He held his cock in place, making her take it, making her experience its power first hand. Tears of discomfort slid down her cheeks, but she wasn't fighting back. She was compliant, doing what was asked of her, like she was supposed to serve her husband. Finally, sensing her lack of air, he released his grip on her. She removed her mouth from around him as she panted deeply for air, refilling her lungs. His cock was coated with her spit, drool connecting his pulsing shaft and her open mouth. Her eyes were glassy with lust, and her skin was glowing. He watched her, eager to see her reaction to sucking his mighty cock.
He would not be let down. Whatever role she had taken up, Anastasia would do it perfectly.
An expression of heavy lust crossed her lips as they curled up in a wicked, hungry sneer. Then, eagerly, savagely, she attacked his throbbing cock with her hot, wet, married mouth. She dove forward, mouth wide open, attacking his iron erection. There was no hesitation. No fear. She didn't slow down as she forced herself deeper, taking inch after inch of turgid, beefy cock smoothly into her mouth. The thick meaty weapon grazed across her smooth lips, and the underside slid across her hot, wet, eager tongue, absorbing its addictive flavour. She didn't slow down. She just took that cock into her mouth like a trooper, like the good little slut she was. Her smooth, plump lips formed a tight seal around his thick shaft, and her cheeks hollowed as she began to properly suck the brutal young man's huge cock. She looked up at him, her eyes still watery, seeking his approval.
"I'm impressed, Anastasia," he said with a laugh. "What a good little cock sucker you are! I guess I must thank your husband for you being this cooperative."
She flinched slightly at the mention of her husband. Her guilt should have been enough to stop her, but she was so far gone at this point that nothing could have pulled her mouth from that throbbing cock. This was an experience that she didn't know she craved, but now that it had begun, she was gonna experience it fully. Broderick left her to this fate, so screw him. He was responsible for this, and she would do it. She would give Potter her absolute best.
She would give this handsome, powerful man more than she had ever given her husband, just to make him pay for forcing her like this. She would suck this cunning teen's fat cock harder and better than she would ever do for her husband. She was gonna give this absolute bastard a better sexual experience than she had ever given to her loving hubby. She was gonna show this fucking asshole how much of a whore she could be, just to make her husband pay. And oh, he would pay. She began to bob up and down on Potter's dick, his shaft covered with her saliva. She was sucking his dick like a real slut, her cheeks hollowed, her lips wrapped tightly over the thick cock, sucking it with such ferocity that it was making her massive breasts bounce and jiggle.
Finally, she pulled her wet mouth off of him with a loud pop, gasping for air, her chin covered in her own spit, as was Potter's swollen dick.
"You're cock is so fucking big!" Anastasia gasped, giving the first of what would be many compliments she would soon be giving to the arrogant celebrity.
"You love big cocks, don't you?"
"Mmmmm, I love huge cocks!" She said, the pleasure of vocalising her secret fetish sent a thrill through her voluptuous body.
"You wanted to become my bitch the second you met me, didn't you?"
'Oh fuck, yes!" she exclaimed, kissing the tip, vocalising a belief she wasn't even sure was true, but Merlin, it felt great to say. And he wasn't wrong either. Something about Harry Potter made her loins stir. Just by being in his presence, she felt her juices rush in ways she had almost forgotten. It was like his mere aura caused her body to react, like she knew, by instinct, that this was a man that would give her pleasure like nothing else.
'Go ahead," he said. "Tell me, tell me what you want."
"I want your big dick!" she panted. "It's so thick! So meaty! I bet it gets you all the girls!"
Potter laughed. "You have no idea."
She licked the length of his shaft. "I'm going to suck it, and then I'm going to fuck it. I'm going to drain the cum from your balls. I'm going to fuck you better than I've ever fucked my husband, just to make him regret making me do this."
"That might take a lot of work, bitch. You up for it?"
"Absolutely." She purred, her lips curled in a nasty smile. The slut within her was now fully unleashed.
"You're gonna give me all of your holes?" Potter asked arrogantly.
"Whatever it takes." Anastasia said, more turned on than she had ever been before.
"You're gonna give me that married cunt?"
"Yes, it will be yours." She replied, not flinching at this brute of a man using such a nasty word in front of her.
"You're gonna give me that arse?"
"Yes! I need it in the arse so bad!" She moaned out, vocalising a desire that she had never admitted before. The desire to get her arsehole reamed by a giant, thick cock.
"Take my dick in your hands! Feel it! Squeeze it! Stroke it! Understand its power!" Potter commanded her while indulging his own ego. Her fingers grasped his solid, meaty shaft, and on instinct, she began to stroke it.
"Ah, that's it, bitch. You are so good at this. Now play with my balls." Potter commanded. Anastasia complied quickly, cupping his large, swollen balls in her small hand, playing with them lovingly, letting the flesh of his sack pour through her fingers as she choked on his cock.
He looked down, past the sexy woman inhaling his cock, down to the jiggling tits under her sundress. To the nipples dancing under her top, bursting to be exposed.
"Show them to me," He ordered.
"What?" Anastasia asked as she extricated the cock from the loving confines of her sucking mouth, the cock dripping with her spit.
"Show me your tits, bitch. Show them to me!" Potter demanded impatiently. A bit taken aback by his sudden anger, and not wanting to make him any angrier, she felt she had no choice but to comply.
After all, she was his bitch now.
So, she reached down to the hem of her sundress and began to slowly lift it, ready to reveal her tits to the man that was not her husband. Another step of her slow descent into yielding her body completely to him, any signs of hesitation falling by the wayside. She understood now. He wasn't here for Phyllida. He was here to hunt down and claim her juicy body. But the truth was out there now. Broderick couldn't save her, and when confronted by a sexual hunter like Harry Potter, she simply wasn't strong enough to resist. And as she sat, poised to reveal her massive breasts to this evil piece of shit, ready to eagerly become Potter's bitch, his whore to use, she had shown she was no better than any other slutty girl.
Anastasia struggled to pull her dress over her mountainous peaks. With a firm yank, she pulled the fabric over her breasts, revealing her barely contained boobs, overstuffed into her tiny, lacy white bra, and tossed the dress away completely.
"That's not the bra of a good, married woman." Potter remarked. "That's the type of bra a slut wears." he added with a laugh, looking at the lacy white number, a size too small to illustrate just how big those jugs were. She simply smiled with a combination of sheepishness and lust.
"Now take it off. Show me those ripe tits!"
Reaching between her tits to the clasp, she undid it and the bra cups exploded outward, exposing her great big breasts to Harry Potter for the first time.
Even for a man who had seen as many pairs of big breasts as Potter said, Anastasia's magnificent rack was truly jaw-dropping. They were just huge, amazingly perky and perfectly round. They possessed the ripeness of a teenager's breasts, jutting out and standing proud on her chest, her hard nipples pointing outward. They were just enormous on her slim, luscious frame. The flesh of these massive udders was a smooth, soft white. These breasts looked pure. Unsullied.
That would soon change.
"Stand up," he ordered, and Anastasia was halfway up before she even processed the order.
"Good girl," he said, and a thrill went through her, her smile widening slightly, despite a part of her mind freezing in shock. Never before had someone ordered her so dismissively, and she had never thought she'd feel anything other than a flying rage.
"Now, turn around."
She followed his commands to the letter, and found his hands rushing over her naked skin all the way to her breasts, grabbing them from either side, pressing himself against her. She could feel his hot, wet, beefy cock against her white panties, and wondered how long before that gigantic piece of man-meat would be penetrating her like nothing ever had. A part of her wanted him to stop, but the rest of her was too hypnotised by the feeling his coarse fingers brought about. His lips found purchase in her neck, while his fingers kept massaging her breasts tighter and harder, uncaring of how it felt to her. Like she was less than human, a toy, to be used and thrown away.
And then his right hand went downstairs, and grabbed the thin fabric of her panties, and began pulling it down. Anastasia hissed in pain and pleasure, as Potter grabbed her left arse-cheek and mauled it tightly, one of his fingers slipping into her arse-crack.
"How… how bold of you," she said, shivering. "Touching a lady… over there. You realise the consequences of doing this, right? If Broderick ever found out…"
Potter chortled. "No consequences. Because you are going to keep this a secret between us, won't you?"
"I'm… I'm oath-bound to answer him" she moaned. ", if he asks me directly, and oh! Your cock feels so big."
"Does it?" He asked slyly. "Too bad you won't get to feel it. If you tell your husband…"
"I won't," she promised. "I — I'll take a secrecy oath. Nobody shall know about this, except us. But… but you'll be gentle, right?"
"With your pussy?"
Anastasia nodded.
"No," said Harry Potter. "It's going to get rough."
Another shiver ran down her spine. "W— well… that's fine. I guess."
"Now strip."
Without another word, Anatasia put her hands behind her back, and undid her bra strap, before she bent down, sliding her hands down her sides, taking the straps between her fingers, and slowly, teasingly, pulled them down, right through the confines of her arse crack, till it emerged, the tiny garment slipping down her legs, as she stood up, naked in front of him.
"Now turn around."
Anastasia spun around, facing him, now exposing her naked cunt to his eyes. She was completely bare, save for a slim, sexy, landing strip. Her pussy was perfect, looking small and tight, barely used. But Harry Potter would be using it. His eyes slid up her body, over her taut stomach, past her large breasts to her hungry, waiting eyes.
She wanted him badly.
"Yes, you look perfectly like a whore now," said Potter, crossing his arms across his chest. "Alright then. Put on your clothes. Let's sign this agreement."
Understandably, she was unamused. Her eyes narrowed as she stepped up to him. "If this is your idea of playing some new trick —"
"No tricks," said Potter. "We have a deal, so let's make the oaths first. I signed the agreement, and you can get your husband out of prison."
"But we — I mean —"
"You are mine for an entire year," said Harry Potter in a matter-of-factly tone. "There is no urgency."
Anastasia blinked, fighting a sudden burst of panic. This couldn't be over, not like this. Not after she had just begun to feel this pleasure.
"Just… just like that?" she asked.
"Why yes, of course," said Potter. "Why? Don't you want to get your husband out of DMLE custody?"
"Yes, but —"
"But— what?" He leaned against the wall, languidly grinning at her, unbothered by her annoyance. He let the silence hang for a few moments till she began to speak.
"I ha— have a counter-proposal."
Potter squinted at her, surprised she was still trying, but she was about to really surprise him. "We'll do it, but before that, I — I want to finish what I started."
"...what?" asked Potter, giving her a disbelieving look. "I think I might have misheard you."
"You heard me perfectly, Harry Potter," said Anastasia with as much grace as it was possible for someone in her position. "I want to finish what we just started, and after that, we can take the oaths, and you can sign the papers."
He arched an eyebrow. "Do you mean to say that you're given a clean chit to get your husband out of custody. And yet, you want to delay it because you're horny?"
Her face flushed.
"No deal," said Harry Potter.
"WHAT?" asked Anastasia, utterly perplexed. What madness was this?
"I said, no deal."
"But—"
"You want it bad, don't you?"
She nodded, hungrily eyeing his cock.
"I'll let you have it," he said. "I'll tear you in half with my cock, and make your cum on this weapon. But on one condition. One honest answer for one earth-shattering orgasm. What do you say, deal?"
"I only need one."
"Then you only need to answer one. And you have to swear to give me the truth, and nothing else but the truth."
"Unacceptable! For all I know —"
"If you're fearing I'll ask for your husband's business secrets, or his association with Lucius Malfoy, then you can relax. Every question I have pertains to you and you alone. So tell me, do we have a deal?"
"...Fine," she said, clenching her teeth. "Now can we get start —"
Before she could even finish, Potter flexed, and pulled her up, with Anastasia jumping into his arms, coiling her legs around his waist. He held his cock and guided the swollen head of his mighty dong into her married, willing, waiting, needy pussy.
"Ahhh!" She moaned out, feeling her tight pussy stretch around the meaty invader. She pushed her hand against his chest, as if willing him to take it easy, but Potter was unflinching, forcing half of his weapon inside her tight cunt.
"It's too deep!"
Her world was being changed with every inch of hard cock being forced inside her. She knew it was huge, but it had never felt bigger than it did at this moment, stretching her tight married pussy open, forcing her to open even more, welcome it, stretching her in a manner she never knew was possible, soaking it with her copious juices, lubing it, aiding it in its journey balls deep inside her, her cock wouldn't stop until it was completely inside her, and her pussy would do its damndest to help reach its goal.
As more cock was being forced inside her, Anastasia only now truly understood what she had been missing out on all these years. Feeling this enormous cock inside her, feeling her cunt stretch to take it, she now realised how meagre Broderick's efforts at sex had always been. She thought she would have been content with the type of married sex she had shared with her husband, but Harry Potter, using the top half of his cock, had changed that completely. Having her pussy stretched open, stretched around a powerful cock like Potter's, it just felt right. It felt perfect. It was satisfying a craving she had always felt but could never truly acknowledge.
"Take it, bitch!" Potter grunted, pushing her down, wanting her to take more of his cock inside of her. She twisted and flexed, angling herself to take more of his powerful cock. As copious pussy-juice dripped down his shaft, more of Potter's hard pipe slid inside her. It was almost inhuman, she thought, wondering how her body could take so much cock. She didn't know how it could possibly fit, but it could, and somehow, she just knew she could take more. She could take the whole thing.
Anastasia was beginning to realise that she was built for big cock.
Harry Potter was every bit the uncaring man he had portrayed himself, his brutish arms holding her in place, making her take his hard, throbbing cock, not letting up. Anastasia was doing her best, huffing and puffing, finding room for the mighty weapon. But Potter was pushing her past her limits at an unyielding pace.
Half of his cock went inside... then three quarters. She could take it, and Potter knew that, and she would take it.
"Please..." she whispered as the dick working its way inside of her seemingly could push no farther. "Go slow... please!" she begged innocently. But Potter was not moved by her gentle whisper. He was a cold, cold man. So, gearing up, he pulled down at her roughly, pushing up in the same unyielding manner, forcing the remaining length of his hard cock all the way inside her, up to the balls.
"Oh..." she grunted out as his thick log forced the air from her lungs. Her eyes went wide, and her mouth hung open, silently grunting and screaming as she tried to get used to the hard cock inside of her. Potter ground himself into her, gyrating his dick inside her, her tight cunt squeezing it hard, showing the member how much it loved it.
She threw her head back, coping to the sensation of the fat cock stretching her tight little cunt apart. She didn't know how she had taken such a mammoth weapon. It was so big it almost felt stuck inside her. Potter, though, held her in place, wanting her to scream.
And scream she did.
"Oh, fuck yes!" She screamed out, her hands grasping around his neck for dear life. "You're so fucking huge! It feels amazing!" she moaned out, squeezing her cunt around his thick shaft.
His cock had never seemed more like a weapon of pure evil than it did in this moment. Because all decorum, all the pure thoughts that once occupied her mind all seemed to slip away. Potter's cock was changing her, warping her mind the longer it was inside of her. All the things that mattered to her before seemed so much less important. Her husband, her marriage, her political and social beliefs. All that mattered was the hard cock inside her. All that mattered was making sure that massive dick got the pleasure it needed. All that mattered was the sensation of feeling full, filled to the brim with cock. It was a sensation she never knew could feel so good, and now that she was feeling it, she didn't know if she could give it up.
Or if she would ever want to.
"You like that, bitch?" He grunted out, grinding into her.
"Oh my! Merlin, yes! I love it!" she cried out, biting her lip in pleasure as she ground herself into him. "Ohhh fuck!"
"You love that cock?" He asked, moving his hands back to her huge married breasts, squeezing them roughly.
"Yes! YES! I love that cock! I love your fucking cock! It's the best cock I've ever seen!" She cried out, eyes closed in pleasure.
"Better than what your little husband's packing?" He asked, tweaking the young woman's nipples. She pushed her chest out, making sure his manly palms were overflowing with her huge, married tits.
"God yes! So much bigger! And better! Fuck yes!"
"Then what are you waiting for?" Potter slid one hand down to spank the married woman's ass. "Fuck me, bitch!"
Anastasia looked at him, looking into his arrogant face, wondering how he was able to hold her constantly for this long. Her eyes flashed with a combination of curiosity and lust as she leaned forward, pushing her huge breasts against his face. Holding herself against his firm shoulders, she pushed herself up, sliding all the way up till only the thick head remained inside her, before dropping herself back down.
"Ugh fuck!"
"Faster, bitch!" He commanded, his face in the primo position, smothered between her mammoth jugs.
He spanked her arse again, spurring her into action. She lifted herself up again before dropping back down, beginning to work up into a consistent rhythm, fucking him with everything she had.
"Oh! Merlin! It's so good! Fuck me! Potter! Fuck me!" She moaned out in awe, taking the huge cock in her tight pussy over and over again. Potter casually carried her across the room, all the while she kept fucking him.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck yes! Fuck me, Potter! YES!" Anastasia screamed out, her ass rolling smoothly as she rode Potter's hard cock, sometimes riding the full length, sometimes just gyrating in his lap. She was fully committed to the cheating sex at this point, showing no more hesitance, no daintiness. No, she was riding the fat cock hard, like a true whore, in no way ladylike, driving herself into the hardened, weathered flesh. Some part of her wanted to stop, to regain her senses, but she liked the cock way too much to care at this point.
And with that, came a new realisation. His cock was feeling tighter. She knew what that meant, what was about to happen.
"Don't — don't cum inside me!"
Potter smirked, and kept power-fucking her. He was close, and she knew it. He knew that she knew it, and he did it anyway.
"Take it!"
"I — I'm serious! Cum outside, or else…"
"Take it!" He said, and went even faster.
"Ugh!" She groaned, as her eyes widened, knowing what was about to happen. His pace speeding up, his balls slamming into her arse, his cock hitting her just right, she could feel her juices gushing against his pole. Soon, she could feel her overworked pussy spasming again.
"Take it all, bitch!"
"Ugh! No! It's filling my womb!" said Potter, his hips acting only on pure base instinct, burying the full length of his big, hard cock all the way up to the balls in her hungry cunt just as the first rocket of cum burst out of him. His nuts twisted and fired again and again and again, long nasty volleys of semen bursting out of him, pumping deep down into her. Her pussy glued to his cock, it spasmed as his cock throbbed, working in perfect synchronicity. His heavy cock was pumping sperm from deep in his balls all the way practically to her womb, and the walls of her cunt were drawing even more of his heavy load into her. As she felt more of his thick semen filling her up, her orgasm only gained in strength. And as her pussy kept squeezing at his throbbing dick, his body was only further encouraged to keep it up, pumping wad after wad of cum deep into her.
"Your pussy is already soft and sticky, Anastasia," he said, slowly pulling out. "Does your husband's dick not satisfy you at all?"
Anastasia slowly slid down his sculpted form, down to the floor. She looked at him, bleary-eyed. "...Uhhh."
"Use proper words, Anastasia. You are a Lady. Act like it."
She wanted to complain how acting like a Lady needed her to be in her senses, and not fucked-stupid like she was right then.
"Now come on," he said. "We need to return back to your manor. And then you need to answer my question, so that we can finally get that husband of yours out of DMLE custody."
Anastasia blinked. Husband? Right… Broderick. She blinked again, and gave him a sheepish look.
"Uh, could we… you know, have another round before that?"
Notes:
If you want to support me, find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Chapter 100: Delicious
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 3 - THE INCUBUS AND NECROMANCER
CHAPTER 100 - DELICIOUS
A bleary eye regarded me. "What time is it?"
I shifted closer to Anastasia. A thin sheet separated our naked bodies; she's obviously a cover hog. I squeezed her lovely right tit, prompting a soft moan from the woman I was spooning, and she shifted her delectable arse against my groin, and my John Thomas went hard almost instantly.
With a smirk, I dragged my arm down her naked flesh, reaching between her legs. Playing with the engorged bud at the top of her pussy, I said, "About… two in the afternoon. Just in time for lunch. You need to put some food in there, if you want to continue any further."
Anastasia jerked awake with a sudden abruptness, and her second eye opened and a flood of memories, hopefully pleasant, returned to her. "T— two? Merlin! I'm already late! I should've sent those papers a long time ago. Shit! My husband — "
I stroked a few loose curls off her face.
"Is still sitting in the Auror office," I told her, smiling in the dim light. "I don't know about you, but this feels better than signing some documents. Don't you agree?"
She practically hissed back at me. "Yes! But that's not the point! This was wrong, and no one can find out about this! And I — I need to get those papers to him quickly."
Okay, maybe I was wrong. Anastasia was way too uptight to just fold. I had happened to catch her in a moment of weakness, a moment when she was truly angry with Broderick, and unsure about how to deal with the situation, and took advantage of her demure self. But she wanted to, no, she craved what she had just experienced, and there was no way that she'd fall back to being Broderick's loyal housewife ever again. In the grand scheme of things, it just made the current scenario just that much more enjoyable. I had seduced many women — young and adult alike over the course of the summer, but this was the first time I was dealing with someone that truly wanted to be with her husband, whatever silly reasons that might be for. Even Emmeline took less time to be convinced otherwise, though the effects of Lecherous Shrine and Hestia's Imperius curse might have something to do with that. Narcissa had no lost love for Lucius, and wanted him dead, and Amelia was… Amelia.
But that was fine. In fact, a challenge like this was far more welcome. It'd help me experiment with the more subtle effects of my Incubus powers.
I shifted slightly and started nuzzling her neck. There was a sweet spot right there. Ah, there it was. Anastasia moaned in delight, and I whispered into her ear. "Hardly something to worry about. Tell him that I went away to consult my attorneys first."
She arched an eyebrow in mock consternation, an expression that didn't really work given how she had to purse her lips instantly after.
"You — do you even have attorneys?"
I gave her a winning smile. I did, in fact, have attorneys. Narcissa recommended a certain Pius Thicknesse, one of the 'sharks' out there that was devious as fuck, and more importantly, always at ends with Merula Snyde, the Malfoy in-house counsel. Something to do with Lucius fucking with his clientele a year ago, and later Cornelius Fudge sidelined him from becoming the Head of Department of International Magical Cooperation. Lucius wanted a certain Alistair Jugson on that chair, but then Amelia Bones received a wad of documents against him, and Jugson had to be scrapped off as well, which was when Bartemious Crouch Sr. had to take the role up.
Pius had been working at his private law firm ever since. Industrious, charming, well-known in most corporate circles, but from an otherwise common family, with enough pure blood within him to go back three generations. Basically, the kind of person that could sit with every side of the political spectrum and not be instantly looked down upon.
"What… what does this make us, Potter?"
"Harry," I corrected her. "We've had at least an hour of rough sex. You get to call me Harry."
Anastasia chuckled lightly at that and pushed herself further into my body, her pussy lips rubbing against my hard cock. "You really are evil, Harry Potter. I was a married woman, and now, I'm lying with you, with your cum running down my pussy."
"And your arse," I corrected her again. Unlike Emmeline, Anastasia had no claims about letting me claim that bit. Also, unlike Emmeline, Broderick wasn't as boring and unimaginative as Gideon, though it had less to do with sexual exploration and more to do with his aggression.
"Do not tax your brain that much, darling," I purred. "I'm going to sign those papers, and your husband will return home. And then, we will have sex behind his back. You'll see for yourself how oblivious he can be."
"But —"
"That is what I want. You wanted me to fuck you, and now I want to fuck you. With your husband present. Behind his back. Under his nose. It's what he deserves for putting you through this, does he not?"
"You… you are a monster, Harry Potter."
"And you're a potioneer. Nobody's perfect."
She frowned. "You didn't tell me, Pot — Harry. What does this make us?"
"You mean you're not expecting us to be a couple?"
"N— no, not at all," she stammered. I couldn't tell if she was disappointed or relieved with my reply. Probably a bit of both.
"I like you, Anastasia. You're talented, driven and can soar to heights if you just decide to not let your husband clip your wings. But if you don't, then I suppose this will just… be a private thing between us? How did you put it? Two people who are attracted to each other?"
She let out a small snort. "Understatement of the century, Harry. You want me to deny Broderick the chance to have my flesh. And now you want to fuck me with him present."
"It's called cucking, darling."
She ran her fingers through her hair. "Merlin, I'm a mess."
"Merlin has nothing to do with your mess. You accepted the deal. The choices are on you, my dear."
She sighed. "I know. This — this was the best sex I ever had, Harry. And I… I can't go back to living without it."
"The sex?"
She smiled. "That… and more. Like you put it, not let my wings be clipped, and soar. I wanted to rise above what Master Belby did. But Father was insistent that I marry Broderick and be a pretty little housewife and birth his sprogs. At least Broderick allowed me to exercise my brains in his business."
"Even though he takes all the credit?"
She frowned. "He is partly to blame for that. I mean, if I acted out, Father would be displeased. Broderick's way was a good compromise. I don't think I'd have survived playing housewife all day. At least these gardens and greenhouses keep me busy. Though…" she entwined her fingers with mine. "I am hoping things will change a bit soon."
"They will," I promised.
World Anchor – Anastasia Greengrass has gone up by 12%
Gained Affinities from World Anchor — Anastasia Greengrass
Phytomancy +11%
Alchemy +3%
I mentally scowled. 12%. That raised the total to 49%. Damn it. Just one shy of hitting a perk. No matter. Still smiling, I activated one of the two perks I had gotten from Emmeline. Yes, my dear Obliviator was just that special. The one that I activated right then was called the Eye of the Incubus. Yes, I know. The irony doesn't escape me either. And neither did its effects.
ANASTASIA GREENGRASS
Interest Level: 81/100
Difficulty Level: 2/5
SEXUAL PREFERENCES: S/M (Choking, Spanking, Degrading, Exhibitionism, Humiliation)
TRAIT: Has a tendency to get attracted to strong males; gets turned on when dominated.
Remember how the Screen kept mentioning how I was a lucky sonofabitch to be able to see the magical stats while others pawed in the darkness? Yeah, this took it a step ahead. Using the Eye of the Incubus perk, I could now know exactly what would turn the woman in front of me — and I say that in general, into a quivering, moaning mess with my cum splattered all over her body and leaking out of her pussy.
Really, I know I said how Devil's Charm was my favourite perk, but methinks I might just have a new favourite now.
Grinning, I pulled away from her pussy, sliding my fingers across her warm, smooth flesh until I was all over her arse cheeks. She had yet to ask me to stop, and with the way she was breathing fast, she was anticipating what was about to happen more than I was. Another moan escaped out of her mouth, as I inserted a thumb into her arse. She shivered in pleasure, as I dug deeper, only with two fingers this time. Pulling out, I pushed my middle and index fingers deep into her arse, scraping the cum that I had deposited in there barely an hour ago. Pulling my cum-stained fingers out, I pushed them to inches close to her face.
"Open your mouth."
"But that's —"
I didn't let her finish, and shoved my fingers into her unsuspecting mouth. She hesitated for a moment, before actively beginning to suck on my fingers.
Smirking, I said. "You wanted to know what this makes us, right?"
Her eyes tracked mine.
"You're married and have a husband, so making you my wife or mistress is beyond question. So I was thinking of making you one of my lovers, Anastasia. Just like Hestia is. But I decided otherwise. You, Anastasia, will be my sex-slave. My toy."
She shivered.
Interest Level: 84/100
Difficulty Level: 1/5
She gurgled, and I pulled my fingers out.
"...Sex-toy?" She breathed. "But I — I thought —"
"Thought what? That's because I'll marry your eldest, I'll give you respect as my mother-in-law?" I laughed. "No Anastasia. You will stay as my sex toy. You'll be the mother that screams as I spear her on the same dick covered with her daughter's juices. I will fuck your daughter until she screams herself to oblivion, and make you suck and clean it off. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
World Anchor – Anastasia Greengrass has gone up by 4%
Gained Affinities from World Anchor — Anastasia Greengrass
Alchemy +1%
You've gained a Perk!
See? That's what I was talking about.
Hunger was such a silly concept.
You felt it, you ate, it went away. Then it returned again, and you ate, and then it went away. And once you die, oh well, no more hunger. A flaw in the otherwise perfect body that witches and wizards deserved. They ate, they acted, they grew old and then they died. Hunger was nothing but a fuel requirement for their ephemeral bodies while they lived and drew breath.
But for an empath like Daphne, things were a little different.
There were those that described Empaths as people capable of dipping into other's emotions and somehow, feeling the same within their body. Medically speaking, empaths could recreate hormonal secretions that created similar reactions and feelings as the subject the empath was… for lack of a better word, empathising with.
Daphne called these people fools.
Being an Empath was like being a foodie. You didn't just go eat because you craved sustenance, you ate because you wanted to experience the feeling of imbibing the food itself — its taste, its texture, its seasoning, the way different spices blended together to create different tastes. It was the way the food melted in your mouth, the way the different smells melded together to create that perfect aroma that flared against your nostrils. To be a foodie was to not just eat, but to be a connoisseur of the art of tasting new things. To seek the experience of how even slight alterations could mean a large chasm between a prized chef's personal dish versus a roadside meal.
Only with Empaths, it was all about emotions. Not happiness or sadness, for those were bland. Same for generic feelings like love, or jealousy or betrayal. Just like food, you needed the proper spices, the proper seasoning, the proper conflict of varying feelings that created a mind-melting sensation. Like the feelings arising out of her mother when her father beat her. Anastasia was a strong-headed woman, but every single time Broderick was angry at Daphne, Anastasia took it on her. He bet her, and she screamed in pain.
Daphne hated him.
She hated her father for doing that to her mother.
She hated that her mother took that physical abuse to protect her.
But most of all, she hated herself, because that feeling of agony that her mother exuded— that mix of pain and pleasure, that conflict between her daughter, herself and her husband, all of that merged with strokes of that whip on her raw skin… it was exquisite. And Daphne loved it.
She couldn't get enough of it.
It was delicious.
The only thing close enough was that one time when her father had nearly lost an arm in a fight with one of his 'clients'. The arm had been healed eventually, but feeling his agony was absolutely enthralling.
But emotions of such outstanding quality were rare, and Daphne could live through that. Their rarity also meant that she had less to be disgusted with herself.
But then came Harry Potter, and Daphne knew she was dead wrong.
That potent feeling of lust exuding out of him, complimented by similar emotions arising out of the ladies standing around him — that brunette halfblood secretary, Aunty Emmy, and even Daphne's own mum… triggering an intense desire to feel his coarse, Quidditch-playing hands on their bodies, tear their robes off without hesitation, and let him have them right there. To feel his flesh against them, let him take his fill, and leave his mark ripped into their bodies, minds and souls so that forever after they would come to him willingly, eagerly, yearning to be taken again and again and again….
It was so… stirring. And delicious. It made her dizzy and she desired to feast on it more and more. Daphne didn't know how it was possible to have such intense emotion pour out of him so casually, but she knew one thing.
She wanted this.
She wanted all of this.
Harry Potter was up for a very significant complication in his life. He —
A knock on the door brought her musings short.
"... come in."
An aroma of suspicion seeped into her room, slightly blended with a healthy dose of fear, a tinge of uncertainty and… was that regret?
Aunty Emmy walked into the room.
"Good morning, Aunty," chirped Daphne, a beaming plastic smile etched upon her face. Smiling was great, it annoyed others, doubly when they were unsure of you. Or maybe she just had an annoying smile.
Emmeline Vance stepped into the room. She hadn't taken a bath this morning. The cleansing charm was many things, but a substitute for a real bath it was not. Aunt Emmy smelled of sex and suspicion and a fragile ego.
This would be interesting.
"...Daphne," said Emmeline slowly, closing the door behind her. Daphne keenly watched her wand hand shake. Jumpy. Was she expecting a wand fight? Did the Head Obliviator fear facing a little schoolgirl? Ah, and there it was regret. She was here to do something to do she wouldn't otherwise. The taste of salt and lime hung like a stench around her.
"Yes?"
"Daphne, I wanted to know…." Emmeline paused, unsure how to proceed. More suspicion, her inner guilt seasoned with cold rationality. Daphne loved it when people did horrible things to each other by justifying it in their minds. Such a curious little thing self-justification was.
"Yes?" she repeated.
"Where were you last night?"
Bluntness. There was a time and place for that, but right now, it was just a lack of mental restraint. Emmeline's heart and mind were in turmoil.
"In my room. Where else?"
"You were in your room after dinner? And nowhere else?"
First rule of interrogation. Always deny. Half the time they'd let you go simply because they couldn't bring in the evidence. Seeing someone pretend to be in a position of power without having a lick of evidence against you was always a treat.
"I might have walked out into the halls," she said indifferently. "I always do. Why do you ask?"
"Did you enter Harry Potter's room last night?"
Daphne blinked. "Potter? Why would I? Aren't the guest rooms warded for privacy."
Except for anyone carrying the Greengrass bloodline. Broderick Greengrass was a two-faced bastard and a paranoid bugger. Giving another the safety of privacy within his own home wasn't something he'd allow.
Hesitation this time. Aunt Emmeline couldn't continue her accusation without actually admitting what she did, could she? Or, Daphne supposed, she could, assuming she actually held some evidence.
Other than that empty glass of cum. It was absolutely foolish of her, but Daphne just couldn't help herself. Seeing that potent glass of cum sitting there, its sticky, dizzy, intoxicating aroma flaring against her nose buds, the unbridled power of lust arising from that fresh hot cum….
How could she not drink it?
"H… Harry Potter found a hair in his room," said Emmeline slowly. "It was yours, Daphne."
It was painful, not to smile.
"And?"
"And…. Were you in Potter's room last night?"
"No," said Daphne. Hair or not, there was no way to prove things. "Honestly, why is Potter obsessing over a bit of hair? I live here, after all. Was he up to something last night inside his room?"
The way her aunt clenched her teeth was absolutely beautiful to watch. "No. I mean, not to my knowledge."
Daphne shrugged, and got out of her bed. She was wrong. Aunt Emmy would do nothing. Not if she wasn't sure of things. It wasn't her way.
"You know your father intends to tie you to Potter."
Daphne stopped short. Compared to most people she knew, Aunt Emmy was perhaps the most rational, the most sane.
And she was frolicking with Harry Potter in his bed, gorging on his cock, letting him fuck her in her face, in her pussy, and even her arse. Not that Daphne minded. Especially with the conflicting emotions emanating out of her. Self-doubt marring her voice, her ego in direct contention with her desire to get fucked all the way until she couldn't even remain awake. Stillborn flames of conflict sputtered from her body language, and her emotions rang high.
She licked her lips at the memory.
"Daphne?"
"Mmmmm…?"
"I said your father —"
"I know what you said," she assured her flippantly. "Father is always wanting to set me up with one of his contacts."
Pedophilic bastards, the lot were. She'd know. She had freaked out every single one of them.
The things a girl needed to do for amusement.
"Maybe he should've gotten Astoria if he wants to woo the Gryffindor Golden Boy," she said, flipping her hair to one side, as she began tying it together into a ponytail. "Potter looks yummy now. Maybe she'll choose him over Malfoy."
Draco had once called her a stone-cold bitch that could freeze ice in her snatch. All because she had commented how he tasted of inferiority. And then pitched a tantrum to his father to get him betrothed to Astoria the very next day.
Some people.
She met her aunt's eyes. "When is Uncle Gideon returning?"
Sixth-level Occlumens or not, that made the woman flinch. Really, the books paid way too much emphasis on the powers of Occlumency and Legilimency, and their abilities to seek out knowledge from unsuspecting minds.
Fools. If they only knew what one could do with just emotion.
"As soon as your father returns, I imagine."
From DMLE custody, the woman left unsaid. Daphne had peeked on her mother when she was on the Floo this morning, talking to their goblin manager at Gringotts. Something about an agreement. Mother had even worn a revealing robe of white, with swathes cut out of it, highlighting her best parts. Daphne had almost followed her under her invisibility cloak, just to see what she was up to, but after last night's adventure, she was feeling both a bit full, and shiftless.
"Father is stuck, isn't he?"
The woman didn't answer.
"And Uncle Gideon is stuck with him too, I imagine. No offence, but your husband doesn't seem like the type to follow anyone into anything until there is profit involved."
That cracked a small smile on the woman's face.
"Yes," she grinned softly. "That sums up about right."
Daphne grinned. Shark-like. "That is why he's brought you into this matter. Both of them want to exploit Potter. That's what he's here for, isn't he? He's there to serve as their fodder."
"Gideon does not share his business dealings with me. What he and Potter end up doing is not my concern."
An image of Emmeline Vance on the bed, her buttocks raised, with Potter's thick cock drilling into her as he told her the number of ways he'd fuck with her husband came to mind.
"Yes," said Daphne. "Clearly."
She wondered if Aunty would attempt to Legilimize her. Getting into an Empath's mind was a tricky and dangerous thing, even for an Obliviator. Thoughts you could deal with, but emotions?
That was a tough call. Daphne knew that from experience.
"What if Potter agrees to the proposal?"
It took Daphne every bit of her being to not give a reaction. Honestly, she wasn't even sure if the boy living under the same roof as her was even Harry Potter to begin with. It wasn't because he had gotten a growth spurt that would make a dirigible plum tree jealous, making him look closer to twenty than sixteen. He looked strong, powerful, muscular, charismatic even, and then there was but the most striking thing was his power.
Or rather, the absence of it.
Daphne sensed something at play. She knew that elder wizards could manipulate their magic to keep it almost invisible, toning it down to their own attunement to Reality, but a skill of that level was reserved for people like Albus Dumbledore or the Dark Lord. Not some average, about-to-be fourth-year.
It was some Potter heirloom for all she knew. The real question was, why would Potter, whom she knew was above-average in power at best, need to use such a heirloom in the first place?
She still remembered seeing those tendrils of tantalising crimson, drifting lazily off his body, quickly joined by another, and then another. Like shadows, it was ghosting through the air, rippling and swaying in a protective shield around him, while also extending outward, like a venomous tentacula nearing its prey.
She knew what it was. An emotion. Feeling.
And yet, she couldn't understand it.
Which made absolutely no sense. Emotions were her forte. Her toys. Her food.
She could understand facing something difficult, but something she couldn't even understand? That was different.
And alluring.
She had bluntly asked him if he really was Harry Potter, and she could swear seeing a spark of amusement in his eyes. She knew there were no male veela, and it was very different from that of a love potion. Whatever it was, it was born from the boy, and triggered reactions from those around ? She didn't know, but she'd be damned if she didn't find out.
And the taste…. His lust tasted of well-cooked chilli.
Just… delicious.
She licked her lips again.
"Auntie, I have a question."
She looked at Emmeline Vance. "What was Potter like?"
Emmeline froze for a moment. "He's a student in your year, unless I'm wrong. Shouldn't you have a better idea of what he's like?"
Daphne looked at her with a mix of condescension and disappointment. Such a simple question, and her aunt had still failed her.
"Yeah," she said, looking away. "If it really comes to that, I'll marry Potter. It's what Father has groomed me for all this time."
And she wasn't even lying. After getting a taste of Potter's lust, both empathically and literally, feeling that thick, potent cum swirl within her mouth and slowly seep down into her stomach, Daphne wanted more. She wanted it all.
Potter was up for a serious complication in his life. She hoped he was ready for it.
Notes:
If you want to support me, find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Chapter 101: Permission
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 3 - THE INCUBUS AND NECROMANCER
CHAPTER 101 - PERMISSION
I walked into my guest-room and found Emmeline sprawled on a recliner. Emmeline apparently regarded a throw pillow as something to throw and bounced it off my chest.
"About time, Harry," she murmured. "We were about to send a search party."
"How absolutely mugglish," I retorted. "Don't think I didn't notice your perverse preoccupation with my underwear."
Hestia, who was sitting on the floor, blinked twice. "Say what about your underwear?"
"Emmeline decided that I couldn't be trusted to keep my head on my shoulders without either of you present so she charmed my underwear." I rolled my eyes at the Oblivator who looked sheepish. "Just for the record, I have some skill with magical sensing."
"Noted," said Hestia. "But what took you so long?"
I let Emmeline perform the needful diagnostics first and ward the room shut, doubling checking for disillusionment charms and invisible entities within the room.
"Anastasia and I reached an amicable agreement. It's exactly what our original deal was, with just one extra addendum."
"Which is?"
I smiled, but didn't say anything.
"Oh I know that smile," said Emmeline. "Don't tell me you already have her charmed."
"Okay," I said in the blandest way possible. "I won't tell you."
Hestia regarded me with wide eyes. "You're not serious."
"No," I said. "Sirius was my godfather." At her groan, I laughed. "Some people use gold, others use connections, and I use Lust. So far, my method has proven to be quite reliable."
"Harry," Hestia frowned at me, and I realised she was actually upset by my flippancy. Not just annoyed, or unhappy with my response, but genuinely offended. The look on her face told me that the conversation had just taken a turn to the serious. "Anastasia is not just another woman for you to fuck, Harry. She's married to Broderick."
"As was Emmeline to Gideon, but she doesn't hold that against me."
"I don't," said Emmeline off-handedly, observing her nails.
Hestia gave me the closest expression to a scowl. "That's different. She and Gideon didn't exactly have a happy relationship. And you… I mean, all of this started because of…"
"Lecherous Shrine," I said, noticing her slight hesitation. Hestia was still conflicted about the role she had played in twisting Emmeline's psyche. "She knew the risks, and decided it was worth it. You know everything that happened, Hestia."
My secretary narrowed her eyes and glared at me. "You know exactly what I mean, Harry."
"Okay, why is this suddenly about me?" asked Emmeline. "Yes, I'm married to Gideon, and he has demonstrated an acute lack of interest in me beyond the needful."
"Only because he prefers little girls," I quipped.
Hestia scowled deeper this time, but did not comment on that. Instead she narrowed her eyes on me. "That might be, but Anastasia's different. I've talked with her. She genuinely loves Broderick, and is loyal to him. You, twisting her emotions like that is… that is wrong, Harry. Very wrong."
Pot, meet kettle. I wanted to say. On the other hand, it was interesting to note that being a Lilim did not rob Hestia of her beliefs or her ideas about right and wrong.
"I've done my research. Broderick Greengrass is a sonofabitch that should be thrown into Azkaban, but he is a loving husband to his wife. He treats his younger daughter like she's the pearl of his eye. His relationship with the elder one is difficult, but not strenuous, and that's not because he mistreats her."
"Wow," Emmeline muttered. "You really did do your homework this time around."
Hestia looked at me evenly. "Not everyone is Lucius Malfoy and Gideon Abbott, Harry."
I smiled. "I know."
"Then —"
"Remember what I told you back then Hestia," I said, meeting her eye. "I told you that I'll become the nightmare that Wizarding Britain has never imagined. I'll destroy the Wizengamot, take the bigotry inherent in the system, andri[ it out, even if I have to destroy Wizarding society in the process."
"Throw it in another war," Hestia mumbled. "I remember. And I swore to be on your side, Harry. But if you are going to just twist people's minds and hearts to do your bidding, then we're no different from those we're fighting."
"I know," I said, looking away from her. "I never said it will be neat. Because it won't. It'll be difficult, but someone has to get it done. But when history is written, there is always someone paying the price."
"Even if they are innocents?"
"Oh bully for you," Emmeline interrupted, glaring at Hestia. "Grow up, girl. Wars are not about who's right, but who's left. You know how the war ended in Harry's future. What are some broken marriages compared to that?"
"You're telling me that, you—"
"I urged him to make a move on Anastasia," Emmeline proclaimed. "The old families control the Wizengamot, and having the Ladies on our side will give us both power, intel and votes. Some Lords we can control, and some, will just have to go."
Hestia looked at Emmeline like she was seeing her for the first time.
"Destiny is always written in blood, Hestia," said Emmeline, her tone as hard as steel. "You've grown from that idealist kid with tearful eyes that I met at my courtyard, yet in some ways, I see you haven't changed at all."
Hestia scowled. "We joined the Order to fight against the Dark, not —"
"Not what, Hestia?" I asked, glaring at how absurdly hypocritical my secretary was being. "Not twisting people against their wishes?"
Hestia staggered back, as if slapped.
"This is war, Hestia," I barked. "And in a war, sometimes things just need to be done. Did you think that killing Tom Riddle and his Death Eaters would be enough? No Hestia, we need to resolve the entire bigotry issue decisively and thoroughly. And that means a systematic purge of all elements that are against us, both in the government, the legislature and the military wings."
For a split second, I saw a flicker of something pass over Hestia's face.
"What if… what if there are those that do not want to go that way? The Order of the Phoenix was created to gather information and help people, not kill them."
"They help people by winning the war and tearing bigotry by their very roots," I claimed coldly. "Whatever losses the population bears now, can you really say it means anything compared to the thousands that will lead happier lives in the future?"
"But —"
I held out a hand. "If it means anything, Anastasia made the first move. Broderick wanted her to get me to sign the deal, and when all transactions failed, she offered herself to me."
"Oh boy," said Emmeline drolly. "Do not tell me that a little skin show was enough for you to settle."
"You wish. She probably expected to show a little skin, a little touch here and there, and the little boy would fold backwards to impress her." She smirked knowingly at my expression. "Guess she mistook her opponent."
"She, err… offered to sleep with you?" asked Hestia, though she seemed a lot less certain of herself while she did so. "Harry," she said, her tone a lot softer. "So does that mean she's now a—"
"Not a Lilim," I vanquished her concerns. "But yeah, we had sex. Now, did you find out who was the mystery person behind last night's shenanigans?"
Emmeline and Hestia looked at each other, before meeting my eyes.
" Daphne," said both women together.
I blinked. Daphne huh? That girl had felt like a jar of flobberworms right off the start. Something about her just rubbed me the wrong way.
"What happened? She wanted to make sure I wasn't an imposter and ended up enjoying my cum?"
Emmeline looked particularly solemn. "It's not a joking matter, Harry. Yes, we know that it's her, but we don't have a single shred of evidence against her. This is her house, and there is absolutely no evidence that we found that hair in this room. She was here, and she knows exactly what she holds above my… above our heads, and she had no issues letting us know that."
"A power play," I murmured. "Have you considered obliviating her?"
"Even if I could, I wouldn't risk it," she admitted. "Knowing her, she probably left all kinds of clues to remember what we made her forget. So unless you are a dab hand at the Imperius —"
Hestia and I did our best not to look at each other.
"— I even threw her a bone about how her father wanted to marry her off to you," said Emmeline, oblivious to our inner thoughts. "I thought she'd use the information to get out of this impending marriage agreement. Instead… instead she agreed to it, and it makes no sense."
"Hold your horses, Emmeline," said Hestia, looking cautious. "You make it sound like you'rer actually scared of this girl."
"Because I am," said the Head Obliviator. "All this time, I thought Harry was just a precocious sixteen-year-old trying to swim with the sharks. But now, it isn't Gideon or Broderick that presents a danger to you. It's Daphne Greengrass."
I cocked my head. Before I could say anything, she went on.
"Harry," said Emmeline. "Daphne's not your common witch. She's what you call an Empath."
"As in, someone that can sense your emotions?"
Emmeline laughed. "Daphne doesn't just sense emotions, Harry. She feeds on them. An emotion vampire. My best guess is that she can accurately perceive how our emotions affect us, and no amount of Occlumency can actually prevent her from reading them and telling the truth from lies. Even her mind is built so differently that it can fool most Legilimens into losing themselves within its endless labyrinth of emotions. She can… play us against ourselves."
I just… stared. Something like that would be incredibly useful on my side, if not a perk. Knowing my luck, there was more to this… Empathy that Daphne could do once she better developed them. That just left the question — why did Broderick treat her like an unwanted extra? Why not actually use her talents for his benefit, unless —
It clicked.
"So that's why Anastasia was so willing to sign Daphne away as part of a betrothal."
"'Xcuse me?" asked Emmeline.
I smiled. "Later. For now, I need you to go to the Ministry and inform your husband that he has a meeting with Regent Longbottom next week. I imagine he is going to be really happy about that one. Oh, and I'd really love it if you stayed back to help your husband help his best friend make a decision."
"Really Harry," said the Obliviator, scowling. "I had expected you to help me find proof against that traitor, and instead you're making him happy."
I laughed. "Oh, not necessary. Why, you might even enjoy it."
"She got Harry Potter to sign the agreement."
Sometimes, his wife's ability to manage situations frightened him.
"...how?"
"Emmeline told me Anastasia met Potter for their scheduled meeting, and he signed the deal. Exactly what it was. One year of Phyllida, with all revenues going to Potter. In return, he backdates the agreement by two months. Just as we wanted. Oh, and a potential slot for your eldest daughter as one of his wives, though the exact position is unclear, and subject to change."
"...and what did it cost?"
A brief pause. "He wants permission to have sex with someone we know."
"You… you're joking. Gideon, you're telling me that Harry fucking Potter, the heir to the Potter fortune, is going with this stupid deal, just to get permission to fuck a girl?"
"...Yes."
"Which girl?"
"That's… kind of the problem," said Gideon, hesitant to meet his eye. "He… he wants your permission to fuck your wife."
"...Gideon."
"Broderick," said his friend sternly. "We're neck deep with this mess. Lucius is abroad, and we don't even know if he will be back by the World Cup. Robards is breathing down our necks, and the only thing that can get us bailed from this shitstorm is to accept Potter's ridiculously simple demand. You know as well as I that there is nothing we can do if Potter decides to walk away. You'll be sent to Azkaban, and Robards will freeze your assets and start looking. And if they find anything on me then…"
"So you're just saving your arse."
"That's what we do, Broderick," Gideon snapped. "I scratch your back, you scratch mine. But we make sure to cover our individual arses first when shit hits the fan. You want loyalty, look elsewhere. Look, Potter has fame, resources and a solid backing from Albus Dumbledore. But he's fairly young, and naive. He's crafty, but not as much as he thinks he is. He lacks experience. I imagine Anastasia had to show a little skin, and he got infatuated with her. Imagine what if he wanted to double, or worse, triple the time period he got Phyllida for free? You'd be out on the street, Broderick."
"...you're not the one prostituting your wife, Gideon."
"Oh, grow up," Gideon snapped. "I know this looks bad. But we've to realise we're dealing with a hot-blooded young man, and your wife's extremely good on the eyes. I calculate nothing but positives from this, and only negatives if you reject this offer."
"I swear I'm going to punch you in the face. You're asking me to let him fuck my wife behind my back."
"Err…" said Gideon, looking a little disgruntled. "Actually, his exact request is that you grant him permission to fuck his wife before your eyes, and I quote this, let him play out a fantasy that he's a better lover than you are, to your wife."
Broderick clenched his fists. "That nasty little fucker! When I get my hands on him —"
"You will do nothing," Gideon snapped. "Listen Broderick, I know this sounds weird, but it's just one night. And Potter is just a kid. There is no way he can compare to yourself. If anything, you should be proud of your wife. She must have been so repulsed by the offer."
"But she still accepted it."
"For your sake."
Broderick grit his teeth. He bit hard and resisted the urge to swear. He had perfectly estimated how difficult it would be for Anastasia to get Potter to agree to the deal, but had never estimated that things would take this turn.
"Look," Gideon said softly. "This happens behind doors. Just the two of you and… him. No other witnesses. Once and done. Over. Let the boy live out his fantasy. Anastasia might have to fake it for a minute, but he'll probably realise it and feel humiliated, and walk away. You and your wife will have a laugh over it."
"But he'll still touch her. That slimy bastard —"
"Oh for Merlin's sake," snapped his friend. "Stop acting like a kid. You fuck around floozies all the time. It's an open secret what happens in those kitty parties that the Ladies of Ancient Houses take part in. How is this any different?"
"That is that, and this is this. Anastasia did not choose to—"
"I'd say she did," offered Gideon. "She made an offer and he agreed. He put up a condition and she agreed. That's why you have this document attested by Gringotts."
"Gideon —"
"I'm just giving you the facts, Broderick. Don't forget why you started this. You want Daphne to be married to him, and everything that follows."
"The last thing I want is that sonofabitch anywhere near my family."
"No, you will," said Gideon sternly, something terrible in his eyes. "You will let this happen, and you will marry your daughter to him. Broderick, I want you to remember this day, and this deal, and make sure to remind him of this, when you finally slit his throat."
Broderick just stared.
"So," asked Gideon. "Are we going ahead with this agreement or not?"
Several hours later when Broderick Floo'd into his manor, he was surprised at how silent everything was. There was no one downstairs. No sounds from the kitchen. No Daphne lazily listening to the Wireless. No Anastasia bouncing around, always working on something. No nothing. He knew that Emmeline was with Gideon, but not even Potter or his damned halfblood secretary was around.
Potter… Just thinking of that little shit made his blood boil. But that was fine. He should've known that the entire thing wouldn't go without a hitch. He'd obliviate Anastasia of the experience, but he himself would remember it. And when it was time, he'd have his vengeance.
Even if that meant having to smile and go ahead with his depraved fantasy.
Busy in his thoughts, Broderick summoned a bottle of water from the kitchen, and as he silently sipped it, he sensed a presence near him, and when he saw it, he nearly choked.
Anastasia was padding towards him, barefoot, only wearing a silky, midnight blue robe. Her body was covered with sweat and her robe was half-closed, meaning her boobs were just spilling out. Her hair looked like a mess and her makeup was a bit smudged.
"Anastasia, cover yourself up. This is no way of dressing when guests are around." he barked, nodding at her half-exposed breasts.
"Oh," she said with surprise., clenching her robe shut. "Sorry."
He looked at her, confused. "What's going on?"
"Oh," said Anastasia, as if she suddenly realised what a mess she was. "I was working with Potter all day. You wouldn't believe how interested he is in herbology. He mentioned dealing with a venomous tentacula before, and one thing led to another, we were tending to the one I purchased last winter. And things just… went out of hand."
A shiver ran down his spine. "...Out of hand?"
"Yeah, I swear it's a mystery how he's kept himself in that great shape. He single handedly held the tentacula back while I tended to its leaves," she said with a laugh. "But I was just about to hop in the shower. We just finished up, so…" she trailed off.
Suddenly, Harry Potter walked into the kitchen, his fit, muscular body covered in sweat as well. Broderick noticed how he was dressed in just a vest and shorts, and arched his brow. His wife and Potter, both barely clothed, both covered in sweat… if it was anyone but Anastasia, he'd have been worried that she had been up to something bad. He knew of the deal they were about to have, but the rules were explicit. And plus, this was Anastasia, his wife, utterly loyal to him, as she had proven over the years. And Harry Potter was the little boy that had blackmailed her, no, them into going through his perverted fantasy.
No, he was reading too much into it. Anastasia was easily psyched about magical plants, and perhaps the brat did know his stuff and shared common interests. She must have gotten excited. Or perhaps, she was just getting more used to being in the boy's presence to soothe out the horrendous experience that would soon follow.
"Ah, Broderick," said Harry Potter. "I heard you got into a little mess at the Ministry."
Anger flared within him. "...yes. I'm glad you helped me out, Mr. Potter, but I didn't expect such lowly behaviour from you."
His boldness caught the boy by surprise, who looked like he expected a lot of talking around the subject. He raised an eyebrow. "Please, tell me what you really think."
Anastasia put a hand on Broderick's wrist, giving him a pleading look before turning back to Potter. "I apologise on behalf of my husband. It is unfair of him to show such a reaction after agreeing to the deal in the first place."
"No offence taken, Anastasia," said Harry Potter, and Broderick narrowed his eyes once more. "I can totally understand the respect and love of a husband. I understand his reservations but honestly, I'd have thought he'd be happy."
"You want me to be happy about…" began Broderick heatedly, before one sharp look from his wife made him lower his voice to respectable levels. "You want me to happy about letting you fuck my wife?"
"Yes, I am offering you a way out. Your wife is quite beautiful, Mister Greengrass, and as much as I'm hesitant to admit it, when she approached me wearing that beautiful sundress, I couldn't keep my eyes off her. It's a relatively easy way out for you, in exchange for me having to deal with potential backlash over the Phyllida issue with the DMLE. Of course, if you are in two minds about it, we can always ..."
"NO!" bellowed Anastasia, giving Broderick a sharp look that told him not to be stupid. "We have had such a productive evening at the greenhouse, Potter. We will go through this too. You are a young man, and it's natural that you find an adult body far more tantalising than someone of your age. We… we are not cancelling the agreement."
Broderick tilted his head slightly. Gideon was right. The brat was a greenhorn and possibly a virgin. He had gotten excited and tried to take advantage of this opportunity. Too bad he didn't think too far about the consequences of his decisions.
Still…
"You realise I could take this to the press?"
Potter raised an eyebrow. "And then what? Will you tell them how you're committing a fraud by backdating a trade by two months? Or perhaps how you are only loaning me the deed to Phyllida for a year's worth of time to save your arse from being chewed by Auror Robards? Or will you try to explain why your wife even agreed to this and drafted an agreement, attested by Gringotts which, by the way, you signed?"
Broderick's face hardened.
"You can try to play the disappointment card as much as you want, Mr. Greengrass, but we both know that this is an under-the-table deal. The only reason you agreed to hand over Phyllida is not out of the goodness of your heart, but to save your sorry arse. You make this public? Sure, there will be blood in the water and the sharks will come. But I think they'll find one of them far tastier than the other."
"Alright, that's enough," claimed Anastasia, though her words did nothing to stop him from glaring at the perverted brat. She looked him in the eye. "Alright. Broderick. This is what is going to happen. You needed this deal, and you needed Potter to get you out of this mess. He offered me a proposal, and as degrading as it is, I can go ahead with it, if it helps my husband. Now unless you want to break the contract and be declared an oath-breaker by the House of Potter, I suggest you make nice with him. Right away."
The flinch was minuscule, but it was there. Broderick closed his mouth and looked at his wife, as if seeing her for the first time. Anastasia had always done what he had asked her to. So where did this strong, dominating woman come from?
What was he missing?
"Broderick?"
He closed his eyes and exhaled. When he opened them again, he noticed both Potter and his wife were looking at him expectantly.
"All… alright. I suppose you can meet with my wife in one of the guestrooms after dinner and get it done with. Speaking of that, this… fantasy of yours —"
"Oh, it's rather simple," said Harry Potter. "You see, I don't just want to fuck your wife. I want to show her that I can give her the best fuck of her life. With you present and watching."
Broderick's eyes twitched.
Notes:
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Chapter 102: Cucking Her Husband Part 1
Chapter Text
BOOK 3 - THE INCUBUS AND NECROMANCER
CHAPTER 102 - CUCKING HER HUSBAND PART 1
Anastasia stood in front of her dressing table, combing her hair. She fluffed it out, so it framed her pretty face sensually, the lustrous blonde locks looking somewhat wild and sexy, as she knew Harry Potter would expect.
She had chosen a cream satin lace-up bustier, something she knew looked spectacular on her. And now, looking at herself in the mirror, she knew she had chosen wisely. The satin glistened alluringly as it moulded itself to her curvy form, yet she knew the fabric was sinfully cool to the touch — and she expected Potter to be touching her a lot. She felt herself get wet just by thinking about it.
She couldn't explain what had come over her during that meeting, but she found herself almost 'under his spell'. Under the spell of pure, young maleness, his testosterone-laced body seemed to ooze sex with every breath he took. From that first moment he had her down on her knees worshipping his cock, she had felt something take control. A deep-seated wantonness that had been lying restlessly dormant inside her, waiting for someone to release those troubling desires she had suppressed for all these years. Desires to worship and slavishly serve that big, hard cock.
And to do it in front of her husband, with him forced to watch as a boy of his daughter's age violated his wife's pussy… just the thought of it sent shivers down her spine. It was wickedly sinful, imagining her husband's expression when he saw that big, hard, powerful yet so velvety soft cock would drill her insides, her pussy gushing and moans of ecstasy escaping her lips. Broderick believed that Harry Potter was an inexperienced novice who had been lured by a mere display of skin, a boy who thought he was a man but had actually been deceived into a disappointing arrangement for a half-hearted encounter with an adult woman.
Anastasia turned and faced herself in the mirror. With her hair slightly tousled and looking playfully sexy, she applied some dark bronze tones to her eyelids, followed by a swirl of mascara brush over her eyelashes. It gave her a more sultry look than the pink eye shadow she was used to wearing, and she liked it. Her pouty lips were almost glowing, looking wickedly wet and teasingly inviting with the smear-less gloss, turning her wide full mouth into a brilliant red gash, which she knew Potter wanted. A wet-looking mouth for sucking his big, hard cock.
She adjusted her girls one more time, her voluminous tits barely contained by the bustier, noting the way her big tits cast a pronounced shadow on her midsection, and the way the cinched-in waist emphasised her shapely hourglass figure. She drew the ribbon-like laces on the front tightly, forcing her huge tits together and up. The laces were tight as could be, and she knew that one tug on the bow would release her breasts from their containment. If that happened, she wouldn't be surprised if the strain caused the bustier to fly right off.
With her nipples just beneath the lacy top edge of the bustier's cups, she reached down and wriggled her hips, adjusting the tiny waistband of the matching thong panties.
Having left the panties till the very end, Anastasia carefully adjusted the front panel, making sure her juices weren't seeping through. She turned and looked at her plump rear end, nicely displayed in the tiny thong. She sprayed the sexiest perfume and was just fluffing her hair up one more time when the door to her bedroom opened, and her husband stepped through.
"Ana…" said Broderick, coming to a stop seeing his wife dressed so provocatively. "Don't you think this is a bit… too much? We are only to entertain his madness for one night. But this…"
"Oh, honey," said Anastasia, walking up and caressing his cheek. "That just won't do. This is Harry Potter you are talking about. He's a boy, and boys talk. "I prefer to be described as an effervescent beauty that he couldn't tame, an unattainable wet dream for a boy of his age, rather than being the bland wife of Broderick Greengrass who tricked him into a poor deal."
"I don't even want him to touch you in the first place," Broderick growled.
"Then you should've known better than to rope him into these things. He's a boy, and hormones run their heads. Plus, if he's really enthralled, it means we can suck him into future deals. If I'm spreading my legs for the Boy-Who-Lived, it better pay me back a hundredfold."
Broderick scowled, clearly upset by his wife's logic.
Anastasia gave him a perturbed glare. "You want to know what I think? I think you have enough issues of your own to deal with right now than worry about this."
"You're not the one that has to watch his wife get fucked by another man."
"No, I'm the wife that gets fucked by another man because my husband was too stupid to get me into this mess in the first place," she said. "For Merlin's sake, Broderick. Don't make it harder than it is. For better or worse, I'm the one that has to work with Potter soon, and I'd rather make him thrilled."
"But—"
"Honey," she said, caressing his face. "Just treat this as my fantasy." Watching a younger man fuck me in front of my husband. A younger man who is Boy-Who-Lived. This time tomorrow, we will be here, making love to each other, laughing at how pathetic the boy had been in bed. How you were the only guy that could show me a good time?"
She felt her husband's pants grow tighter at the mental image.
"Imagine… you pounding into me, orgasm after orgasm, reminding this body how a real man takes his wife. Tonight, that boy gets to put his tiny penis into my pussy. Tonight your wife sacrifices for her dear husband. And tomorrow night, she gets adequately rewarded for it."
Her fingers caressed his cock over his pants.
Anastasia smirked. "Someone sure likes that idea."
Broderick blushed. "Fine. You win."
Anastasia gave him a knowing smile. She always knew what to say to turn him on.
About half an hour later, Harry Potter entered their bedroom, his familiar, fun and muscular frame walking through the door, dressed in an expensive suit and tie, holding a bottle of Ogden's Finest gift-wrapped for the occasion. He didn't seem too phased at all, matter of fact, he seemed relaxed about the whole situation. It made her wonder what other pureblood ladies had done the same too during the summer.
Another mystery to add about the enigmatic Harry Potter.
She almost chuckled as Harry offered the bottle to Broderick with a roguish grin, who pivoted nervously, but accepted it. Protocol dictated that he should've offered this to the Lady of the House, but given the unusual circumstances, the husband was the one that needed a little coaxing. He ensured Broderick was relaxed to let the rest of the eventful night to follow through.
"Uh, you will not stab me, are you?" Harry gave a laugh.
"It was my intention," said Broderick seriously, before his expression shifted slightly. "I am joking. It's… actually fine. You helped me out of this roadblock and are taking quite the risk for me. While I don't like it, I can understand where you are coming from, and I think both me and my wife are fairly broad-minded to let this one slight pass."
"I really want to say how bad I feel for putting you in this situation," Harry began, but Broderick cut him off.
"Seriously… it's fine," said her husband. He paused between his words, and his consideration took aback even Anastasia regarding the entire situation. "We talked about it, we explored the idea a little, and we are completely okay with it."
"Explored it?"
Broderick paused, realising how misleading his words sounded. "We explored the outcome of your request, and we decided it wasn't big enough to make a fuss about it. You are in your teens, and I remember what it's like to be bombarded with hormones."
"Alright," said Harry. "That's cool."
The conversation didn't venture back to the topic of what was about to happen, save only a few jokes from Broderick's side. After half an hour of casual chat, Broderick looked like he was feeling a lot lighter, with the consequences of what was about to happen completely thrown out of the window. As bizarre as it sounded, he no longer sounded like he cared if Harry Potter was about to fuck his wife. Yes, that was going to happen, but it was like Harry Potter was a nameless entity used only to fuel a fantasy between him and his wife. A single night of letting go gave away so much excitement and pleasure that Anastasia could almost believe that Broderick was looking forward to it.
And she suspected Harry Potter had something to do with it.
Was it the firewhiskey? No, she had drunk it too, and she didn't notice any change in its texture or any magical influence apart from the usual lowering of inhibitions. Neither had Potter raised his wand. She knew he was powerful and could perform basic wandless magic, but she had yet to feel any magical spell take root around her.
"Honestly," slurred an inebriated Broderick. He leaned into the table a bit the way he always did when he was about to say something heartfelt, or on a more serious note. "I'm glad you accepted the offer. It would've been devastating to us otherwise."
"Yes," said Anastasia meekly, playing the part of the dutiful wife. "And we acknowledge the degree you are trying to keep things comfortable."
"Oh no, not at all," said Harry. "Honestly, most couples don't even find that level of trust in each other to try something like this. And those that do… Well, they take years. It's just amazing that you have done it so young."
Anastasia smiled. She knew that by referring to them as a couple, Harry was actually making the entire thing look like a perverted fantasy that she and Broderick wanted to experience. Instead of having to fight his ego, Harry was making it look like the entire thing was actually Broderick's fetish, a bond between him and her, something that they could be open and proud of, something that hopefully they would explore more in the future. He meticulously crafted his words to commend them for their appreciation of a fantasy that enabled him to engage in sexual activity with his wife at that moment, and potentially in the future. Why, by the end, Broderick was almost looking smug.
His sheer expertise stirred her loins.
"Not to mention the trust," said Harry. "I mean, any other man would have held what I suggested against me for suggesting it, and his wife for accepting it. It's fucking insane that your relationship is so strong that you actually are coming out of the other side with things better than before."
The proud look on his face was almost genuine, and Anastasia wondered how a boy still in his teens could so effortlessly manipulate a man his father's age so effortlessly. Was this what that Jones woman had been talking about?
Ah well, she had made her bed already. There would be tons of opportunities to talk to Potter's secretary in the future. For now, she just gave her husband a sultry smile and squeezed his hand.
"Much better," she said.
"I trust her," said Broderick happily. "Beyond anything else, I can't say I've felt that way about any other woman before… and also, I think I can trust you, Potter. You… you're the real deal. I think I could watch you fuck her over and over, but I'd know it wouldn't hurt us as a couple."
Anastasia sat on the edge of her husband's words. Had he really said that? She knew she had him semi-convinced by playing on his masculinity and ego, but that assumed that Harry Potter had a small dick and would be terrible in bed when, in reality, he'd be anything but. There was always a chance that Broderick would feel emasculated in the middle of it and react badly. But this…
She had thought she had seen all that Harry Potter offered.
She had been so wrong.
"Well… I'd be lying if I said I didn't find it out," Broderick admitted. "This looked bad in the beginning, but now I see it. It actually proves to me how faithful Anastasia is to me."
He quickly glanced at her, only to see her staring aimlessly. He grabbed her by her shoulders and gave her a one-armed hug. Anastasia silently accepted it, unable to help but shuffle a bit in her seat as her mind vividly played flashbacks of her time with Potter. The loud moans, the dirty looks, the unbelievable feeling of getting fucked by him. Her mind played on the erotic fantasy, being fucked and used so primitively in aid of her darkest desires, her husband being cast aside in the aid of a more dominant partner.
"Well, if you like it," said Harry, "We can arrange for it again, sometime. Or, call that off."
Anastasia almost laughed in joy at the look of approval on her husband's face. Harry had him exactly where he wanted to be. She knew it was crucial to give Broderick the sensation of choice over this, to make it feel like they were asking Potter to join in on the fantasy, when the reality was its exact opposite.
"I'm half decent at acting," said Harry. "I'm more than happy to play along in case you have any fantasies, Lady Greengrass. It's the least I can do for what you are doing for me."
Anastasia looked at Broderick.
"Go ahead," said her husband.
"It… it feels weird," she admitted, unsure how to approach it without blowing things up. "And wrong. Very wrong."
"That's the thing about fantasies," said Harry. "They are wrong, and that's what makes them so spicy. But I'm certain your husband wouldn't mind, given how much he trusts you."
"Well…. I'd like you to say certain words while you fuck me." she paused, wondering how to lead to what she wanted to say next. "Like, I want you to mock my husband, for being better at fucking me than he is…" She looked at Broderick for any expression changes, but found none, save a tiny embarrassment. "I want you to claim that since you're young, you can fuck me better than… you know, my husband. And then… and then… I want my husband to fuck me after that, and prove that he's better."
Harry arched an eyebrow.
"I'm saying you are worse, Harry," she said, with a note of pleading. "But well… My husband is a fantastic lover, and I'm sure you are great at this, but I want to see my husband prove himself to me. He is my alpha."
She couldn't believe how odd this felt, her sitting there, talking casually to another guy about fucking him in front of her husband. Scary, but also incredibly arousing. "So I want you to… to tell him you are going to fuck me, and that you are going to fuck me again… or telling him you are going to cum in me… and mock him. It will… uh, make the ending even more glorious when he proves himself to me."
She finished her list rather lustfully, her tits heaving as her breath deepened.
"I can do that," said Harry Potter for a thoughtful moment.
Anastasia took a moment to marvel at the sheer efficacy with which he planned, imagined and envisioned every single way the conversation may have gone over. She knew he had considered a plethora of ways this conversation could've fucked six ways to Sunday. Using Broderick's urgency to get him to sign his wife's body for a night had been a start. Hell, he had masterfully used Broderick's best friend, Gideon, to convince the man to go along with it.
And now, he had changed Broderick from someone that was two steps away from murdering Potter in his sleep, to someone willing to let Potter fuck his wife.
"I… I think I'll let you talk about it for a bit," said Harry in a suggestive tone, as he stood up. "I think I need to talk to my secretary about something. How about I rejoin you in ten minutes?"
Classy, thought Anastasia. His leaving made it look like this was a far more realistic arrangement that rested, not on his hands, but on Broderick, when he had signed his wife's booty away to Potter, regardless of how he might feel about it. Husband and wife sat there silently for a while, pondering the fantasy she had voiced moments earlier in their own minds, and looking at each other with curiosity and slight apprehension.
"Well?" she asked anxiously.
"I think…" said Broderick slowly. "He raised some good points, and if we play it like that, it works out for the best. I mean, he's the Boy-Who-Lived and the Potter Lord, so making him feel inadequate would bring more harm than good. But this way, we're doing exactly that, while calling it a fantasy. He can get his pity romp, and… it's just one time."
"Honey...," she asked, despite the temptation to take him at his word simply. The sheer irony felt absolutely ecstatic. "Are you absolutely sure about —"
"Yes," said Broderick before she even finished it. Heck, Potter really was a miracle maker.
A couple of dirty words and teasing remarks later, Harry Potter entered the room again, sitting next to them as if nothing had happened. He gave them a smug smile before speaking in anticipation.
"Well, what did you decide?"
Anastasia nodded, her eyes fixed on Harry as she held Broderick's hand. She couldn't believe this was about to happen, and her palms sweat and her heart fluttered with the excitement of the night ahead. The thought of exploring that taboo, the chance to actually say hurtful things to her husband under the guise of roleplay while letting Potter fuck her minds out like before…. Just the thought was making her wet as she sat there.
"I think…" said Broderick. "We might as well get started. I have asked the elves to prepare a room for this."
The trio reached the room, opened the door, and made their way. Broderick entered last, leaving him to close the door behind him. Anastasia was standing close to Potter, barely a few feet away from the bed, leaving Broderick no choice but to sit on the couch and watch. Anastasia was nervous herself, and as desperate as she was to get fucked by Harry Potter, she didn't want to make things awkward or appear too interested. Thankfully, Potter moved closer, his tall, dominant frame towering over her slender form. He looked at her, a smug smile on his face, before he spoke in a quiet whisper.
"Tell your husband I am going to fuck you."
Her pussy clenched at his words. Potter's forwardness made her ease up a bit. Her body relaxed, and she looked at her husband, who was still standing next to the couch, his eyes fixed in anticipation. Her heart raced as she followed Harry's commands.
"... Honey," she breathed. "Harry Potter is going to fuck me now."
Potter spoke again. "On your knees. Let your husband watch you suck my cock."
Anastasia's heart raced. This was it… it was about to happen. She was truly going to get fucked before her husband. With no further instruction, the stunning woman sank to her knees in front of the young man, staring up at him as he edged a little closer to her. Watching from the corner of his eyes, she noticed the tension in Broderick's pants, no doubt watching her face light up in excitement as she raised her hands up to meet Potter's crotch, before stroking hard against his shaft from the outside of his pants. A part of her whispered that the entire setting had been banking on her claims about Potter possibly having a tiny dick, when the truth was the exact opposite. A moment of passionate stroking passed as she fiddled with his belt, unbuckling it and pulling his trousers downward, leaving him in his boxer shorts outlined by his thick cock.
Her mouth opened on its own, and she gasped. The familiarity with Potter's cock from earlier during the day had been painfully and exquisitely etched in her memory, and witnessing it again evoked those images in her mind. She stared at it idly, completely dismissing the idea that her husband was watching her from a few feet away. She slowly dragged down his boxers with her thumbs, revealing inch after inch of his bare cock. It stood at a considerable size, even at half-mast. Her lips hovered at the tip, before dragging them up and down his cock. She wasn't kissing it or sucking it. Instead, she just pressed her lips against it, absolutely absorbed in her own horniness and the need to get fucked by this masterpiece.
"Merlin, your wife is a dirty bitch," gloated Potter. His cock was stiffening at her, caressing, and he slowly pushed it against her mouth. Anastasia parted her lips to take it inch by inch into her mouth. Her husband watched, shocked and aroused at the sight of this 'kid' feeding his jumbo cock to his faithful wife.
"That's it," hissed Potter. "Suck it. Suck my cock."
Anastasia gave a muffled moan and began working faster and faster on his shaft, her eyes fixed on her husband who was still staring in disbelief, whole the thick, rubbery head of Harry's cock kept hitting the back of her throat, causing her to gag slightly, but not deterring her from her illicit sucking.
And the most amazing thing happened.
Her husband's hand moved to his trousers and rubbed his cock through the material.
Anastasia couldn't believe her eyes. What new facet of her husband's character had revealed itself here? Was he… was he truly getting excited at the idea of having another man fuck his wife's mouth? It sent a spark up her spine, and she began bobbing up and down the cock ever so dirtily, watching Broderick massage his own dick. After a few moments, she opened her mouth and placed her tongue flat against his shaft, licking so desperately up and down his turgid member. She wanted to give Broderick a show, and she was going to enjoy giving it even more. Giving him a dirty smile, her pearly white teeth blocked out as her lips pressed against Potter's shaft. She decided it was time to take things to the next level.
"I love sucking your cock."
Potter gave her a knowing smile. He knew fully well what she was trying to do, and he wanted her to continue mocking her husband while he fucked her. "Really? Better than your husband?"
"You have no idea," said Anastasia breathlessly, stroking his cock with one hand. She was absolutely in love with this thing. "The things it does to my throat….mmm…." She turned to Broderick with a cruel smile. "His doesn't even reach halfway."
Broderick sucked in his breath, but kept rubbing his cock through his pants faster, fully immersed in the fantasy Harry had manipulated him to believe in.
"Whose cock do you love more?" asked Potter.
"Yours," she breathed.
"Prove it."
Without hesitation, she pulled her hand away from his cock and held them together behind her back. She gave him a dirty smile and plunged her mouth against his rock-hard shaft, and began slurping loudly. Anastasia sucked and bobbed her head back and forth, the smacking noises filling the room. She was putting up a show in front of her husband, and she'd be damned if she didn't take advantage of this twisted opportunity. If Broderick's reaction was any clue, she might even arrange for a repeat… or perhaps multiple repeats of this over and over. Every lick she made against his cock dripped with her sluttiness before she completely pulled her head away from it. She remained on her knees before placing her arms to the bottom of her shirt, lifting it off and exposing the cream bustier beneath.
"Broderick…" she whispered. "Harry Potter is staring at my tits."
Broderick went faster.
"Do you…" she went on. "Do you want him to look at my tits while I suck him off?"
Before Broderick could even make a desperate nod, she had removed the bustier off, dropping it to the floor, exposing her gorgeous, smooth, firm tits to the pair of them.
Her husband's eyes all but bulged out of his sockets as he hissed out a breath, jerking himself faster and faster. Anastasia wondered how long it would be before he took his dick out of his pants, or worse, creamed within them.
Grabbing her tits with both hands, fondling them with the desperate need to be touched, she resumed bobbing her head against his cock, sending everyone into a surge of pleasure at the sight. Meanwhile, she watched the kindles of a strange fire burn within her husband's eyes, a desperation that wanted her to reach the climax of what she was doing, yet also continue doing it for eternity. An amazing dichotomy of desires and emotions that felt absolutely exquisite.
Tonight was going to be interesting.
Notes:
If you want to support me, find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Chapter 103: Cucking Her Husband Part 2
Chapter Text
BOOK 3 - THE INCUBUS AND NECROMANCER
CHAPTER 103 - CUCKING HER HUSBAND PART 2
The night was about to get very interesting.
"Come with me," said Harry Potter, grabbing Anastasia by her head as he stepped backwards until he was standing with his back against the bed. Her lips still attached to his cock, she crawled on all fours, never once letting his shaft leave her lips. She couldn't believe what a turn on this was, she was shirtless, her gorgeous tits were on display, and her husband was watching her crawl across the floor while Harry's cock like it was her favourite snack.
Broderick meanwhile stared in amazement as Potter sat down on the bed, and his wife rose slightly to keep his shaft still lodged within her throat. Potter grabbed her tits and smacked them softly, which only added to his wife's moans.
He probably didn't even realise it then, that his left hand was slowly unzipping his trousers, liberating his dick.
Before long, Anastasia stood up in nothing save her panties, her gorgeous hair laid against her back as she stood in an incredibly horny state, less than a few inches from Harry Potter. She bit her lip, as she stared down at him, her eyes stuck on his cock that was begging to be ridden. While her husband watched.
If the sheer anticipation didn't make her cum, then Harry Potter was definitely going to.
She shivered as Harry Potter touched her hips, dipped his thumbs inside her panties, and heard Broderick suck in his breath, watching Harry Potter slowly, erotically drag her panties down to reveal her perky, round arse and her shaven, tight pussy. Harry leaned in, kissing her stomach, and pulled her panties all the way down to her ankles, letting her step out. He looked at her and gave her a dirty smile, and she instinctively knew what was about to happen.
"Hey… Mister Greengrass," said Harry, never once even looking at Broderick. "I'm going to fuck your whore of a wife."
Anastasia let out a soft moan. Harry no doubt knew how horny and turned on she was right then, especially with his mentioning his intention aloud like that. She liked it when a man dominated her like that. A sick smile spread across her face, and she turned towards her husband, who had unzipped his cock and was rubbing it with one hand desperately, turned on with what was happening before his eyes. If she hadn't seen the entire thing happen before her own eyes, she'd have thought that Potter had put Broderick under the Imperius.
That this man could twist other males — husbands with just words, both terrified and excited the fuck out of her.
Her pussy burnt with pleasure as she slowly descended down on his cock, but Potter ended up sliding it against her pussy lips, choosing to taunt her instead of letting her have her fill. She tried to force it into her, but he slid it backward, until it was resting against her arsecrack, sending another wave of pleasure coursing through her. They were going to fuck, there was no doubt about that. But to let him fuck her in her arse? That was something she had never allowed even her husband, so could she get away with letting Potter have this forbidden fantasy in front of him?
"I'm going to fuck you like your husband can't," Harry whispered quietly, but his words were clearly audible to both husband and wife. "He is going to watch me fuck the life out of you."
"Bo— bold words," she said, playing along. "My husband fucks me better than you can imagine."
"That's only because you haven't had your experience with this cock," said Potter smugly. Anastasia raised her arse up in anticipation, her pussy lips teasing the tip of his cock as she felt it slide just an inch into her tunnel. He was making her so desperate… she wanted to take the plunge and have the entire thing hit her insides all the way.
"Work for it," said Potter. "Ride my cock in front of your husband."
Without hesitation, Anastasia propped herself up. Her back facing Broderick, she straddled Harry's lap, his thick shaft pressing against her stomach, ready for penetration. She placed her hand at the base of his shaft, lifting her hips and aligned it to skewer through her entrance. Biting her lower lip, she slowly began to lower herself, her eyes opening wider and wider as her hot pussy began to swallow inch after inch of his gorgeous dick.
"Fuuuck!" She moaned, and sat down on his cock. She couldn't believe how good it felt. Just having it within her was pushing her to cum. Tilting her head back, she gasped in pleasure and turned to look at her husband.
"His cock is hitting me deeper than I've ever felt, darling," she all but screamed.
Broderick just watched. Watched as his stunning wife moaned loudly in a way he had never heard her before as every thick inch of that cock entered her. His face was red, a mix of arousal, jealousy and excitement flooding within him, as he watched his wife get fucked by a much larger cock, watching her moan. Part of him kept whispering that something was wrong, that Potter wasn't supposed to be this endowed, or even if he had, he was definitely not supposed to give his wife this kind of pleasure. The same part was telling him that he had made a big mistake by not stopping this long ago, by being sickly warped by Potter's manipulative words to try his wife's fantasy out, and now… he was going to see exactly why he should've never let Harry Potter come near his wife.
"Oooohhh… fuck!" Anastasia squealed.
"Yes," said Potter, slapping her arse. "Ride that cock!"
Anastasia felt so dirty. She couldn't even control herself as she began bouncing faster and faster, taking in more and more of Harry's dick inside her with every downward plunge. Her pussy was soaked, her nipples hard as rock, and her face flustered, and red, and she knew she wanted to keep this fantasy going, for it was so fucking hot. But a realisation flooded through her, something that if her husband knew would not make him this eager to let things continue.
She wasn't doing this for some stupid fantasy.
Neither was she doing it to demonstrate her trust in the strength of the relationship she shared with Broderick.
She was doing this for herself, and for Potter. He wanted to cuck her husband, and he wanted her to participate in it. She opened her mouth and the words that escaped her lips couldn't have been more apt.
"Oh, oh Merlin! Harry! Fuck!" she moaned. "You are so… so big! Ughhh!"
"You are a dirty, cheating slut, aren't you?" asked Harry, and Anastasia narrowed her eyes. He was playing a risky game. Broderick was in this, however tentative his acceptance might be, but they were toeing a line between indulgence and audacity, and the line was getting thinner with every passing moment. Fortunately, Harry slid back into the fantasy right then,
"Does your husband's dick feel as good?"
"No," she moaned instantly. "And I can't wait for him to prove me wrong."
Broderick's dick pulsed at her cruel words, convincing himself that Anastasia was simply playing her part of the fantasy. They had decided on this. She would say provocative statements to excite him, challenge his masculinity, and after she had been through everything Potter was offering, Broderick would have his way with her, and show her who the real man was. Objectively, he noted that Potter had quite the dashing appearance, but there was no doubt that Anastasia was faking her reactions to not hurt his sentiments while playing into her fantasy.
He continued to stroke himself as he watched his loving wife's arse bounce up and down, while Potter thrust upward, his cock pounding mercilessly and the bed shaking violently from their combined actions. It drew him to his own climax, but then something far more erotic happened.
Harry grabbed Anastasia's hips tightly, spun her around, and before she could even brace herself for what was about to happen, he began thrusting harder and faster, while she screamed and screamed and screamed. Anastasia felt her body go limp from the sheer pleasure, and she fell forward, her tits falling down and juggling up and down as he kept slamming into her pussy from behind. Drool dripped down from her open mouth, as Harry drilled into her tunnel like a jackhammer, every single thrust making her feel like she was being hit by a minor zapping curse.
"Oooh! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" she screamed, trying and failing to hold her own knees for support, her sweaty palms slipping against her thighs. She had never been fucked so well, not even earlier when they had sex in that building. He truly was fucking her like a whore. Instead her glistening eyes met her husband's excited ones, watching him watch her get fucked in ways he never did. Before she knew it, he grabbed her by her shoulders and pulled her back against his chest, letting Broderick have the full view of her sweaty, naked and well-fucked image, with his cock deep inside his wife' pussy.
"Tell him," Harry whispered. "Tell him that I am going to make you cum."
Anastasia could've shrieked in laughter. The sheer irony, the erotism, the pleasure coursing through her veins, and the excitement on her husband's face… it was all too much for her.
"Darling," she said in a husky tone. "Harry Potter is going to make me cum."
Broderick watched her.
"Tell him," said Harry. "Tell him that I am going to cum in you."
"Darling," she repeated again. "Harry Potter is going to cum inside me."
Her husband only stroked his cock faster.
"BRODERICK!" Anastasia yelled out. "HARRY POTTER IS GOING TO CUM IN MY PUSSY AND I AM GOING TO LOVE IT!"
Her husband couldn't hold it any more. Something about her words spurred him, and thick globules of cum erupted out of his dick, splattering all across the floor. Harry took it as a sign to renew his drilling inside her love tunnel, and pushed her down to the floor. Anastasia barely managed to support herself with her hands, with Harry holding her tight by the hips above, as he kept thrusting in and out with a speed she hadn't thought possible. Every single thrust made it increasingly harder for her to stay like that, bent over with him reaming her pussy, but she struggled on.
"Who fucks you best?"
"YOU!" She screamed. "You do."
Harry smacked her arse, the sound reverberating all across the room. He started fucking her even faster, and Anastasia did all she could to just bear it and hold on. Her whole body was sweaty and messy and shaking as he fucked her from behind roughly. She felt drunk with lust, her body burning with every thrust, while the impossible feeling of being that full hitting every inch of her body.
"Honey!' She babbled. "Honey! You've never fucked me like this before. You've never made me feel like this before!"
"Tell him," spanked Harry. "Tell him, whose whore are you?"
"Yours!"
Spank. "TELL HIM!"
'I AM HIS WHORE, BABY!" She screamed. "YOUR WIFE IS POTTER'S WHORE! YES! KEEP FUCKING ME! SHOW MY HUSBAND HOW IT IS DONE!"
"Your husband came on the floor," mocked Harry. "I'm gonna cum inside you. I'm going to knock you up in front of your husband."
"No…" whispered Broderick.
"Oh, no! Fuck!" sang Anastasia. "I'm not… not under the potion!"
"I'm going to put a baby in you."
"No…" she sang. "Broderick! Broderick —"
"Your husband cannot stop me," said Harry Potter. "He's going to watch me cum inside you whether he likes it or not! And then he has the rest of his life trying to play catch-up."
"Ffuuu—ck!" whimpered Anastasia. "Bro— dderick tell him! Tell him!"
"Tell your husband I am going to cum in you."
Anastasia gave up all pretence. "Harry Potter fucked me so — ugh — so well! It's only fitting that he cums in me! He is going to cum in me, Broderick. In your wife's pussy."
Her husband's eyes flashed with protest. He put a foot forward as if ready to stand up and interrupt, but hesitantly withdrew it and sat back down. His cock twitched in his hand, absolutely engaged but turned on at the same time. He looked at her with pleading eyes, unsure whether this was part of her fantasy or not. She knew that he hated the idea of someone else cumming in her pussy, fantasy or not.
"He might knock me up," she said, smiling coldly at him, her words trailing off into a moan that was broken apart by every hard thrust Harry made into her. She spoke again, mocking her husband, though this wasn't for his pleasure, it was for her own. "Oh! Oh baby! Harry is going to cum inside me, baby! Are you going to… oh! Are you going to just sit and watch? Oh! Fuck! Aren't you going to stop him?"
As if to fuel things, Harry grabbed both of her tits and mauled them, eliciting a moan from her, her hot soaking pussy squeezing against his cock as he drove into her. She just lay there, mocking her husband with that erotic, deluded expression, her eyes smiling with contempt at her husband, as Harry kept hammering into her. This… this was intense. Her loud moans were almost drowning the wet, loud, pounding sounds made from Harry jackhammering her insides. She had known from prior experience just how long Harry could push things, and had taken a stamina potion just to keep up with him. It made the entire experience just that much surreal, especially with her husband having cum way before either of them had. She was so… so close now… and she knew he was too.
But before that…
"I'm going to…. Ughh! Let Harry fuck me again, honey!" She groaned, grinding her pussy against his cock, meeting every thrust with growing excitement as her own orgasm drew nearer. She was looking at Broderick in his eyes, her whole world shaking with the bed they were laying against.
"He… Oh! Yes! Like that! Harry, fuck me! Fuck me, Harry! Fuck me like a whore! I'll — I'll let you fuck me whenever you want! WHENEVER YOU WANT!"
It probably said something about her husband that he exploded for the second time right then.
"Merlin!" said Harry. "I can't wait to have you again!" He met Broderick's eyes. "I'm going to be fucking her from now on, Broderick! Your wife is my slut! You can't satisfy her after this! You — ugh! You really shouldn't have let me fuck her!"
"Yes!" screamed Anastasia. "I'll let you fuck me again! And again! Keep going! Oh shit! Oh fuck! I am going to CUMMMMM!"
Her pussy burned, and her eyes and mouth shot wide open, her whole world spinning in an incredible daze of lust and pleasure in one majestic explosion. Her pussy erupted in pleasure as his thick cock fucked her into the most amazing orgasm of her life. Her chest heaved, her heart fluttered, and her eyes rolled to the back of her head as unbelievable pleasure flooded through her body… She had never felt something so amazing, and could do nothing but moan loudly in appreciation with the odd word escaping, brutally honest and arousingly cruel.
"Here it comes," yelled Harry, and she felt his cock throb powerfully, as he thrusted it balls-deep inside her, and began shooting load after load of sticky, potent cum straight into it. She felt every single shot coat the insides of her cunt as his balls rose up again and again, pumping more and more of his sticky seed inside her.
"Oh, baby! Yes! He is cumming!" She moaned loudly, her eyes widening at just how hot this felt… looking at her husband's face while Harry Potter fucked and came inside her. "He's… he's CUMMING INSIDE ME! FUCK! THERE IS SO MUCH! He just… he just came inside me, honey!"
Broderick stared on, the regret of his decision masked by the sheer horniness that flooded him at the sight of watching his wife. Harry Potter had actually cum inside his wife. He watched as Potter kept pounding into her again and again, throbbing hard as it shot more and more of his hot, thick cum inside her. He was jealous… but more than that, he was aroused, the sheer amazement of the fantasy taking over his body, his reality, at the twisted idea of having his wife impregnated by another man.
"I'm cumming inside your bitch, Mister Greengrass," said Harry Potter.
Broderick couldn't help it. He had just cum twice, but his barrels felt like he could cum again. His dick was paining, and thoughts and doubts about how true his wife and Harry Potter had been during their illicit fuck was already troubling his mind, but there was time to ponder about that later. For now, the sheer erotism of the situation was overwhelming his senses.
Anastasia pulled off Harry's cock, and stood up, only to bend before his cock and began sweeping the mix of her juices and his cum with her tongue. She grabbed his cock and began rubbing it against her cheek, against her tits, against her forehead, and bent downwards to swallow his balls that promised to stay full for another sex-marathon or two. She moaned, and turned around, revealing Harry's cum swirling inside her mouth to her husband, making him watch how it was coating her teeth and tongue,before closing her mouth and swallowing loudly.
"That… was fun," she said, almost casually.
Harry Potter stood up, and almost mockingly, patted Broderick on his left shoulder. "I'm going to take a shower. You can fuck your wife and prove yourself, and finish the fantasy now, Mister Greengrass."
And then he proceeded towards the attached bathroom.
That Broderick was still looking just as dazed only made her think just how pathetic her husband was.
"What do you think, honey?" she asked, sitting down on the bed, legs spread apart, revealing her well-fucked pussy that was still leaking a mix of her and Harry's juices. "How was it?"
"...Hot," murmured Broderick.
"You look like you enjoyed yourself," she said casually. "I don't remember you ever cumming that many times."
Both of them could hear the sound of the shower begin.
"...yes," said her husband, standing up. "Do you — do you want me to —"
She stopped him in the middle, putting a single finger against her chest. She stood up, and casually forced him to sit back down on the couch. "I know you, honey. You've already cum thrice. I doubt you can cum again. That thing…" she regarded the cock that had pleasured her all these years, the cock that would now feel inadequate after her experience with Harry Potter. "It looks painful. Is it painful, honey?"
"...yes."
"Perhaps we can arrange for a repeat of this later?" she casually suggested. "Given how much you loved it. Perhaps it makes you horny watching another man with a bigger dick treat me like a whore."
"I… I…"
"It's okay, Broderick," she said, not letting him finish. Harry Potter fucking her had liberated her in ways she was still unaware of. Her life had always been limited to the Greengrass estate, running the herbology trade, and following her husband's commands and being the help from the shadows. But now… something had been unleashed within her. Something that had come out of its dark cave and would not be pushed back that easily.
Not if she had anything to say about it.
"It's obvious, honey," she said, keeping her tone a fine balance of mockery and concern. "You've already cum so many times. You cannot fuck me now. It's a side-effect we didn't plan for, but I'm still horny, honey. I took stamina potions you know, just to last getting fucked twice. I… I want more, honey, but I don't think you are in any position to help me with that."
"I — I can take the potion too," began her husband, but she shut him down with a finger on his lips.
"Take a potion?" She laughed cruelly. "And prove yourself as inferior to Harry Potter? No, I refuse to let my husband suffer that kind of ignominy. Instead, I'm going to ask Potter for a favour."
Broderick blinked. "What favour?"
"Well," said Anastasia brightly. "He got what he wanted from you, as per the deal. But only because I consented with it. I'm sure he wouldn't mind me asking a favour for being so cooperative. As for what, I am thinking of asking him for another round. Maybe you can watch and enjoy yourself too? And little Harry Potter will get another taste of this adult pussy, and feel even more grateful to us. To you."
Despite himself, Broderick couldn't bring himself to challenge his wife's twisted logic.
"Besides, it's nothing that hasn't happened already. I'm horny, honey, and you are in no position to help me. This way at least, we don't let him think that you are unable to perform and instead, make you look magnanimous. You are doing him a favour by letting him fuck your wife again."
"But Potter — will he —"
"You leave that to me," she said, smiling, as she turned to face towards the bathroom. She picked up her wand, and cast a charm at the door, turning it transparent. Inside, they could watch Harry Potter showering, oblivious to their private conversation.
"I'm going to try yet another fantasy, Broderick. I'm going to fuck Harry Potter in the shower."
Broderick just sat there, stunned at how forward and seductive his wife was being. He knew that all of this was simply a fantasy, and she was looking out for him, but part of him couldn't help but think he was missing something. That something didn't make sense. But before he could say or do anything, Anatasia opened the transparent door, and walked in, closing it behind her. He saw her say something to the boy, and to his surprise, jumped into his arms as he pushed her against the bathroom wall, and began fucking her in earnest. He saw how water was splashing down upon them, how his wife was throwing her head up and screaming in silent ecstasy, while Harry Potter hammered her insides with a zeal that bordered on the impossible. Broderick knew — he just knew that he had to act. He knew he should act. This… something was missing here. But — but what?
Then his gaze landed on his own wand. Grabbing it, he pointed it at his wife and Harry Potter that were engaged in brutal, animalistic sex, and muttered.
"Sonorous."
Much Better.
Notes:
If you want to support me, find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Next Update is on 10th July.
Chapter 104: Cucking Her Husband Part 3
Chapter Text
BOOK 3 - THE INCUBUS AND NECROMANCER
CHAPTER 104 - CUCKING HER HUSBAND PART 3
One would think that after suffering through the hassle that Auror Robards forced upon Broderick Greengrass for an entire night, and successfully swindling Harry Potter into his subpar deal, the least Broderick would enjoy would at least include a night of uninterrupted sleep.
Unfortunately, his sleep was anything but uninterrupted.
There had been no collection of a dream before he began hearing the sounds. It had felt like a mere moment of darkness and exhaustion before the dazed husband was slowly being awoken by the louder and louder sounds, disrupting his peaceful rest. It was a much louder, much more uncontrolled moan that finally sparked consciousness into him. His world was blurred as he woke from his sleep, and a tempus charm indicated that he had actually been asleep for a good few hours by that point, though this was quickly a mere distraction by the more obvious change to the room. His own bed was undisturbed, and he knew from the way he was asleep that his wife was not sleeping beside him, not to mention the blankets were unused and properly folded aside.
But as he lay alone, the reason for his wife's absence stared at him in the face. For someone who was rather cranky after being woken up abruptly, it was surprising how little complaint he had for the reason behind it this time around, and if anything, he was almost appreciative. Broderick didn't bother getting up fully, but instead watched from his vantage point across the room, at his wife who now had her legs straddled around Harry Potter as she rode his cock, the loud and shrewd moans escaping her lips almost uncaring as to whether she woke him up or not. Broderick laid mesmerised, watching and hearing his wife of eighteen years get fucked for the third time that night by Harry Potter.
Whether it had been planned between Anastasia and Harry Potter was unknown to him, but after what seemed like a good half hour of strong fucking, showcasing every single way Potter could fuck the ever-loving delights of his faithful wife, they had made their way back to the bed, showcasing a rather erotic ending to the night. Potter had stood up at the foot of the bed, while Anastasia had kneeled in front of him, now staring at her husband as she took his cock in her mouth for the second time that night.
Broderick barely had time to spur her on before he watched and listened to the cruel words his wife used as she mocked and devalued his masculinity, while exciting him at the same time as she sucked Harry Potter to the point of an orgasm, making Broderick watch as she let Potter's cum ooze down her lips, before sweeping her tongue around to get every single bit. She then swallowed it all but not before giving Broderick a beaming, cum-coated smile.
He had watched her take Harry Potter's cum shots to her face, seen him squirt all over her breasts and hair, thick globs of potent seed dripping all over his wife's naked and arousing form, before she had licked his cock clean but not before rubbing his cock over the splattered cum as if it were a paintbrush and her body, canvas. A short laugh and an aroused smile was all that was exchanged before they had finally called it a night. Harry Potter had offered to walk away to his guest room, but Anastasia had insisted that he stay the night over. The next thing he knew, someone must have transfigured something into a bed. Between the erotic experiences, the pleasure, and the firewhiskey, Broderick had called it a night, and chose to go sleep in the conjured bed. He might have enjoyed the thrill, but sleeping in the same bed where his wife had been fucked stupid by another man was beneath him.
That brought him to the present. He didn't know exactly how their third fuck came to be about. He would never understand how and why his loving and faithful wife was so tempted by Potter's cock that she found herself drawn to being fucked by it again barely within three hours. He had thought she was making good use of his permission, trying to excite them in new and uncharted ways. For someone that wanted to make him watch as she fucked another man in the shower, the idea of fucking another man while her husband slept was definitely within the list of potential fantasies his wife could fancy.
Yes, that must be it, Broderick decided. Though, she could do by being a little more considerate and use a silencing charm, but he supposed the idea of having her husband wake up to the noises of her illicit fucking probably stemmed from her fantasies. He pondered over the thought, though much like before, the immense exhaustion of the night and the day before took over and sleep overwhelmed him.
When he woke up the next morning, it was already ten in the morning. He looked at the other bed, almost expecting his wife to engage in promiscuous activities with their guest Harry Potter. Instead, the door opened and she stepped through, wearing a beautiful rich creamy sundress that strongly reminded him of her bustier and panties from the previous night. With a flick of her wand, she levitated a tray with a cup of cocoa and landed it softly on the table.
"Good morning, honey," said Anastasia brightly. "Slept well?"
Broderick wanted to comment how it was ironic that she was asking the question when she was responsible for breaking it abruptly in the middle of the night, but instead, his attention went to the other thing in the room, or rather, the absence of it.
"Potter?"
"Gone," said Anastasia, her eyes taking up an almost dazed expression for a fleeting moment. "Something about having an early start to the day. He said he had a few people to meet, a few errands to run before getting to the Quidditch World Cup. In fact… I was thinking we should go there too. Bulgaria is facing Ireland in the finals the day after tomorrow, right?"
Broderick took in everything along with a sip of his coffee. "...Yes."
"Well," said Anastasia brightly. "Why don't we attend the finals too? Daphne would love it, I think. And you know how crazy Astoria is about the sport."
The mention of his youngest brought a smile to the father's lips. "That she does."
His gaze then shifted to his wife and flashes of the previous night swam before his eyes. "Anastasia… are you… feeling better?"
She blinked. "Yes. Why?"
"I mean… after last night," he said with some hesitation. Part of him was unhappy to have let things devolve that far between his wife and Potter, and another part was infuriated that he had actually enjoyed watching his wife fuck a boy of Daphne's age like that. And then there was a part of him that was annoyed at his wife for enjoying it too much.
But all three parts were silenced by a fourth part that convinced him that it was all a fantasy that he had chosen to agree and enjoy, while also making the gullible Harry Potter happy and firmly under his thumb.
"Oh," said Anastasia, the smile fading from her face only to be replaced by concern. "Honey, whatever happened last night, whatever I said…"
"Yeah, it's fine," Broderick said suddenly. Looking at the surprise flitting across her features made him laugh. "It was entertaining actually, watching you act like he was truly giving you pleasure like that. You made the boy really happy, darling, but we both know that he is just a kid."
"...Yes," laughed Anastasia. "That is true. Just a boy."
Had he been less disoriented, he'd have noticed the glint in her eyes as she said that.
"But…" she continued. " He does offer a whole new vista of entertainment. Don't you think? I mean, how many people out there can claim that they made Harry Potter into their boy toy?"
"Boy toy…"
"Why yes," continued his wife. "He is clearly zealous for the pleasures of the adult flesh, and since he's a kid, nobody is indulging him. He even lets that halfblood secretary walk all over him."
Broderick scowled. "That wench should know her place."
"But that's good news for us, darling," said Anastasia. "If we keep him engaged with us, he will be firmly on our side. Already he helped you out with the Phyllida issue, and Robards cannot harass you any longer. Can you imagine how much we can profit from that silly boy if we keep this thing going?"
"This… thing… you can't mean —"
"Why fuck him, of course," said Anastasia as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "You and I can get to play out our fantasies, and let him indulge in a bit of adult flesh. Everyone goes home happy. Who knows, maybe if things work out, we can even have Daphne marry him and then he will be our toy, not that he already isn't."
"But Anastasia, that's risky —"
"Not any more risky than handing him Phyllida for a year," she snapped, before her expression shifted back to bliss. "Think, my dear husband. You can even loan out my services as a herbologist and potioneer for his company. Can you imagine? Us controlling Greengrass Exports and Sleekeazy, and Harry Potter stays as our little puppet. It's a win in every way."
"But…" Broderick frowned. Something about the entire thing felt off. He briefly remembered Anastasia loudly claiming how she would let Potter fuck her again and again. Was that just some playacting to keep the fantasy ongoing, or was there any kernel of truth in those words?
"You… you are serious about this… letting Harry Potter fuck you again."
"Oh please, darling," said Anastasia with a cold sneer. "He's just a boy. Everything I said last night was part of the fantasy. But you, dear, you are the real deal." She gave him a seductive smile, whispering after she leaned in and kissed her husband against his lips. "We really… really need to do that again."
"We… err, we can plan something later," he smiled slowly, wondering why she appeared that eager. Surely it was not just for fulfilling the fantasy? Or was she simply that excited at having Potter under her control? Perhaps this was just her Selwyn side? That lot were known to be control freaks after all.
"Well, Potter did that for you," said Anastasia brightly, handing him over a piece of parchment. "Now, I've to leave to tend the plants, and I've instructed the elves to prepare your breakfast." She kissed him fully in the lips and turned around and left.
Broderick watched her go. The moment she sprinted out of the room, his body sagged from the exhaustion of the previous day and night, though his mind could do nothing but race from thought to thought of what had happened. Had he truly enjoyed seeing his wife with another man? For Anastasia it might have been a mere fantasy, but Broderick knew that seeing her get fucked raw by another man had made him cum thrice within an hour. That just didn't ever happen, not even when he fucked those werewolf prostitutes in Knockturn Alley. He sat absorbed in memory for a good few minutes before his gaze fell at the note in his hands. Curious, he unfolded the note, which read —
See you at the Quidditch World Cup. Bring your wife and watch us.
Hestia Jones had come a long way from that first meeting with Harry Potter outside Diagon Alley when she had first met him driving by with his limo. From that point on, the Boy-Who-Lived had been a mystery twisted into a conundrum wrapped in an enigma. His casual knowledge of Wizarding Britain, his obvious maturity beyond his years, and finally, his ability to exercise magic that left her wondering how in hell could a third-year passout manage all that — every single thing had only attracted her towards him. His revealing his status as Lord Conditional of House Black, his pegging her as an informant for the Order, and everything that followed from then on — it had been one shocking revelation after another. Like a moth drawn to a flame, Hestia had been drawn to him in ways she couldn't explain, whether it be emotionally, physically or otherwise. And she had ended up becoming his Lilim — his anchor in this world, and one of the three people that knew that he was actually a time-traveller that had returned to the past to save the world.
After all that she had seen and experienced first-hand, she really shouldn't have been surprised by things any longer. And yet, after hearing what had just transpired, only one thought lingered in her head.
Harry Potter is terrifying.
"You made Broderick… Broderick Greengrass let you fuck his wife?"
"Willingly."
"Excuse me?"
"Willingly," said Harry Potter, smirking as they stood on the terrace of his lavish apartment building. "I made him willingly let me fuck his wife. Not once, not twice, several times."
"And that note you had me give Anastasia…."
"It was for Broderick actually," said Harry, leaning against the railing. "An invitation to the Quidditch World Cup. Guy enjoyed seeing his wife get fucked a bit too much. So I asked him to bring his wife along. I didn't say it out loud, so I'll let him fill the rest with his imagination."
"You're crazy."
"Maybe," he tilted his head sideward, "perhaps I'm reading too much into this, and maybe he'll likely explode in anger, but even then, he won't show it. He wants me under his thumb way too much to react to such tiny, inconsequential things."
"And if you are right?"
Harry gave her a devious smirk. "Then Broderick Greengrass would have accepted his fate to be a cuckold, and I will be fucking his wife many, many times in the future, and he will become my toy."
"I thought he was your toy already. With Phyllida under your control…"
His fingers danced along the railing. "That was that. This is this. I'd rather not mix business with pleasure."
"Harry," drawled Hestia. "You're an Incubus Lord. Pleasure is your business."
Said Incubus Lord snorted at that.
"...Harry?"
Her lover looked at her with a curious expression. "Yes?"
"I've been patient so far, but even I have my limits."
"What do you mean?" He looked at her, eyes narrowed, studying her. "You know what we wanted from the Greengrasses, and now we have it. Emmeline was a surprising addition, but not an unwelcome one. I'd have expected you to be happy and upbeat that things are going in a positive direction."
"Maybe I am new to all of this, or to fighting wars in general, but I can't help but notice you have been keeping things way too close to your chest. From the start of our relationship, you claimed that you'd claim the Black Lordship and take care of the Malfoy problem by the end of the summer. Well, the summer holidays are ending next week. And I don't know what kind of fuckery you are having with Narcissa Malfoy or this… twisted dominance thing you have been playing with Amelia fucking Bones and her fucking niece. And now Emmeline and Anastasia Greengrass? Don't you think you are… I don't know, trying to play too much too soon?"
"You think I will fuck things up."
It wasn't a statement, but a question.
"I think that you are getting ahead of yourself, yes. Hermione might not know it, but don't think that I've missed out on how weak you appear whenever you return from Grimmauld Place. And those wound scars. They vanish quickly, I'll give you that, but I don't think whatever you are doing is safe, Harry. And then there is this Incubus thing and the necromancy from the Scar…."
Harry touched her cheek with one hand, and Hestia stopped her tirade, and instead melted against his touch. Ever since she had become his Lilim, she had… for lack of a better word, begun to feel him in ways she couldn't even enunciate. It wasn't like she had grown unnaturally sensitive or anything, but it felt like every place he touched felt like an erogenous spot. It had taken a while for her to realise that it wasn't his touches that were bringing out this reaction, but rather, that it was HIM that was doing the touching. Hestia had already admitted that she loved him, and she would never have become a Lilim without being completely devoted to him. It was almost like she was so totally consumed with the emotion, that just the act of being with him regardless of whatever he did was enough to apparently satisfy her.
And with that, came a feeling of territoriality. And a desire to protect her Incubus Lord from possible threats. Threats that he was ignoring, content in his own arrogance and belief in his own invincibility.
"What do you want?" He asked her, meeting her eyes. Hestia momentarily remembered that Legilimency was still not one of his skills, but with Emmeline beginning her instruction shortly, that would no longer be the case.
"I just want you to be safe," she said, revelling in his touch. With everything that's happening, and with that dream you had about the Dark Lord, I'd have thought that you'd be more tense about anything. Instead, you're playing silly mind games with Greengrass."
"You think I've lost sight of my goal?"
"NO!" She said aloud. "I know that if there is one thing you'll never lose sight of, it's our goal. But I just cannot understand why you're needlessly bringing all these elements to the World Cup, knowing that there will be danger there. I… you are keeping secrets, Harry. I thought we agreed to not have secrets any more."
"Everyone has secrets, Hestia. Even you," he shook his head, rejecting her claim. For the briefest of moments, Hestia wondered if he would just forcibly drop the topic. Why couldn't he see that she was his partner? His confidant and ally? That keeping her in the dark would only make bad things happen, not to mention the bad taste it would leave in her mouth if he willingly chose to do so.
"This… this doesn't really involve the others, and yes, I am playing things a little close to the chest. The Quidditch world cup was sort of a big event back in my time, and I want to play it to my advantage."
"How?" she challenged. "You don't even know if things will be the same."
"Some of them well," he retorted. "Whatever can happen at the World Cup, I am reasonably prepared for it. Amelia has already altered the Auror and Hit-wizard security arrangement after my last conversation with her."
Originally, the arrangement had been made to serve the whims of the Minister of Magic, who had allocated most of the Senior Aurors to guard the top box filled with VVIPS and dignitaries, while the rest of them would stay with the Quidditch players in the barracks. Normal Aurors would deal with crowd-control in the lower levels and patrol the Arena, while the cadets would be staying outside the stadium and looking for anything remotely alarming.
Something about making the dignitaries feel safe.
It took one conversation with Harry Potter to convince Amelia Bones to upset the entire arrangement. Harry probably didn't know about the listening charm she had placed on the Floo to eavesdrop into his conversations. Say what you will, but she refused to believe that Amelia Bones, the freaking Iron Lady, was content to stay as a tool in Harry's pocket — her sexual deviances be damned.
Now, the cadets would be the one in the top-box. The official note was that because the dignitaries came with their own security, having cadets capable of superficial help was enough. Normal aurors would be patrolling the grounds, while senior aurors were placed in charge of crowd-control, and patrolling the entire Arena, within easy reach to those groups should the situation need it.
It was why Tonks now had the option of sitting and enjoying the match with her.
"What aren't you telling me, Harry? What are you cooking?"
Harry Potter smiled dryly. "We have two slots in the Top-box, don't we?"
She nodded. He had asked her to get her four seats, which made no sense since he would be going with the Weasleys.
"I will be taking Penelope and Hermione with me and joining the Weasleys. Both will join you at the Top-Box. I will… Well, let's just say it will be a long night for me and leave it at that. If the Death Eaters attack, then I need you to take Penelope and Hermione and leave right away."
"And leave you behind? Harry —"
"Yes," he said, and Hestia flinched at the steel in his voice. "You will leave me behind. That is an order, Hestia. You will follow it, unequivocally. The moment you see something fishy, you summon Dobby and all three of you will get back here. Safe."
"But Harry, if there is danger then —"
"There will be danger, yes," he said. "And its name is Harry Potter. And unless you can…"
He paused suddenly, giving her an intense look. His expression told her that whatever he was up to involved a questionable third party. One that was neither ally, enemy or particularly trustworthy. And yet, an event that he thought necessary to take part in the first place. Or rather, something that he had little power to change.
All of that pointed to one single entity.
"You and Narcissa Malfoy are planning something, aren't you?" She accused, before it hit her. "Wait, are you seriously telling me that you're—"
"You want to be included in my plans, right?" asked Harry out of nowhere. She nodded dumbly. "Then fine. Remember what I told you about Crouch's son who was posing as Alastor Moody back in my fourth year?"
Her eyes widened —
"I'm not sure why, but Crouch Sr thought it was a brilliant idea to take his son — his Death-Eater, Azkaban-escaped, Imperiused son with him to watch the Quidditch World Cup. It makes absolutely no sense, but I have stopped trying to apply logic and common sense to the Wizarding world. I'm not sure if things will happen that way again, but if it does, I want to do something about it."
"And does that 'something' have anything to do with why our seats are exactly behind Crouch Sr's?"
He laughed. "Yes. And I can't believe I didn't consider this before, but you're right, Hestia. I don't have to do this alone. In fact, you'll probably do it better than me."
He held out his wand, and unplugged the wand hilt and handed it to her. Hestia instantly recognized it as the same hilt he had purchased from Borgin and Burkes — the one enchanted to mask a wand's magic from Ministry sensors.
"The last time, Barty Crouch Sr brought his son with him under an invisibility cloak. Junior was constantly fighting to break free of his father's Imperius back then, but I imagine he had a lot of time to work against it. But say… if a newer and stronger Imperius hits him, one that is conducive to his own thoughts…. Things might just be different."
She narrowed her eyes. He couldn't possibly be intending to say that —
"Hestia," said Harry Potter. "I want you to imperius Barty Crouch Jr and make him do just one single deed." His face darkened and for a second, she thought she saw something demonic glinted beneath the abyssal depths of his eyes. "Murder Lucius Malfoy."
Notes:
If you want to support me, find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Next Update is on 15th July.
Chapter 105: The Burrow
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 3 - THE INCUBUS AND NECROMANCER
CHAPTER 105 - THE BURROW
At first glance, the Weasley Burrow gave the impression of being a large pigpen, with extra rooms sprouting here and there until it was several stories high, and crooked in all sorts of wrong directions, with four or five chimneys perched on top of a neon red roof. The movies really tried, but honestly, the building was a majestic wreck that looked like it would snap like a twig at the base if a single person so much as sneezed, but somehow it just stayed like that.
Magic seemed like the likely culprit.
But apart from its eccentric design, the wards around the building were rather potent. Not surprising since William, the eldest Weasley son, was a curse-breaker and a fairly accomplished one at that. The real Harry Potter would've never noticed this, but to my elevated senses, the wards practically screamed at me to stay away should I have any nefarious intentions.
No wonder old man Dumbledore felt so confident about letting his precious Boy-Who-Lived stay at the Burrow during the summers.
"Harry?" asked Hermione, biting her lip. "Do you really think bringing me along was a good idea?"
Hermione had never really been to the Burrow before this, and after her debacle with Lupin and getting infected, she was apprehensive of how the Weasleys might treat her. The Weasleys were fairly open-minded about Remus Lupin and his affliction in the books, but I didn't want to hedge my bets over it.
"Don't worry," I promised her. "If the Weasleys cannot get along with you, we'll leave and go to the World Cup by ourselves. Hestia's gotten tickets for all four of us."
"All.. four?" asked my second compatriot, Penelope Clearwater.
"Why yes," I said with a disarming smile. "Me, Hermione, Hestia and yourself. Tracey will be going with her friends."
"But —" Penelope looked apprehensive. "I'm just —"
"The consultant and lead researcher for my firm," I told her, adding a little steel to my tone. Penelope really needed to get her shit together. She appeared mostly composed nowadays, having gotten used to staying at my place and working with me and my girls. It was a far throw from how she appeared like a lost rabbit trying to survive inside a sleeping wolf's den back then.
I glanced at the Burrow and looked back at her.
"Afraid of seeing your ex-boyfriend?"
Penelope opened her mouth, but closed it. This was her ex's home, and this was likely the first time she would be seeing Percy after their rather explosive breakup after that obnoxious sonofabitch had ditched her because it would look bad 'on his resume'.
"It's just…" she tried again, meeting my eyes, and stopped again. "No," she said, shaking her head. "I'm fine. Absolutely fine."
"Great," I chirped. "Let's go meet the Weasleys."
Crossing the wards, we approached the Burrow, and were welcomed by a familiar sight. The door led to the open kitchen and dining area, where Fred and George and Ron were sitting at the scrubbed wooden table, alongside two other red-haired men that 'Harry' had never met before, but were likely Charlie and Bill, the eldest brothers.
"Harry!" yelled Ron, noticing us first and jumping off his chair to come running to meet us. "Blimey! Look at how much you've grown. What? Got three years of spurts all at once?"
I laughed and gave him a bear-hug. "Something like that."
Ron grinned, and pulled back, only to look at Hermione and froze for a second.
"...Hi, Ron," said Hermione.
"...Err, hi. You uh, look different, Hermione."
Hermione smiled, but said nothing.
"It's called growing up, Ron," I said to lighten up the atmosphere. "You'd have felt it too if you just waited patiently and drank your milk. All those Bertie Bott's toffees are just making you lankier."
"Balls, mate!" Ron grinned, and stepped away, glancing at my other guest. "Err, you're —"
"Penelope. Penelope Clearwater. I work for Mr. —"
"She's a friend," I introduced, cutting her off. "And she's helping me with this new business I've started in the summer."
"Did someone say business?" said Fred, or was that George? The other twin grinned at his brother and then back at me. "Lil' Harry's all grown up. Following the footsteps of the new marauders."
I thought back to all the 'footsteps' I had taken over the summer since I woke up in Harry Potter's body and said, "Yes, something like that."
We took a seat at the table. Charlie, the shorter and stockier of the lot, introduced himself to me. He had a broad, good-natured face, weather-beaten and tanned with hands with permanent burns on them.
"Dragons do that to you," he said, noticing my gaze. "Bit difficult to mend burns made by dragon fire. But hey, scars are sexy."
Hermione rolled her eyes.
The eldest of the lot, William 'Bill' Weasley strode up to him. He was tall, with long hair tied back in a ponytail, and a lot better looking in person. No wonder even Fleur Delacour gave him her time of day. Mr. Weasley wasn't at home, and 'Weatherby' was likely sucking up to Crouch as well. Ginny was likely out with friends, which only left —
"Harry!" said Molly Weasley, climbing down the stairs.
"...I hate the books," I muttered, making Hermione give me a strange look. But just hear me on this. The books painted Molly as a short, plump and kindly-looking woman with curly, red hair that could at times, do a very distinctive sabre-tooth impression when angered. The woman that was climbing down the stairs was anything but. She wasn't fat and didn't have any 'rolls' of any kind, but everything about her was thick and curvy, except the waist which was surprisingly small, especially with that tight leather apron she had on. It emphasised her rather large breasts. If I had to hazard a guess, I'd put her somewhere up there at a hundred and fifty pounds. Her skirt was skin-tight because of how big her hips, thighs and butt were, and surprise, surprise, my mind went to a really familiar place, wondering how it would be like to tap that arse.
I know. I'm a lecher. Shouldn't surprise you at this point.
"Morning, Mrs. Weasley!"
"Oh, Harry!" she said kindly. "How many times do I have to ask you to call me Molly?"
"Once more, Mrs. Weasley," I laughed.
Thankfully, none of the Weasleys were acting out of character. This was Hermione's first time at the Burrow, and while Mrs. Weasley was indeed welcoming, it was clear she wasn't interested in playing matchmaker for her and Ron. I met Hermione's eyes for a fleeting second, and she promised me that she was perfectly comfortable.
The rest of the day passed pretty much normally. I hung out with Ron and the twins, the latter showing me their new inventions, the tongue-tying toffee, fake wands and an incredible number of enchanted confectionaries with effects that would've made any potioneer worth their salt frothing in their mouth. Sure the twins devoted their time to pranking and inventing things in that direction, but it didn't hide the fact that they were literary geniuses. Tying runes to otherwise muggle sticks and enchanting them to function as a normal wand, inserting a cross-species transfiguration matrix into something as inconspicuous as a confectionary activated by human saliva, it was just one thing after another. I really needed Penelope to look at some of these to see if we could benefit from these two prodigies. Fred secretly told me how they planned to double their savings by betting on the finals, for their plans for 'Weasley Wizarding Wheezes', and I kept my mouth shut.
It would be incredibly easier to offer them a proposal for funding with fifty percent share in profits after they lost their capital.
While I was letting the twins talk about their plans and making small talk with Bill about curse-breaking, Ron was ever so subtly trying to make conversation with Hermione and failing. Not that I could blame him, for Hermione did look different.
Gone was the bushy hair, which had been tamed straight and was flowing down her shoulders. A sensual grace about her that oozed sex appeal hung around her. It didn't help that the way she stared at Ron reminded me of a hungry wolf looking at a particularly juicy gazelle, and I wasn't being metaphorical here. She looked prettier than before, and yet, a strange darkness marred her features, like a feral predator that was choosing to stay domesticated but could just as easily crush your neck at a whim.
I had my suspicions that being doused with raw necromantic energy had some unforeseen effects on the muggleborn. What those were, still remained to be seen.
He probably imagined Hermione to look like Lupin — scarred, unkempt, her hair bushier than ever, with a ferality rising from the curse. Someone that he felt both sorry for, and uncomfortable to be with. Instead, he was meeting someone who looked like a supermodel with a poise and sensuality that was so un-Hermione-like.
Arthur Weasley had been late to return home, something about some witch enchanting electrical appliances in a factory causing several buildings to blow up in flames, making Arthur and his men work overtime to get things under control. On the other hand, the man got to collect a lot of plugs and sockets, which got him smiling like a cherub.
But the greatest of reactions came in the evening. I had taken Ron up for a game of wizard chess, and was about to lose the third time in a row. Either Ron was just one of those idiot savants that were naturally gifted at one single thing, or I was just that pathetic at playing the game.
Then I thought about the kind of games I was playing in the real world, and that made me feel better.
The clock struck seven, and Percy Weasley walked out of Floo, and found Penelope talking to his mother. Seeing him repeatedly open and close his mouth almost made me laugh, before he looked at me, and connected things together, and went rushing upstairs, probably to his room.
"Don't mind Percy," said Ron. "He's been a git ever since he got that job at the Ministry of Magic. Galloping gargoyles, mate, he's been unbearable. Yells at everyone just for running down the stairs, disturbing his top-secret work for the Ministry of Magic."
'A report for the Department of International Magical Cooperation," said Ginny smugly, in a perfect imitation of Percy. "We're trying to standardise cauldron thickness. Some of these foreign imports are just so thin — why, the leakages are increasing at a rate of three percent a year."
Ron fell off laughing.
"Git," Ginny scowled. She glanced at Penelope, who looked a little self-conscious. "Penelope works for you now, doesn't she?"
"Works?" asked Ron, surprised. "Didn't Harry say she's just helpin' —"
"I head the research and enchanting division of Moonforge," said Penelope softly, avoiding my eyes. "Mr. Potter, err, Harry hired me in the summer."
"Blimey, mate, what have you been up to?"
"Oh you know," I shrugged. "A bit of this, a bit of that."
I glanced at the stairs, and then at Penelope. I'll admit I was interested in seeing Percy's reaction when he found out that Penelope was making four times his monthly salary. The girl was easily intimidated and held herself back because of her past stigmas, and getting over Percy's rejection would go a long way for her.
My eyes went to Molly Weasley, who had been casting glances at me all evening. I knew that getting Penelope to talk with her was merely an excuse for it. Molly had always treated Harry Potter as a son, but between the Incubus aura, and my altered appearance, I wondered how different this Molly was. It didn't help that I had seen something listed in Arthur Weasley's sexual interests after I had scanned him using my latest perk.
Wittoldry.
Bill had gone out, wanting to spend the night out with friends, leaving me to settle in his room. Unlike Ron's chudley obsession, Bill's room was decorated with pictures of the Tutshill tornados, a team that legitimately had a chance of hitting top four in the league. Hermione was initially offered that room, but Ginny offered to share hers, given how they were 'friends'. The mad glint in her eyes practically dared her family to cross her decision. Deciding to ease things up, I had offered to sleep with Ron, so that Penelope could stay in Bill's Room instead. Ever the workaholic, Penelope had actually taken out a wad of documents and begun making corrections on what I assumed were runic configurations on advanced enchanting.
At ten, the family went to bed, though unwillingly on the part of Ron and the twins. As I followed them upstairs, I noticed the landing nearest to Penelope's room squeaked loudly. Neither Ron nor the twins missed it, but I thought I felt a shadow move towards the balcony further right. And just right then, I heard Penelope slam the door shut loudly, before everything went silent.
Sleep was hard to come by at the Weasley household. Harry Potter might have slept like a log here, but I was used to a different class of service. Besides, living in my apartment had made me a slave to comfort that I could only dream of in my past life, and the constant noises made by the ghoul up in the attic, not to mention Ron's snores that reminded him of a particularly old motor engine didn't help matters. A silencing charm could've helped matters, but I was busy thinking about a certain consultant of mine that was sleeping downstairs. Finally, I could no longer bear it, and stood up, carefully silencing my footsteps and walking out of the room. It was past eleven, and yet the lights in Penelope's room were still on. I hesitated for a moment, but then stepped forward and tapped on the door plaque twice.
"How many times do I have to tell you —" Penelope began, as she opened the door to my face, only to freeze as she recognized the intruder. Her eyes widened, and her hands flew to her hair, trying desperately to smooth down flyaways, but it was hopeless. Her bun had come undone, and her curls were spilling down her shoulder on one side. I grabbed her wrist, stopping her.
"Penelope, it's okay."
She shivered at my touch, and a feeling of excitement swelled inside her. The predator in me sensed blood, and licked its proverbial chops. I know I had whispered it, but Penelope reacted to it as if it was a command. She raised her eyes as I moved closer, into the room. Instead of surprise, confusion or perhaps anger at the intrusion, her pupils dilated with an unexpected tenderness.
"You are not on duty right now," I told her softly, smoothing the hair out of her eyes. "Just relax."
She sucked in a breath, unsure how to react.
My hand lingered in her hair, teasing her hurls around my fingers. I could hear the sound of her heart thumping so loudly, no doubt because of my closeness. Was it just the effect of my aura, or something else?
"Uh, Sir —"
"Harry is fine," I told her, stepping into the room. A bunch of papers were strewn all over the table, while the bed looked unused. No doubt she hadn't gotten any sleep.
"This is a holiday, you know," I told her again. "You don't have to work yourself to death. It'll damage my reputation if others find out."
She chuckled, and I realised her eyes were red.
"Have you been…. Is something wrong?"
"It's uh, nothing," she said. "I just fell asleep while working. I promise I haven't been —"
"Miss Clearwater," I said sternly, but mocking at the same time. "I swear if I have to throw you over my shoulder to put you to bed, I'll do it. You are on a holiday to enjoy the World Cup. Though… I imagine a certain snot-nosed redhead is making things problematic for you."
She opened her mouth to say something, but then closed it.
"Let me guess, Percy came in earlier, didn't he?" I asked bluntly. "I imagine he said some unkind things and left you crying. Again."
Her cheeks burned, but she said nothing.
"So, I was right."
I stared down at her frowning, a crease growing on my brow.
She ran a hand over her face and sighed, before pulling out of my grip. "I'm fine, really — AAH!"
I spanked her, and despite the furious blush on her face, she said nothing.
"I told you. I don't like sloppiness. So when I tell you to tell me the truth, you tell me the truth. Now, did Percy say or do anything to you? I swear I will spank your arse raw if you attempt to lie to me again. Is that what you want?"
She opened her mouth to protest, then shut it again, sensing the trap. "I… uh, Percy came earlier, yes. He… he said that I was just manipulating a boy younger than me into paying me. That nobody in the right mind would ever give me a job, and that I didn't — I didn't deserve it." With that she broke down crying, and fell on my shoulder, sobbing her heart out.
I let her.
After what seemed like ages, I spoke up. "And do you agree with his words?"
Penelope said nothing.
"I don't like sloppiness, Penelope."
"I…" she sniffed. "No, I don't think I'm… undeserving. But nobody else has ever… ever…"
"They are fools," I said softly. "Ostriches that are happy to put their head under the sand and pretend everything is fine in their perfect, little world. They do not care for the inherent bigotry in the system. I didn't hire you because I pity you, or because you are a muggleborn. I hired you because you have talent, just like every other person you have recommended. I hired you because I think your talents are far better served in your current position than serving ice cream to entitled motherfuckers that wouldn't know which end of the wand to hold without their daddies helping them."
Penelope chuckled at the last bit.
I pulled her away and held her face, meeting her glistening eyes. "I am aware of your potential, Penelope Clearwater, and I am too selfish to just let it stay by itself. You work for me, and so, you represent me. So the next time Percy Weasley or any other annoying bastard bad-mouths you, think of them badmouthing me, and ask yourself, What would Harry do? And react accordingly."
She giggled. "You'd have made a fool out of them."
I shrugged. "Guilty."
Then she realised where she was standing, and how. As if scorched, she suddenly moved away, blushing profusely, remembering what she had just done moments ago.
It's alright," I told her, and headed for the door. "Now go, get to sleep. We need to leave early tomorrow. I will take my leave. Good night."
"Wait."
I paused. "Yes?"
"I… I want to ask you something."
I turned and looked at her, arching an eyebrow. "Yes?"
The look in her eyes was… I suppose I could call it a mixture of sadness, acceptance and bravery. She was about to do something she had never done before, and she was terrified of the outcome. No, she expected things to take a bad turn, but she knew that stepping back was not an option.
"Why wouldn't you punish me anymore?"
Her voice was soft, almost a whisper, but I knew what she said.
"Penelope… I wasn't supposed to punish you like that in the first place. It was wrong of me. I forgot myself."
What else was I supposed to say? That her prey-like behaviour made me want to play with her? That the only reason she was not already in bed screaming my name was because I knew it would be all too easy? That I had intentionally rejected the chance to bang her and add her as an anchor simply because she had made herself horribly easy to get?
"It.. won't happen again," I told her. "I won't lose my temper, like that. With you."
I took a step back, but Penelope took a step in my direction.
"But why not?" She asked. "I don't mind."
A tick formed above my right eye.
"I… I liked it," she admitted softly.
A moment hung suspended before I replied. "You don't want me to go along that route, Penelope."
"Why?" She asked. "I have been a bad, lazy, forgetful employee after that. I broke your rules. I spilled coffee on my shirt, but all you did was yell at me and send me away. But why wouldn't you punish me?" Her voice cracked a bit, and she looked away. "If you don't want me…. I understand."
This girl….
"It's not that," I said.
"Then what?" She challenged, a fiery defiance in her eyes. I wondered how she would be if I could bring her fiery spirit out in the spotlight. "It can't be because of Hermione Granger. You have been sleeping with Miss Jones. And doing… other things. And the weasley girl too. And Davis too, I think. Is it… is it because I refused your offer back then?"
Truth be told, Penelope was quite attractive, but the idea of Percy's sloppy seconds didn't really appeal to me. Then again, Percy's probably one of those straight and narrow 'saving it for my wedding day types', and if not that, then a quick 'get in, get out, and nobody gets a clue' sort.
Going by his constipated expression, it was probably the latter.
But by that logic, I'd have to skip past nearly every woman in the Wizarding world. Besides, like I always say — don't worry where the car's been, or who might've drove it before. Just take it for a spin!
"You don't know what you're asking," I said, giving her a last chance to cop out.
"Try me."
There was a moment of tension, so thick that she looked like she was about to suffocate, and then I closed the distance between us, grabbing her roughly, bringing my lips on hers. She felt hot and urgent, and my tongue met hers… searching, tasting, teasing…
She clutched the front of my shirt, wanting to rip it off, but wasn't sure if it was okay. I broke the kiss, and gave her a ravenous look. I must have looked like a wild animal, ready to devour her, and she, to be devoured.
"I can smell your need," I growled, and slipped a hand against her sex, feeling her wetness. "You are on fire for me."
Penelope moaned.
"Tell me you want this."
"I… I want this."
And then the door opened without preamble, and Percy Weasley stepped into the room. "Penelope, can you keep the noise down? Some of us have important things to do unlike…."
His eyes met mine, then at Penelope, and then at the way we were groping each other.
"...You." Percy finished, only to freeze and drop face-first to the floor.
"Petrifaction hex," said Penelope, using her wand to levitate the frozen Percy Weasley to the floor next to her bed. I didn't know where she had kept the wand or how she had drawn it that fast, but it was impressive nonetheless.
"What's the idea?" I asked her.
Penelope gave a dark look at Percy's fallen form. Even when frozen, he somehow managed to give a sourpuss look, glaring at us.
With another flick of her wand, the door closed, and she cast a couple of charms as well. One of them, I recognized in amusement, was a supersensory charm inside the room, while keeping it from escaping outside.
"Now," said Penelope, meeting my eyes with a confidence I had never seen before. "Where were we?"
Notes:
If you want to support me, find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Next Update is on 20th July.
Chapter 106: When Dreams Come True
Notes:
Sorry for the delay. The chapter I was writing really, really fought me. Took a while before it could be done properly.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 3 - THE INCUBUS AND NECROMANCER
CHAPTER 106 - WHEN DREAMS COME TRUE
Surreal.
It was in the middle of the night. Penelope was in William Weasley's room, while the Weasleys and Hermione were deep asleep. The only exception to that was Percival, who was currently lying on the floor, frozen under her petrifaction hex, plus a supersensory charm to ensure he got a 'larger-than-life' experience.
And she was in Harry Potter's arms.
But that wasn't the surreal part. The surreal thing about it was that unlike the other times, this was no dream. This was real.
For the first time, her visions were coming true.
She breathed in anticipation as Harry Potter jerked the belt of her robe open and tore it down off her shoulders. The silk whispered as it fell to the ground. His eyes roamed her curves, taking in her round breasts, which were admittedly on the smaller side compared to Hermione Granger, something she had despised on principle — to the rest of her body, her nipples peaking under his gaze. For a moment, she wanted to cover up, to avoid his searching gaze, but then he touched her with those strong hands, and all thoughts of shyness vanished.
He was rough, but gentle lovemaking was the last thing on Penelope's mind. He caressed her breasts, stopping to twist and pinch each nipple into a stinging point, making her groan with each jolt of pain. She reached for the buttons of his shirt, but he slapped her hands away, unbuttoning it himself and tossing it aside.
His body was exactly how she remembered: toned, hard, with a sprinkling of dark hair across his powerful chest. Penelope wanted to touch him, to take her time, licking her way down to that oh-so-sexy spot where his abs met his hip, but he held her wrists in one hand as he pulled his pants down and stepped out of it.
Penelope gasped, seeing his erection, stiff and huge, the tip already glistening with precum, ready to bury itself between her legs. She squirmed in his grasp, needing him right then and there, wanting him more than she thought was possible. He released her hands just long enough to position himself properly and then threw her hands around his neck.
"Clasp your hands together, and don't let go. Understand?"
It was an order, and her body tingled at his domineering tone, ready and eager to please.
"Yes, Sir."
She didn't know why she said it, but she was incredibly glad she did. The look on his face was one of pure animal lust, as she did as he demanded, holding her hands together behind his neck, bracing herself against his broad shoulders.
He picked her up with a growl and impaled him with one hard thrust. Penelope screamed as the thick, powerful cock stretched her insides, filling her painfully, giving her no time to adjust herself against its sheer size. There was no foreplay, only this, and it was exactly what she craved.
"Is this what you want?" he gritted in her ear.
Penelope gasped in response as he began pumping in and out of her, his hands supporting her arse, bobbing her up and down on his erection with a strength that bordered on superhuman. She held on for dear life, helpless as he bucked up against her, hitting her hard with each thrust of his hips.
"Answer me! Did you want this, little mouse? Is this what you wanted?"
He dug his fingers into her skin, bruising her, but she didn't care. Her body felt like it was on fire, filled with the sensations of this man's violent lovemaking, and it was unfathomable. The only thing remotely close to sex that she had had was with Percy, and it had been less pleasant and more of a derogatory experience, leaving her feeling utterly unsatisfied and upset. Her toes curled behind his back as he drove into her again and again and again.
"Ye— yes!" She screamed.
"Tell me!" He demanded again. "Is this why you've been sloppy at work? To make me punish you like this?"
"Y-yes! Yes! YES!"
Her voice was high. Breathless. She felt like she was riding a storm, with each thrust getting her closer and closer to being struck by lightning. He bucked over her over and over, and time seemed to stand still as she succumbed to his will, trusting him to hold her as he drove into her again and again.
Then suddenly, Harry Potter unclasped her arms from his neck and grabbed her waist, flipping her over. She yelled in surprise as her feet hit the ground, and he bent her over, her arse sticking up high in the air. He grabbed her hands and pulled her wrists together again with one hand.
"You follow every single command from now on. Understand?"
"Yes!"
His hand came down hard on one arse cheek, and she yelped at the sharp jolt of pain.
"The next time some fucker tries to demean you, you curse them until they realize they're nothing more than a waste of their daddies's sperm."
"Yes!"
He hit her again on the same spot, and Penelope let out a moan. Her pussy ached to be filled with his cock again, the sweet burn only amplifying her need. This… this was everything she had expected and more, so much more.
"When we are together, you can be my little mouse. But outside, you will be my feral eagle. Understand?"
"YES!"
His hand came down again and again, the sound of flesh hitting flesh reverberating throughout the room.
Penelope could almost hear him smile behind him, but before she could turn and look, he thrust into her once more. She wailed mindlessly as he began fucking her, harder and harder, faster and faster, taking her then and there like she was his to use and always had been. He pulled at her wrists, making her arch, helpless to resist the onslaught of his majestic cock slamming into her insides.
When one hand snaked around her hips and pinched her clit hard, Penelope screamed, the bite of the sensation taking her right to the edge, his hard cock taking me tumbling over. She fell apart beneath him, moaning as she convulsed around him again and again, milking him even as he railed against her.
He released her wrists and gripped her arse as he pumped into her once, twice, three more times, abusing her already tender flesh. He groaned behind her, and she sighed, as she felt him cum, his cock twitching inside her as her pussy gripped it, still pulsing from the strength of her own orgasm.
"Good girl…" he said, catching his breath, above her. "Good girl."
Penelope smiled.
When she woke up, Penelope found herself draped across the bed, with her legs still on the ground, her wet and abused pussy oozing Harry Potter's cum out of it. Said cum was running down her legs alongside her own juices, all the way down to her ankles, which were just next to Percy's face. Seeing the furious expression on her ex-boyfriend's face, she snorted, and pushed herself up, and met the smirking face of Harry Potter, sitting on a chair, as if waiting for her to wake up.
He conjured a bedsheet out of thin air for her. She grabbed it.
"Thank you," she said, and they both knew it wasn't for the sheet.
He smiled at her, his dimples breathtaking in the light.
"Is this what you want, Penelope?" He asked. "I'm not a gentle man. Not the Harry Potter people think I am."
Penelope put a hand on her backside, feeling the sweet pain where he had struck him, and bit her lip.
"Yes, I want this," she said. "I want you."
She had never been this blunt or this direct about her wants before this. She never had the opportunity to do it either. It was a bolder version of Penelope Clearwater who admitted what she craved, and said what she felt. Even so, she didn't think she would have been able to stand it if he didn't want her in the same way.
"I cannot marry you, or be with you in any other way except as a lover. You will still be my employee, and I will remain your boss. Whatever happens between us behind doors shall stay behind doors."
Penelope felt a sting in her heart, but it was something she had expected to happen anyway. "I know. I know about it all. How you are with Granger or the others. And I… I saw you, in the dungeons, with Miss Jones."
Harry Potter arched an eyebrow. "The dungeons —"
"Are off-limits," finished Penelope. "But I was breaking the rules in hopes for you to punish me."
It was exhilarating, freely speaking her mind like that. Without care of the consequences. Her eyes widened as Harry Potter stood up and approached her, and her heartbeat sped up. It went double as he grabbed her face and pulled her into a searing kiss.
"I called you a 'mouse' on the very first day, but even then, I saw a fire in your eyes. But I could also tell that you longed for someone to trust. For someone to take control of you. But Penelope… this isn't something that you can just forget. Even if I memory-charm you, your body will remember things. You will want it in your dreams. This… this will change your life forever. Once you submit, there is no going back."
Penelope didn't understand. What was he so hesitant about? Did he really think she was that frail?
"That night I went to the dungeons, I saw how you punished Miss Jones. Can you… can you punish me like that? If I cannot bear it, then I'll walk away. But if I can then…" She licked her lips. "Please?"
His eyes, usually so full of confidence, were darkened by a strange doubt, and she realised that he too was hesitant like she was. Afraid that she would say no and walk out.
She took Harry Potter's hand.
"Show me."
She could swear something shifted within Harry Potter, and in a flash, he conjured a large metal swing suspended from the ceiling by heavy duty metal hooks, the leather straps on the side ending in cuffs that she eyed with longing. These… These were the same that she had seen Hestia wear when she was being punished. Harry Potter then lifted her into it as if she weighed practically nothing, then moving down to spread her legs wide, strapping her ankles in with the supple leather.
She was open before him, nothing hidden from his gaze. She saw hunger burning in his eyes, as his gaze raked over her body. He flicked his fingers and with a swoosh, Percy's petrified body shifted right under her wet pussy. Penelope stifled a laugh, realising that he was perfectly positioned to face her naked pussy, and every bit of her juices would be falling on his face.
"Welcome to my world," said Harry Potter, and Penelope trembled, closing her eyes and nodding.
Something black and leather caressed her shoulder, then moved down, sliding down her chest. Opening her eyes, she glanced down and saw it was the end of a riding crop, and she tensed, her heart hammering in her chest, flashes of that crop hitting Hestia Jones coming up in her mind. The screams she made, the sound of that crop against her raw flesh, and the sheer eroticism of the moment, all of that merged with the feeling of the crop moving downward, tracing the curves of her breasts. Harry Potter held her neck straight, so that she could watch each movement.
"In my world, pain is pleasure."
He flicked the crop, slapping the leather down sharply onto one nipple. Penelope threw her head back and screamed at the sharp sting, and his hand tightened around her throat.
"Suffering is sweet."
His wrist flicked again, snapping the head of the crop against the soft tissue of the other breast. She whimpered, tears burning in her eyes.
"I use you as I please. I give you pain when it pleases me, and pleasure when you deserve it. Do you understand that, slave?"
Another snap, this time on the left nipple again.
"YES!"
Another snap, on the right one.
"YES! YES! I UNDERSTAND!:"
Snap went to the left. Then the right.
"YES! YES I UNDERSTAND! I UNDERSTAND MASTER!"
He let her throat go, and Penelope gasped for air, the intense pain flooding through her entire body, and yet she felt far more alive than ever. Harry Potter moved to one side, looming over her, and ran the crop lower, toying with her, tracing the curve of her hip before tracing the inside of her thigh. Penelope felt so helpless, unable to move, waiting for the next blow to fall, wondering what it would feel like, and fearing it all the same.
"When we are like this," said Harry Potter. "You are my slave, and I, your Master."
"Yessir, I mean, yes, Master."
The crop whipped down, sending blazing pain spidering over her inner thigh. Penelope pulled against the cuffs, writhing beneath him, unable to cover herself. Despite the pain, her body was heating more and more with each blow, her sex dripping against the edge of the swing.
And directly on Percy's face.
"Do you understand, Penelope? Do you truly understand?"
Tears trailed down her cheeks, but she had never felt this alive. Her body was on fire, sensations sharper than they'd ever been before, lighting up her nerves. The leather against her back felt decadent, the cuffs pleasantly snug, and the red marks on her breasts and thigh sensual and obscene.
The crop traced the spread lips of her pussy, making her moan. Her feet strained against the cuffs, but whether she wanted to close her legs or spread them wider, she wasn't sure. At the same time, there was a mounting dread as to what would happen if that crop hit her pussy. She would absolutely die from the pain, she was sure of that.
"Tell me, slave, do you deserve pleasure?"
She wanted to say yes. Oh, how she wanted to say yes. She opened her mouth to speak —
"N—no, sir…."
He chuckled darkly. The crop tapped lightly on her clit, making her bite back a yell. Jolts of awareness surged through her, pain and pleasure mixing until they were indistinguishable. All she felt was the intensity, and her body reacted, making her shiver.
"And why is that?"
Penelope thought about how badly she wanted to take him in her mouth, to run her lips and tongue over him. To feel him shudder inside of her, as she gave him release. As she made him happy.
"Because I haven't… I haven't pleased you, Master."
Harry Potter laughed. "But you have pleased me, slave. You have followed my directions, and your training is going well so far."
The crop tapped her lower lips in a staccato rhythm, making her wail as the burning washed over her once again.
"In fact, I think you've earned a reward — my cock ramming deep inside your sweet pussy. Would you like that, slave?"
Penelope wanted it badly. She could barely speak. "Please," she said. "Master."
Harry grinned, the hunger in his eyes making him look wolfish, like a predator eyeing his prey. For the first time since she had met him, Penelope understood why Hermione Granger, already uppity and stubborn without those werewolf instincts, bent before Harry Potter so easily. Here was a true monster, one that did not need lycanthropy to release his inner ferality. He leaned to a side, and conjured a thin chain in his hands, with a small, silver clamp on each end.
Even in her delirious state, Penelope noted the ease with which he had conjured metal, specifically silver, which was ridiculously difficult to conjure in the first place. Even transfigured silver was far, far inferior than the real thing.
He pinched her nipples again, making her moan, before attaching a clamp to each one. Penelope cried out as they snapped into place, and bit her lip at the way they felt — each one creating a sensual ache that made her need him even more desperately.
"You look so beautiful like this," Harry Potter breathed, moving between her legs. "Bound for me. Chained…"
She heard him unzip his pants, and wished that she could reach down and stroke him to hardness and guide him inside her. Instead she stared into his piercing green eyes as he positioned himself, and gasped in pleasure as she felt the tip pushing into her, stretching her wide for him.
He slammed into her, then, sheathing himself inside her in one sure stroke. Penelope cried out as he reached out and gripped the chain attached to the clamped nipples, yanking sharply as he began moving in and out. She screamed at the pain, then panted, her eyes closing at the intensity of the sensations coursing through her.
It was like nothing she had ever felt before. Not even watching him do something similar to Hestia Jones had prepared her for this. With each pump of Harry Potter's, her Master's rod inside her, she felt fireworks going off behind her eyes, making her soar in sparks of desire, the flames ensconcing her, burning the old her as the new one rose from the ashes, terrifying and beautiful.
A new woman. A new beginning. A new… Penelope.
"Yes, slave. Take it all. All that I have to give you," he growled, pulling the swing back onto him, using her body like a toy. His toy.
He jerked the chain again, and Penelope wailed like an animal, her inhibitions flowing out of her like water as he took control. She let go, giving herself over as he fucked her harder, savouring each moment, each different texture of lovemaking, each sting and pulse, each jolt and caress.
She squeezed around her master, already on the edge again, unbelieving even as she accepted it was possible with this man. Everything was possible with Harry Potter.
"Come for me, Penelope," he commanded, and released the nipple clamps, creating a wave of aching pain, as the blood rushed back.
She did as she was told, shaking with the force of it as her pleasure crashed over her, sweeping her away, rocking her body as it rocked her mind, tearing away all of my old notions of what sex could be, should be.
She heard him groan, and felt him cumming inside her, the thought bringing her to another high, as she knew she had finally pleased him. Her boss. Her master. Harry Potter.
She must have blacked out for a moment, but when her eyes fluttered open, he was there, rubbing her wrists in his strong hands as he vanished the cuffs, and then moved to her ankles, releasing her. He lifted her gently out of the swing, vanished the entire thing, and carried her to the bed, pulling the soft pillow beneath her head. He kissed her hair and neck, and then trailed soft kisses across her forehead and cheeks .
"How do you feel?" He asked, his voice full of concern.
She smiled sleepily and leaned against him, overcome by the feelings bubbling up inside her.
"Good. Different… but good."
"That's my girl."
He tilted her head up and kissed her lips softly, making her melt at the tenderness of it, after what they had just done.
"I was worried you might not be able to take it. With me. Like this."
She looked into his eyes. There was a strange startling uncertainty in them.
"Of course not."
He kissed her hair again, and set her down. Pulling his wand out, he summoned a black pouch from his robes, and pulled out a purple, velvety box, handing it over to her.
"Open it. It is for you."
Penelope lifted the lid, and gasped at what lay within. There was a thin, black, leather collar and beside it, a gorgeous platinum choker, dotted with winking diamonds, a tiny charm hanging from the front in the shape of a lock. It must have been worth a fortune.
She had no words.
"Every good slave needs a collar, Penelope. If you are to be mine, you'll need one when we play. Hestia has hers, as you probably know."
She bobbed her head. Her mind was pinning already, looking at the collar in her hands, her body tingling from head to toe. It was expensive, no doubt, but more important than it, its symbolism was far, far deeper. If she accepted this, she would be collared. She would be his slave. His woman. His.
Like Hestia Jones.
But, a cold part of her whispered. Hermione Granger doesn't have a collar, does she? So if I do… I will have something she doesn't.
The exhilaration she felt from that thought made her smile.
"You don't have to answer right now," said Harry Potter. "But I need an answer before I leave for Hogwarts. Rest now, Penelope, while I deal with our little intruder."
Grabbing her collar tightly in her hands, Penelope nodded and leaned against the pillows, feeling tired and sore and delicious all over, the soft ache between her legs and in the peaks of her breasts leaving sweet reminders of his touch.
Harry Potter snapped his fingers, and the petrification hex on Percy was undone. The boy instantly pushed himself up and began speaking but no words came out of his lips. A gagging and silencing hex, she realised.
"You have three options, Percy. The first, you voluntarily consent to an Unbreakable Vow where you swear yourself to silence about everything you have seen and learnt here in this room tonight. That way I don't let my bad side come out, and you don't have to suffer. Sounds pleasant, right?"
He snapped his fingers again, and Percy realised he could speak.
"And the — the others?"
Penelope grinned. She had expected Percy to say something obnoxious the very moment he'd be allowed to speak. Instead, it looked like he understood what kind of peril he was in.
"The second option is that you decide that you are too wimpish for an Unbreakable Vow, in which case you voluntarily consent to getting your memories of whatever happened here removed."
"But — but you are just starting your fourth year. Obliviation is—"
"Beyond my ability?" asked Harry Potter, twirling his wand in his hand. "Well in that case, you just need to hope I cast the spell properly and not turn you into a complete vegetable. It's a little extreme, I agree, but not unpleasant. You will just remember that you slept soundly for the entire night. Maybe you'll feel a headache in the morning, but still, nothing unpleasant, right?"
Percy swallowed. "And the third?"
Harry smiled predatorily. "You fight me, in which case I hex and bind you in this place. And then I forcefully obliviate you, and compel you into being Penelope's bitch for the rest of your life. Now that's gonna be a little unpleasant."
The look of horror on her ex's face was a spectacle to watch.
"So," said a beaming Harry Potter, offering a hand. "Which will you choose?"
Notes:
If you want to support me, find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Chapter 107: The World Cup Part 1
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 3 - THE INCUBUS AND NECROMANCER
CHAPTER 107 - THE WORLD CUP PART 1
I left Penelope's room in the early hours of the morning.
One of the perks of being a powerful wizard was the ability to function with little periods of sleep. Good for me, for by the time it was nine, the entire Weasley household was a chattering engine with everyone prodding everyone else to get ready. Much like the books, Mr. Weasley, who looked eerily similar to his movie counterpart, had gotten a portkey scheduled for eleven in the morning to depart to the Quidditch Cup site, and if things followed Canon, it would be a dusty shoe on the top of the hillock near Ottery St. Catchpole. As cool as a brief moment of skydiving would be, I wasn't looking forward to travelling by the Weasley's portkey. I had paid a little extra to get our own portkey — a leather belt — commissioned to guarantee a pleasant travel experience, so naturally, we went for that.
Logic is the art of going wrong with confidence.
Let's just say that the entrance was less than graceful. It helped that the others didn't fare any better. I shook off the cobwebs and found the red hair of Molly Weasley greeting my sight. She was still recovering from the precarious travel, and had been giving me strange looks since last evening.
I really ought to get to the bottom of that.
Before she could say anything, we were greeted by a rather boisterous voice. "Ah, Molly, the tents are in that direction. Ah, good Lord, is that Harry Potter?"
It was a tall man, with a ruddy, flattened face with a scrubby brown beard. Bespectacled, he trudged towards us in solid, heavy footsteps, a pompous look on his features. At first I had mistaken him for some Ministry pureblood, but then I noticed his son and suppressed the urge to grin.
"Yes…. sir," I told him, pulling off the best meek version of myself. "I'm sorry you're…"
"Amos Diggory," said the man, giving me a smile that was half-proud, half-condescending. "I'm the Head of the Department of Control and Regulation of Magical Creatures at the Ministry. Surely you know my boy Cedric?"
"Hey Harry," wished Cedric. "Had a good summer?"
I smiled. It was almost genuine. "Sort of."
"Looking forward to another school year, Harry?" asked Amos loudly. "I was most surprised when I found out that Harry Potter had flown against my boy last year. Cedric says you've got talent. I asked my boy to give you a few pointers this year, you know."
Cedric winced at his father's bluntness. "Dad, I told you. The only reason I won that match was because of the dementors. I just got lucky, that's all."
"Codswallop," claimed Amos. "Do not downplay yourself, son. Luck doesn't get you into the Spring Leagues." He totally ignored the looks he was getting and regarded me. "Oh yes, I totally forgot. Cedric was approached by a Puddlemere Scout in the summer. I tell you, boy, professionals are professionals for a reason. Puddlemere trains in style — swimming pools, cafeteria, weight rooms, racquetball courts, they have everything that the best deserve."
"Dad," said Cedric, a little sternly. "I'm just a potential recruit. They've got Bletchley and Winders in reserve and —"
"You're better than them," Amos went on. "It's just a matter of time before everyone notices your talent, son. And after this year, they will. Already they know that you defeated Harry Potter in a Quidditch match."
Yeah, that's it. I decided I had officially had enough.
"Yes, they probably will," I shot back. "Pretty sure we can get all the press we want here at the World Cup."
I followed with a rude hand gesture. Yeah, you could just call me an expert on national diplomacy and goodwill. Meeting Amos Diggory's eyes, I tore into him. "They'd just love to know how the Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff was unfairly interrupted by a swarm of dementors that weren't even supposed to be entering Hogwarts. Hang on a second, aren't you the Head of the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures? Sounds a little fishy when those twisted creatures attacked me in the middle of my match with your son."
It was probably the first time in history that anyone had laid into Amos Diggory like that. Even Cedric looked shocked. I can really kill a conversation, you know.
"Harry," Molly tried to intervene, as did Hermione. I noticed how the man flinched at Hermione approaching us. No doubt news of her affliction had already spread far and wide. It made me wonder if Hermione would even be allowed to attend Hogwarts or if I'd have to arrange for something private for her.
"Wha— what? That's preposterous!" Amos bellowed. "How can you even imagine that —"
"That you're banking on your promotion by cashing on your son's glory?" I snapped. "Or perhaps you're banking on him becoming a Champion in the upcoming tournament that everyone is so hush hush about?"
Amos went pale and began stammering. Luckily for him, Molly stepped in and excused Amos away, inquiring about his ailing wife. She gave me a sideward glance as she took the flabbergasted man away, and I nodded in acknowledgement.
People say I have a temper. Those people are correct. I briefly toyed with the idea of letting things follow Canon and let Peter Pettigrew 'kill the spare' just to spite the man. Then I decided that it would be much better to absolutely destroy Cedric Diggory in the tournament. And if, even by any stroke of misfortune, the events of that silliness that was Cursed Child was part of Canon, then losing in the Triwizard would somehow twist Cedric into becoming a Death Eater.
Made as much sense as anything else in this twisted world.
"Don't mind Dad, Harry," said Cedric, stepping in, looking slightly miserably embarrassed and a little shocked. "You really tore him a new one. I am not sure if I should be annoyed at you for speaking like that to my Dad, or be thankful for shutting him up. He has been unbearable since the start of summer."
Damn it. Even in this world, it seemed some things never change. Draco was a loser. Susan had big boobs. Cedric Diggory was a goddamn goody-two-shoes.
"Sorry," I said with a lazy jerk of my head. "I guess he just hit a nerve."
Cedric laughed uneasily. "It's alright. Maybe now I'll get a month off from him writing to me constantly about Puddlemere and my grand destiny. Dad is… overenthusiastic."
"Yeah," I told him dryly. "I can see that."
"He's just a little excited at meeting the players and the staff." Cedric laughed. "I'll admit I had to resist asking them for their autographs."
"What was it like?"
"They took me to the pitch and I got to see a session of practice drills. Didn't see much of the keeper, because I was more interested in chasers and seeker drills. That reminds me, I need to get a pair of Omnioculars. Excited for the World Cup?"
"Very," I told him. I was being serious too, though for very different reasons. "I am betting on Krum."
"I can't wait to watch him in action," said Cedric. "He's a brilliant seeker. Speaking of that, you look different, Harry. I'd almost believe you took an ageing potion."
"Probably because I did," I deadpanned.
Cedric laughed uneasily, unsure how to process that. "Well then, I'll see you at Hogwarts, yeah?"
We were quickly joined by Ron and the rest, and forced into an ongoing debate over Ireland and Bulgaria. Unlike the real Harry Potter, I wasn't that interested in Quidditch, but given my luck, or should I say, Meta-Luck, Harry's natural skill might have passed on to me. Between that and my instincts, I had heightened reflexes that could prove very interesting in the field. Besides, if things stayed the same and I was one of the Champions in the Triwizard tournament, I needed all the arrows I could have in my arsenal.
"Bulgaria will win," claimed Ron. "Krum will get the snitch long before the Irish can score that many points."
"We disagree, Ronniekins," claimed Fred, or George. I couldn't be sure. "Far be it for us to dispute the talent of the mighty Krum —"
" — but our money is on the Irish."
"Oh come on," yelled Ron. "You think that Lynch will — Mark my words, Krum will get the snitch long before the Irish can score that many points."
"Shut it, will you?" Ginny hissed.
Hermione and Penelope just looked plain amused.
"Who are you betting with? " I asked.
"Bagman," said Fred, or George. "We invested our entire savings in this bet."
"Sounds legit," I deadpanned.
The other twin laughed. "He gave us incredible odds."
I smirked. Ludo Bagman in canon had misled the Weasley twins, paying them off in Leprechaun gold. And if Krum failed to catch the snitch, it would simply mean that this world is either too different or my presence had tweaked things way too much off the line. In that case, my knowledge of canon events would become effectively meaningless.
But if Ireland won, and Krum caught the snitch….
"Say, uh, George, I was wondering if I could bet with this Bagman through you?"
"Anytime, Harry," said the twin, " Who will you bet on?"
"I was thinking… Ireland wins…" I trailed off, noting the look on Ron's face. "But Krum catches the snitch. What are the odds?"
"Six to one," said Fred. "How much are you thinking?"
Say… a thousand galleons?"
Ron began coughing. "A thousand —"
"Harry!" Hermione chided. "You can't just throw away that much gold in a reckless bet. What if Krum fails to…." She trailed off, her eyes widening as it hit her. Then, a small smile formed on her face. "Still, a thousand galleons. Isn't it… I don't know, a bit too much? What if… you know?"
I gave her a knowing smile. "Trust me, I know what I'm doing." I turned to the twins. "What do you say? Think Bagman is up to it?"
The twins looked at each other. "Erm, we'll have to ask, really. A thousand galleons is.. I don't know, a freaking lot?"
I shrugged, and summoned a Gringotts cheque book from my pouch. Signing it, I handed it over to George. "Just one thing, guys. Tell him to pay back in a Gringotts draft, alright? Wouldn't want to be misled with leprechaun gold now, do we?"
Both twins looked at me, eyes widened and nodded subtly.
"Com'n Harry," said Ron. "Mum's already got started on making breakfast."
"But didn't you have breakfast already?" asked Hermione quizzically.
"Don't look at me," I said, raising both hands. "You know I don't eat anything in the morning except for fruit."
Hermione's gaze shifted to Penelope, who looked a little pale. "Uh, I thought Mrs. Weasley made a small brunch earlier. I woke up late so I skipped breakfast anyway."
"Yeah, Dad actually wanted to come here last night, and beat the crowds otherwise we'd have to set out at some horrendously early hour for a portkey. It worked out fine until last night when he said that the portkey would start this morning. And Ginny said she was busy and wouldn't help Mum with cooking just because she was a girl."
Hermione frowned at him. "She's right, Ron. She shouldn't have to cook just because she's female! My parents share cooking duties. I'd hope anyone I ended up with didn't expect me to be barefoot and pregnant, chained to the kitchen sink."
I snorted, imagining the image.
Ron frowned. "My mum stayed at home and brought us all up. There's nothing wrong about it."
"No, there's nothing about it," said Hermione with a sniff. "It's a perfectly valid choice. It's just not my choice!"
"Are you insulting my mother because…." Ron said heatedly, his infamous temper reigniting again.
"No, no," said Hermione hurriedly. "I'm not insulting anyone, let alone Mrs. Weasley."
"It sounded like you were," Ron accused. "And you can't marry another witch or wizard, you're a werewolf!"
And that, I realised, surmised everything wrong about Ron Weasley. But the damage was already done. Hermione's eyes turned to slits, and a hint of silver appeared in them. "Yes, thank you for pointing that out, Ron. I know perfectly well what I am, and how your wizarding society treats someone like me. A muggleborn werewolf."
Harry's memory told me that Ron was short-tempered because he was hungry. If Hermione kept being irritated by everything he said, we would be here for days, and I couldn't have that.
"Ron," I said slowly. "You should apologise. And Hermione wasn't insulting Mrs. Weasley by any means. Frankly, I can't even imagine Hermione tied to the kitchen sink. She's too stubborn and independent for that."
I grabbed Hermione by her shoulder and pulled her against my chest, and she accepted the gesture gratefully.
"And besides," I whispered, knowing her werewolf senses would catch it. "I don't want to tie you to the sink, baby. I've got a collar for you to tie to the bed."
Hermione blushed into my neck.
"Anyway, we should be going," I said, bidding them farewell, as we moved towards the south.
"Err, Harry," said Ron. "Our tent's that way."
"Sorry Ron," I told him. "I'll join you, but I got a tent for House Potter for Penelope, Hestia and Hermione. Me and Hermione…" I paused and reconsidered that. "I mean, I will join you shortly after we meet Hestia, yeah?"
"But you don't even know this place," Ron argued.
"Oh shut it," said Ginny, stepping in. "I'll go with them, happy? After they're done meeting Jones, I'll drag him and Hermione back with me. Happy? Now go."
Ron gave me an odd look and joined the twins. My 'best mate' might have the emotional range of a teaspoon, but he sure did sense the growing disparity between us ever since Hermione was afflicted with lycanthropy at the end of the term. I didn't know if he actively resented the fact that his parents asked him to drop all potential ideas about Hermione, or if he was naturally biassed or afraid or simply confused to know how to deal with it. Knowing him, it was a combination of all three.
But enough about him. I had far more interests in meeting other people and raising my stats. Especially now that I was so close to fulfilling my goal and unlocking Lecherous Shrine. After Emmeline, Anastasia and now Penelope, I was almost at the doorstep. Just another new girl or woman to fuck, another world anchor that pushed beyond forty and the powers and secrets of Lecherous Shrine would be mine to keep. Unfortunately, I had a lot hanging upon the Quidditch World Cup, and a sudden, unknown transformation had as much chances of fucking things up, as much as giving me new and far more terrifying powers.
"Right," I said, regarding Ginny. "That's obviously not going to happen. You can go with Hermione and Penelope to the Potter tent, and meet Hestia there. I've got some errands to run."
"Where are you going?" asked Hermione.
"Oh you know, people to meet, places to visit, things to do. You three have a good time, yeah? I'll join you when the finals begin."
"But—" began Ginny.
"Uh, Weasley," braved Penelope. "He clearly has things to do. Why not just trust in him and get to the Potter tent like he's asked?"
Ginny gave her a dirty look but said nothing. I smirked and left the three girls, walking towards the third gate, where I knew the Auror Base Camp was stationed. If things really played according to Canon, then this event would change everything. But before that began, I had a few people to meet, starting with a certain bombshell of a DMLE Director and her equally busty niece.
"Tempus Fugit," I told myself, and began to walk towards the third gate.
Amelia had already sent me a map highlighting the important locations of the Quidditch World Cup Scene, the location of the tents, the housing units where the Bulgarian veela were to stay, complete with wards to keep others from being ensnared against their will. My disillusionment charm was no way near perfect, but amidst so many people, it was near impossible to notice the sudden flickers in air, so long as the silencing charm on my boots were working.
I noted the way the tents were actually set up, and much to my surprise, the MALFOY tent actually had real peacocks strutting outside, proving yet again that the family suffered from a superiority complex so large that entire skyscrapers could fit inside it. Narcissa had intimated that she would be meeting me sometime before the festivities began, but somehow, I doubt she meant me slipping into her tent where her husband and son might be present. The Greengrasses were also there, Broderick, Anastasia, Daphne and finally, the youngest Astoria who was talking to her friend, a lilac-haired girl that I couldn't recognize. The WEEZLY tent was located far away, and the POTTER tent was located right next to the Notts, another annoying family of Death Eaters that needed to be summarily put down.
It was already an hour or so by the time I reached the Third Gate. The sun was reaching its zenith in the cloudless sky, and I noticed the bubbly, pink-haired woman standing to the side, bent over what was clearly a map of the entire arena.
I lurked over her and peeked over her shoulder at the map. Wooden figurines denoting the Aurors were placed at key points, perfectly matching up to the map Amelia had given me. Majority of the Auror squads would be patrolling the grounds, while Senior Aurors were reserved for crowd control. The new recruits would be helping the security staff that had come with the dignitaries to maintain decorum. According to this setup, the Auror before him should've been…
"I thought you would be joining Hestia on the top box," he whispered. "Should I be the one to tell her that you ditched her, or will you?"
The metamorphmagus was so engaged with her assessment that she didn't even glance back before replying with a cheerful grin. "Yeah, that won't be necessary. I'm just checking things out before I meet her and Potter…."
She trailed off, probably registering his voice, and spun around, her feet slipping on the ground and just as she was about to crash on the table, I slipped a hand around her waist and righted her into the previous position. "And here I thought you weren't clumsy."
Her pink hair shifted to an unruly purple. "Potter! What are you doing here?"
"Helping beautiful witches from slipping, clearly," I said, giving her a winning smile. "I think Hestia is looking for you in the Top Box."
She wasn't. She wouldn't be at the Top Box until it was time. I had tasked her with a few errands until that happened. Errands that she could take care of while being with Tonks and maintaining her alibi intact.
Tonks regarded me discerningly with her eyes. From the very beginning of the summer, the two of us had been taking note of each other, and both of us knew what the other wanted to a degree. I wanted her submission, and she wanted to be chased. She saw me first as a precarious school-kid, only for her illusions to be shattered by my actions over the summer and Hestia's complete submission to me. She was sexually attracted to me, that much was undeniable, even ignoring my ability as an Incubus. With my current form and my allure, that she was still capable of maintaining her poise spoke volumes about her skill in Occlumency.
"I told Hestia I'll join her before the finals begin," said Tonks. "And shouldn't you be with the Weasleys?"
"Keeping track of me, are you?"
"Somebody needs to," said Tonks, matching my gaze with hers. "Or else you'll be up to no good."
"That makes sense," I said, nodding with a matter-of-factly tone. "I imagine you set us up for a date to keep a better eye on me then."
My dismissive tone only incensed her further. It had always been an internal strife for her that someone who was younger, much younger than her enjoyed her best friend's complete obedience, and that Hestia had ended up regularly on Harry's bed when Tonks wanted me to chase her all the way until I won her heart.
It didn't help that my arrogance was only outmatched by intelligence, and an ability to weave through the current political system and establish strong allies everywhere. That I, a third-year-passout, had the ear of her boss and the DMLE Director, Iron-Lady Amelia Bones and was on a first-name basis with her after just a single weekend of staying at her home didn't help her case either.
"You mean the date that you indefinitely postponed?" she asked, giving me a spiteful glare.
"A date?" asked the half-amused, half-condescending voice of Amelia Bones, as she walked in with Susan in tow, looking at the two of us with a single raised eyebrow. "Cadet Auror Tonks, by any chance are you dating Mr. Potter?"
"Uh, no, I mean —" Tonks began helplessly.
"She was talking about that date I had at the DMLE, Madam Bones," I said, without the slightest tremor in my tone. "I believe Auror Tonks is a little disappointed over my decision to drop my case against Draco Malfoy. But like I told you, Auror Tonks," I said curtly, looking at Tonks. "I have suffered enough at the hands of my muggle relatives. I know better than to waste Draco's entire life for that one mistake where I might or might not have egged him to react."
"Yes, yes, we both know all about your humanitarian side, Harry Potter," said Amelia, giving me a sharp look. "As well as your ability to keep your word."
"Uh, DMLE Director —"
"Nothing," rang her sharp tone. "You have some gall to show up at the Quidditch World Cup after claiming all that during our meeting. I strictly mentioned that you were to report at the Bones Mansion within the week."
"Alas," I said in Dumbledoresque fashion. "Work gained priority. Running Sleekeazy isn't exactly easy."
The DMLE Director's lips twisted. "So I've heard. Now, as amusing as this banter is, some of us have work to do."
"Naturally," I said, taking a step to the right, away from all three of them. "Far be it for me to disrupt Auror duties, Director. I'll just be on my way and —"
"And where are you going, Harry Potter?"
My expression morphed into a frown. "My tent, Director. The finale —"
She gave me a vexed look. "Stop playing naive, Harry Potter. You know perfectly well what I'm talking about. Susan," she regarded her niece. "Please take our wayward Mr. Potter to the Bones tent. I'll join you shortly."
I opened my mouth to argue. I knew that I would be meeting Amelia and Susan without a doubt at the Quidditch World Cup, and I was planning on using her aid to secure certain things before the real festivities began. But I didn't think she was frisky and sex-starved to the degree to want to fuck me in the Bones tent right away. Then again… she probably was pissed at not getting my cock for a week after those three days at her mansion.
"Follow me, Potter," said Susan in a no-nonsense tone, imitating her aunt. She spun around and began walking.
I didn't know what the two had planned, or if Amelia was truly brazen enough to start making out with me in the middle of all this. There was also the entire issue of meeting the Greengrasses, and looking out for Narcissa's signal.
"Well?" asked Amelia, looking at me with one raised eyebrow.
I sighed, and with a look at Tonks, I shrugged and went off after the busty red-haired princess.
Notes:
If you want to support me, find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Chapter 108: The World Cup Part 2
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 3 - THE INCUBUS AND NECROMANCER
CHAPTER 108 - THE WORLD CUP PART 2
Alone in the Bones tent, I sat on the bed. Susan Bones stood in front of me, naked as the day she was born, her red hair tied back in a long ponytail, and her eyes looking at me in appreciation and excitement.
"Do as I have taught you."
"Yes, sir," she said, and turned around and folded, resting on her knees, her hands stretched forward and balancing her weight against her palms. Her giant melons hung freely, and her tantalisingly wet pussy invited me as she raised her majestic arse up for the taking.
"Please bestow your big and hard cock upon my pussy, sir."
I smirked. It looked like Susan had taken well to my training. Knowing Amelia, she might have thrown some lessons in as well.
"Spread your pussy."
"B — but it's embarrassing."
I stood up, and pushed my ankle against her arsecheeks, pressing her even further down. I poked her anal opening with my toe, and she shivered.
"Really, Susan? Are you going against my command?"
"N— no—"
"Maybe I should call your aunt. Clearly she has been amiss in her training over the week."
"I — I'll spread my pussy," Susan wept, and rested herself against her large breasts. Her hands, now free, pulled both arsecheeks wider, letting me a better, clearer view of her moist pussy lips.
"What? You're already drenched down there?"
I had yet to touch her there, and she was already oozing out juices like a broken faucet. Clearly someone was a little too excited for this meeting.
"I — I'll do everything you ask me, sir," Susan begged. "I've been waiting for this ever since you left, Harry. So please…"
"You want me to put it in?" I asked, and grabbed her arse-cheeks with my right hand, mauling them tight. "How dare you rush me?"
Susan let out a whimper.
"Get up! Go to the bed, and bend over," I said, smacking her arse. Susan groaned, rubbing her arse as she fell upon the bed, resting her face between her hands, her body bent over and arse raised upwards for me to play with. I grabbed her by the hip, and without any preamble, shoved my dick into her arse. I barely made any headway before Susan grabbed the bedsheet tightly and whimpered.
"I'm going all the way in," I said firmly. "So you better get used to it, and get used to it fast. Every last inch of this cock is going all the way up inside that sweet arse of yours. We can either do it the easy way, or the hard way. It's really up to you," I paused as Susan turned back and looked me in the eye, and then she gave me a slow nod. "Good. The next time I push, just concentrate on relaxing that hole. I guarantee you;'re gonna love the feel of this big cock way up in your guts. Just like last time."
I set my foot and flexed again, pressing against her puckered flesh. Susan let out a long, slow, agonised breath as her hole relaxed, and I pressed forward, my cockhead stretching her tight ring almost to the tearing point. Her little pucker opened up like it was a mouth waiting for a kiss, the pink ring following the contours of the enormous glans of my surging cock.
"Oh! Fuck! Oh fuck!" She moaned, as my cock made its way into her. She blew out another long, slow breath and pushed down, relaxing her sphincter as much as she could. I smiled at her relaxing, her arse snugly embracing my cock completely.
"You've got the thickest part in you. The rest should be easy."
I set my feet firmly in position and rolled my hips slightly, making her anal lips pucker as I lined my cock up the way I wanted. "I'm going to push it all in one long slow stroke, so try and relax if you want to enjoy the ride."
Susan bit her bottom lip nervously and nodded.
"Good," I told her, holding her arse spread open. "Here we go."
I flexed forward, and an inch of my cock slid into her, and then another.
"Oh! Merlin! Harry, fuck! You're so fucking biggg!" She groaned.
Her thighs trembled, and her body gyrated as she twisted back and forth. I held her tight, and went deeper. Slowly, mercilessly, deeper. The last time we fucked, it was to break her, and tame her feral, independent spirit and turn her into my cocksleeve. The last time, she had fought me on every level, and even when she was screaming in pain and pleasure, she was doing her best not to bend before my dominance. This time, she was raising her hips up, just to ensure I thrust deep inside her.
She was looking like she wouldn't be able to live a day without my dick from now on.
"I'm cummming!" She whimpered. "My pussy…. Is cummmmming!"
"Hah!" I laughed, slapping her arse cheek. "You're cumming already? That lame pussy of yours is cumming from my fucking your arse?"
"I'm sorry!" She cried. "I'm sorry for having a lame pussy." She lifted her head back and yelled out a scream, as her pussy sprayed out juices like a leaking faucet, as her chute muscles spasmed at the unexpected intrusion of my cock deeper inside her backside.
"I feel… full!" She gasped out, her chest heaving as she finally got accustomed to that guest at her backdoor.
"You're gonna feel even fuller after this. There's going to be enough cum leaking out of your arse for a full meal."
I pulled my cock out, the stretched lips of her bum puckering outwards, lowering the retreating shaft as if they didn't want to let it go. She gasped, her mouth open and her tits heaving as she pushed herself up slightly, shivering at the feeling of being emptied. I kept retreating, until I felt the delicious resistance as my cockhead bumped up against her constrictive ring.
"And here we go in."
"OH HARRY! It feels so big!" yelled Susan as I drove it all in a single, merciless stroke. I quickly withdrew and then fucked way up into her guts with the next stroke, my body slamming up her bum with an noisy, wet slap.
"Good," I told her. "You better be, for this is all you'll be getting all the way till lunch."
"Lun— Lunch?" she gasped. "But — Auntie —"
"Are you defying my dick?"
I squeezed her tits tighter, and pulled her upward even more. Susan squealed and tightened around my cock even more. Grabbing her tits tightly, I began thrusting even faster.
"Oh fucking fuck! " She moaned, as her head flipped from side to side, the new sensation overwhelming her. "No— Ugh! No! I — Thank you for fucking me! Hnng! Thank you so much!"
Her body was thrashing about like a wild thing as I held her tightly. I kept pounding my dick into her hungry arse, and she twitched and convulsed as the powerful tremors of a second orgasm coursed through her. And through the entire time, I kept thrusting vigorously back and forth, pounding her into the bed.
"I knew you'd be impatient and start without me," said Amelia from the doorway,
"Blame Susan," I said, slapping her arse cheek with my left hand, before pushing both hands underneath her fallen form to grab her breasts. I squeezed them and pulled her back up on her knees, which only made her constrict tighter. Susan squealed and shrieked as my thrusts redefined the interiors of her arse. "She got in ready to serve me. Just like a lady should. You should really get some pointers from her, Amelia."
"Pfft!" Amelia sneered. "Whores are always willing to bend down at the drop of a hat. Real ladies have men waiting to get the pleasure they cannot get from ordinary whores."
"Yes," groaned Susan. "Only until the lady realises she's been thrown out and the whore's taken her place."
I rolled my eyes. It looked like the private feud between her and her niece wasn't completely over yet.
"She has a point, Amelia," I said, a sly grin on my features. "One would think that your work is more important than getting fucked."
Amelia's response to that was to snap her fingers, as her robes fell off, revealing her naked flesh.
"Now get your sexy arse over here."
Amelia pouted the entire way across the bedroom until she was standing next to me. She quickly dropped her act and hoisted herself onto her toes, and kissed me on the lips.
'Oh! Fuck me!" mewled Susan. "Fuck me, Harry!"
I pulled my cock out of Susan's arse, grabbing Amelia's tits as she hungrily attacked my lips, her hands already reaching down to my cock. Susan took the moment to turn around, my exertion with her arse making her groan at the slightest moment. She met my eyes, and I gestured her to push further up on the bed. I pulled back from Amelia, spun her around, and pushed her down against the bed, falling into a doggy position with ease.
And lying in front of her face, naked and wet, with her legs parted, was Susan.
With a firm hold, I gripped her by her hair and pushed her towards Susan's completely shaven pussy. Amelia fought to keep her lips closed, not wanting to lick her niece's pussy, but I pushed my cock right into her arse. Her eyes widened, and her mouth opened in a nice big 'O' and I pushed it into Susan's flawless pussy.
"Lick her," I commanded. "Make her cum while I fuck you."
Following my command like the bitch she was, Amelia instantly began to lick her niece's folds, with Susan groaning and grabbing her aunt's head and pulling her deeper. With every thrust I made into Amelia's arse, it pushed her tongue deeper, and her face kept hitting against Susan's nethers.
Susan was off in a world of pleasure, the back of her head against the mattress, her closed eyes pointed skyward, writhing in ecstasy with her hands gripping her aunt's head as the DMLE Head licked her pussy, while I fucked her aunt's shapely behind. From the look on her face, Amelia's tongue was hitting all the right spots and after everything the woman had done to her during his stay at the Bones mansion, this was a very satisfying payoff.
"Don't!" She hissed, as her aunt pulled back to take a breath. "Don't stop! Keep going! Keep licking my pussy, Auntie! Just a little more! Just a — UGH!"
Meanwhile —
"Oh! Oh! Ummmmmph!"
I was pummeling Amelia now and her cries were all too familiar. Just like her niece, she was about to erupt.
And then I got my wish. Susan gripped Amelia's hair by handfuls as she wailed out in orgasmic euphoria. The way she wiggled and writhed while losing her mind drove me crazy. Susan was smart, savvy, quick with that innocent princess attitude when she wasn't bossing people around. Seeing her turn into this blubbery mess when she came was just that much enticing.
Especially when her aunt, the DMLE Head herself, erupted at the same time thanks to my cock drilling into her arse.
Loud panting and moaning created a symphony of post-orgasmic elation as aunt and niece both attempted to catch their breath. Susan looked a little flustered from cumming from her aunt's tongue, while Amelia was trying to breathe from the ferocious and sudden pummeling her arse had gotten after a week of sexual abstinence. To my knowledge, there was only one time when she had gotten anal sex and that had been during our little bet, post which I had to leave Bones Mansion to attend the most significant events at Greengrass manor.
Neither girl said anything, but they were both on the same page, they were up for doing anything I wanted.
I slid out of the warm, wet, tight paradise that was Amelia's arse, and gave her a firm smack on her arse cheeks for good measure. Her yelp was a reminder of who owned her holes.
"Get up on the bed."
Amelia didn't even need any further clarification. Ever since my victory, she had submitted to me completely on all matters sexual. My dominance even extended to the little power plays on the political level, in which she would treat me as her partner and equal rather than be the DMLE Head looking down on a teenager with too much political power and too little experience. I was still on the fence about sharing my 'time-travel' story with Amelia just to get things moving faster, and by the looks of things, I needed to come to a decision soonish.
Especially if the Quidditch World Cup ended the way I thought it would.
But that was for later. For now, I grabbed Susan's petite shin and pulled her over to me, so her legs were now dangling off the bed.
"Sit on her face."
No hesitation, no asking questions, and no resistance. That was my movie and I was the director. Amelia swiftly moved over to her niece and sat on her face, her knees resting on the comfy mattress, facing me, as complete joy washed over her. After being subjected to licking her niece, the DMLE Head was probably thinking of this as her chance to feel vindicated.
As for Susan, she didn't even need instruction. I had broken her before, and unlike Amelia, she was ready to please me in whatever way I asked her to. And eating her aunt out was in no way off-limits to the petite busty redhead.
I grinned. I didn't know how the arses of a forty-something woman and a sixteen-year-old girl feel just the same. Tight and warm and absolutely snug. I had two perfect bodies at my disposal, and I wasn't about to let either of them go to waste.
Pushing my cock into Susan's wet pussy, I reached out and grabbed Amelia by her neck and pulled her back, kissing her in the lips. My tongue deep inside her mouth, my cock stretching Susan, and Amelia's pussy being dutifully attended by Susan's diligent tongue — things just couldn't get better from this.
Or could they?
I pulled back and clamped around Amelia's left nipple, and began mauling her breasts. She moaned loudly, perfectly in tune with Susan's groans and gasps as my raging prick thrusted in and out of her. Her mouth hung open, a look of pure rapture on her face, her eyes hooded with lust, a fine sheen of perspiration making it look like she was glowing with sexual bliss. Meanwhile, her knees dug deeper into the mattress, pushing her pussy folds deeper into Susan's face.
I grinned, and much to Amelia's surprise, lifted her wandlessly into the air, before gently resting her on top of Susan. Both girls were on their backs, but Amelia was resting along Susan's. Peering down at the two sparkling pussies desperate for my attention, with Amelia's on top, and Susan's just inches below, I pushed my throbbing cock into Amelia, thrusting as deep as I could. Amelia's eyes widened like saucers and she let out a loud moan, only for me to pull out and journey deep inside her niece. And then it back to her, and then I pushed into Susan's love hole again.
"This is so hot!" Susan commented.
I agreed. Seeing these two deliciously writhing redheads reconfirmed exactly how much I had moved up this world ever since finding myself here. The DMLE Head was vying for Lady Potter, and for all I cared, she could be one. Susan would be the Lady Bones, and grant me the Lordship of her clan. I was already playing the Greengrasses, and if things were right, both Houses Greengrass and Selwyn would fall under my thumb. All that was remaining was to take care of the House Black issue, something that this World Cup would do for me.
"Ugh! Faster!" Amelia moaned.
With a grin, I fulfilled her request, giving her an extra push at double the speed, before pulling out and drilling into Susan. As similar as they felt, both of my girlfriends had differences. Unique bumps and ridges gripped my manhood as I explored them one after the other. Amelia was unbelievably wet, while Susan had the slight edge in tightness, but they both gripped me like warm hugs. They both possessed the same feeling of passion. I wanted to soak in Amelia's devotion, but Susan's yearning desperation also demanded appreciation. Neither girl was going to even dream about any other man.
They had me now.
"Kiss," I told them.
Amelia tilted her head to the side, and found Susan eagerly waiting for her. I didn't know if Susan had ever kissed another girl or not, but this was definitely the first time she was kissing her aunt on the lips. The kiss turned into a passionate snog, and while neither were bisexual, they were going to kiss if I told them to kiss.
They were my personal sluts. They would wear any outfit I wanted, play out any fetish I requested, and do any little thing my heart desired. My deviant mind had a never-ending list of perverted tasks for them to take part in.
Too bad this was neither time nor place for that sort of thing.
"Oh! That was hot!" Susan whispered, and kissed her aunt again.
Before Amelia could even respond, my strong thrusts turned to ferocious slams, engaging in a silent and unannounced battle against her. Susan was more into making out with her aunt than I had expected, and I was constantly drilling into Amelia's pussy, keeping her from even thinking about anything other than the constant pleasure the two of us were feeding into her system.
"OH FUCK! I'M GON — NA! CUM! AGAIN!" Amelia gasped, thanks to the pounding she was getting. "Don't! Stop! Dont! Stop!"
"Oh believe me," I said, doubling my pounding. "I have absolutely no desire to stop anytime soon."
The real games were going to begin right when the finals would begin, and until then, I had a few hours to spare. These two girls wanted me to leave everything and stay with them. They really needed to learn why one must be careful what one wished for.
I'd spend the next several hours correcting their ignorance.
By the time we were done, it was already past lunch time. Amelia had summoned lunches to the tent for the three of us. Hermione and the rest knew that I wouldn't be joining them any time soon, so instead I had sent a patronus to Arthur Weasley, letting him know that I'd be directly joining them during the finals match. Susan was absolutely knackered from the entire episode and was taking a nap, while Amelia and I had dressed up, ready to leave and play our respective parts.
"The blueprint of the seating arrangement," said Amelia, opening a massive piece of parchment on the table. Much like the Marauder's map, it was enchanted and displayed the location of every single seat inside the stadium, the identities the seats were registered under, as well as who was currently sitting there.
"I'm still wondering about those weird demands you asked for earlier," she said. "I already altered the Auror patrol positions based on the information you gave me, but this is —"
"Are you doubting me, Amelia?"
"I'm…. not," said the DMLE Head with a slight hesitation. "You are unnaturally capable, Harry, and only a fool would doubt that. But this is international politics we are dealing with. If things go south, Britain would be tangled in an international PR nightmare. Between that and the — the —"
"The Triwizard tournament," I offered, much to her surprise. "The one that has been restarted, with Hogwarts, Beauxbatons and Durmstrang participating in it this upcoming term."
"I would ask you how you know about this Ministry secret, but I feel like it would be a waste of time," Amelia replied, miffed about the clear leaks in her administration's security.
"Not your fault, Amelia," I said with a laugh. "You weren't the one that hired Ludo Bagman and charged him with coordinating this entire nonsense."
"It's not nonsense," Amelia snapped. "It is the outcome of two years of constant effort by seven departments of the Ministry of Magic. Our current foreign policy needs this tournament, Harry. This Quidditch World Cup, a lot is resting on this. If we have a fiasco, it is going to send a major backlash to our Ministry." She gripped his arm tightly. "So I'm telling you this one final time, if you have concrete information about something that's about to happen, just tell me and I'll have my forces take care of it. Even better, I'll take care of it myself."
I took that as an invitation to probe things further. "I can tell you one thing for certain. There is definitely going to be a fiasco. And it's going to end up with severe collateral damage."
"Then Harry—"
I held up a hand. "I'm not questioning your incompetence, Amelia, nor am I doubting your forces. But trust me when I tell you, you have two options. The first, is that I tell you everything — all the information I have. You and your forces act at the right time, and perhaps even take out the insurgent elements at the right moment with minimum collateral damage. But it will still end up causing a giant fiasco that will end up making the British Ministry look terrible in front of the ICW."
Amelia's grip tightened. "And the other?"
"I give you selective information. You act upon it, take out the insurgents at the right moment with minimum collateral damage. You agree with my demands I asked earlier, and I enact my plans. That way, the Ministry doesn't look like a giant piece of hippogriff shit and the Tournament happens without any issues. And who knows, maybe we all end up gaining something from this fiasco."
Amelia's expression momentarily flashed to one of indignation before settling down again. "You are lucky I have a weak spot for you, Harry Potter. I would have cursed you six ways to Sunday for far, far less."
"I've been told that I have sheer, dumb luck on my side," I quipped. "Now, do you have the other thing I asked of you?"
"Yes," said Amelia tersely, and undid the pendant she was wearing. Tapping it with her wand, she expanded the jewellery to five times its size, before it opened with an audible click. I watched as she pulled out something that looked like a galleon, only it was far thicker and engraved all over in ways I had never seen before.
And it was crimson. Bright crimson. The colour of blood.
"Is this it?" I asked, sceptically, my suspicions vanishing the instant I took it from her. Just touching it and feeling it draw upon my magic made it clear what the substance was. Not gold or silver, or any mundane metal, but mithril — pure, potent mithril, a superconductor for raw, magical energy. It was as big as the palm of my hand and on one side was an intricate web of symbols that resembled Aztec hieroglyphics.
"It's called the Serratura," said Amelia, eying the object with distaste. "The name's Italian origin, meaning 'lock'. It has the power to trap one or more people when they are in the same place. The spell to activate it must be performed by a Bones witch. I've already done that, so all you need to do is place it on the ground at the location where you want the barrier to envelope. Mind you, the barrier will be created with the serratura on its periphery, and if anyone lifts it up, the barrier will disperse instantly."
I frowned. "And what prevents someone from, oh I don't know, blasting it off and dispersing the barrier?"
"You can't," said Amelia. "The Serratura's mysteries are based on the foundation of honour-duels in the olden days. The moment you're trapped inside the Serratura's warded field, it imposes a magical agreement on all parties to fight to the death, and the sacrifice is offered to an ancient Canaanite god Moloch, and in turn, Moloch is said to bless the victor for providing quality entertainment. So long as there is more than one person inside, the duel isn't over, and the Serratura's barrier is highly resistant to any and all forms of known magic."
I looked at her in distaste. This wasn't the first time I had heard of religious connotations amongst witches and wizards. Walburga's wraith had claimed that the Blacks were the children of the yenaldooshi, native american sorcerers that practised extremely dark magic. An art she had been instructing me bit by bit during the summer, especially after I had prepared enough for my final offering, or as Walburga put it, my blood-Ascension to the mantle of the Black Lord.
But hearing about such artefacts from Amelia, I couldn't help but question just how intertwined muggle religious mythology and wizardry were in this world.
"Whatever you're up to, Harry Potter, make sure you're not caught with this," warned Amelia. "The Serratura has been in my family for generations and its valuation is in the tens of thousands of galleons, and most importantly, it can be traced back to me."
I handed the coin back to Amelia, who put it safely inside her pendant, and handed it over to me.
"I'm taking a big risk, Harry," she said, meeting my eyes. "Please, do not misplace my trust."
I held the pendant in my palm. The pieces were finally falling in place. The event was there, the opportunity and the resources were finally in the palm of my hand. All I needed was to confirm a few things, wait for the right opportunity, and all I was scheming for would be mine before the night was over.
"Trust me," I said, pocketing the blueprint as I put on my robe. "I won't."
Notes:
If you want to support me, find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Chapter 109: Charade
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 3 - THE INCUBUS AND NECROMANCER
CHAPTER 109 - CHARADE
Draco Malfoy was only mildly surprised when he walked into the dining room of the Malfoy tent and saw Daphne Greengrass eating lunch with his mother.
Bugger, he thought, irritated. It was no secret that he was sick to death of being forced into the company of the girl. There was no doubt that both she and her sister Astoria came from good breeding stock, even for Selwyn-spawn. In the off-chance that something happened to Androcles Selwyn, the current heir and Daphne's uncle, it would fall upon her to inherit the Selwyn legacy, one that could be his if he agreed to be betrothed to her in the first place.
Hah! Thought Draco spitefully. Fat chance of that happening if he had any say in the matter. And thankfully, he did.
'Ah, good noon, Draco," said Daphne in a sickly-sweet tone that grated on Draco's nerves. "Aunty Cissa came to our tent earlier, but Astoria was out with friends. Mother and Father had an important guest to attend, so I invited myself for lunch. I hope you won't mind."
"There is nothing to mind, Daphne," said Mother. "Honestly, I'd have preferred it if Draco actually got along better with you."
"I call that wishful thinking, Auntie," said Daphne, that plastic smile still stuck on her damnable face. Daphne, he was sure, was half-fae. Just like those tricky blighters, she was perfectly capable of twisting and manipulating facts and tricking people into unreasonable bargains.
It didn't help that Mother wanted him to get rid of Pansy for good, and instead marry Daphne. It had taken more than one heated session between her and Father to reach an acceptable compromise — him marrying Astoria instead of Daphne. Technically, Astoria too could inherit the Selwyn legacy, provided Daphne never married. Not too difficult, Draco thought. The crazy bint could freeze ice inside her snatch.
"Wishful thinking?" repeated Mother, giving her an arched look. "Surely you jest, Daphne."
Daphne giggled, and Draco knew it was just as false as anything else he knew her to do. It was like every single time they were together, Daphne took her acting to epic proportions. If he didn't know any better, he'd have claimed that she went out of her way just to push his buttons. A silly thought, no doubt, since he was a Malfoy, and Daphne was hardly talented enough to even develop a mental shield, let alone train herself to become an expert legilimencer like Professor Snape.
Daphne laughed again, her face lighting up in true amusement. Had Mother said something funny he missed?
"Looking forward to the new year?"
"Oh yes," said Daphne. "Very much, indeed. This summer has been most surprising for most of us, I'd say. Wouldn't you agree, Draco? News about your postponed Azkaban trip spread like wildfire amongst the group. Should make for an interesting term this year."
Draco went red.
"That's an exaggeration, dear," said Mother calmly. "You should know better than to listen to gossip spread by the lesser-born, Daphne. Whatever happened between my son and Potter was —"
"Isn't it true that he used an Unforgivable?" Daphne probed. Even Draco had to give her points for how innocent she sounded.
"Whe— where did you hear that?" Draco demanded. He had thought that the entire matter was sealed for good, and any witnesses appropriately silenced.
"I talked to Inglebee," said Daphne, jubilant. "Who talked to Fawley, who talked to Carrow, who talked to Smith, who said that Burke said that she was crossing the street when she saw Abbott and Bones in Foretesque's parlour, screaming when you cast the Imperius curse on Harry Potter. I've also heard that Potter didn't even need to cast a single spell to take you and your two goons down."
Draco's eyes went wide, as did his mouth. For a second, he was too surprised to speak.
"Daphne dear," said Mother again, but this time, the note of steel in her voice didn't go amiss. "I'll repeat myself. Whatever happened between my son and his friends and Potter was simply blown out of proportion. We are of Black and Malfoy blood, and greatness engineers spite in others, and spite spawns lies."
"A lot many people must be believing in those lies then, Auntie Cissa," said Daphne brightly, matching gazes with Mother. "I've heard about you settling with Potter at the DMLE. I've heard about Draco getting a permanent mark on his DMLE record. I've heard about Potter saving Draco's arse from Azkaban out of pity. I've heard that Draco was denied his Black Lordship. I've…." she trailed off. "Well, did I get at least some of them correct?"
Draco and Mother looked at each other for a second. Finally, Mother sighed and spoke. "Only the superficials, Daphne. I wouldn't say I settled with Potter, but merely gave him an idea of how much further the situation could devolve into. My son is still going to be the Lord of Black, but given his recent behaviour," she gave him a dark look. "Me and Lucius decided that he is not ready yet, and will revisit the issue after he gets his NEWTs."
"A pity," drawled Daphne, her smile making Draco want to scrub himself with boiling hot water. "Did you know, Potter also took up the mantle of Lord Potter this summer?"
"He… what?"
"Oh, nobody told you?" asked Daphne, enjoying it way too much for his tastes. She quietly wiped her lips and got up from her chair, nodding at Mother, before meeting his eyes. "He is also doing business with Father, and spent two days at our mansion. Father is planning on proposing my name for marriage with him."
Draco looked at her speechless, before a bark of laughter escaped his lips. "Potter? Marry you? You're delusional, Greengrass. Potter hates Slytherins with a passion. Your father must be really desperate to get rid of you if he's trying to send you off with Potter."
"Draco," said Mother imperiously, getting up from her chair. "Daphne here is a family friend and a guest. You will behave appropriately with her."
"Of course, Mother," he replied automatically, noting the words held a steely command. Ever since the onset of the summer holidays, Narcissa Malfoy had been asserting more and more authority within the House. Especially with Father being away on business for most of the time, and with her mother's… unusual needs, she had been taking more and more decisions for him. That she had quite successfully twisted the debacle with Potter without any potential fallout had pleased Father when he came to know about it, and he had deferred to her to take care of Draco's future marital decisions.
His mother placed her napkin on the table, and swept out of the room gracefully, without another word.
Draco decided that ignoring Daphne was the best move and so helped himself to some lunch.
Daphne snorted.
"Your unwanted opinion on him aside," she said, "House Potter is Nobility, much like House Black. And what little I've seen of him, he's keen on establishing himself in the herb trade, and House Greengrass can help him there immensely. Both Father and Mother are very… charmed by him. I can almost see him having regular business with them both from now on."
Draco snorted. "Big words, Greengrass. Uncle Broderick is Father's business partner. And Father would never allow him to get you married to Potter, assuming he even agrees. He's probably wagging his tail for that muggleborn werewolf of his. And Lord or not, Potter is a halfblood. There's no way your father would marry you to him. All he's waiting for is for me to say yes, even if it is for the position of a second-wife or worse."
"Things have changed," said Daphne, smirking. "Potter is already Lord of an Ancient and Noble House, and in business with Father. He even helped him out of a tight spot. I've heard that Harry is also a potential Black candidate. From his great-grandmother, no less."
Draco bristled. "I'm the Lord Black!"
"Not until the next four years you're not," said the bitch, casually inspecting her fingernails. "And with your little stunt with the Unforgivable, you'll need to make a formal appeal before the Wizengamot before you attempt an Ascension." She let out a cruel laugh. "That's unless you get jumpy and cast another Unforgivable and get carted off to Azkaban."
Draco scowled. Truth be told, he had always known that he held his place in Slytherin House because of his father; the Malfoy name, status and wealth kept most of his contemporaries in line, and the upper years would rather ignore him rather than risk upsetting him and provoking consequences for their families's business dealings. What was beginning to sink in, since this summer, was that it hadn't been the Malfoy name, so much as the Black that allowed him the power.
In hindsight, it explained why Mother had always attempted to groom him to act like a perfect Black.
But now, with the mark on his DMLE record, things had gotten complicated.
It wasn't fair. And it was all Potter's fault.
"Why…" began Draco carefully. "Are you telling me this?"
At that question, her attitude was replaced by a feral coldness, and a glint appeared behind her pale blue irises.
That should've been the first warning.
"Because," hissed Daphne Greengrass. "It's like you said. Father is desperate. And he wants to marry me to Harry bloody Potter. And I'd rather deal with you than suffer the Gryffindor Golden Boy and his ragtag group of mudbloods and blood traitors. Potter…. He's done something. I'm not sure of what it is, but Father has accepted him. He's even agreed to let him hire Mother as a consultant. Can you believe it? A pureblood, a Selwyn, reduced to a consultant for a filthy halfblood?"
She explained the whole thing in a single breath and hungrily breathed in more air for the next few seconds.
Whatever Draco had expected her to say, this was definitely not it. Still, Mother had spent entire days drilling into him about being rational in his dealings with Potter after the fiasco at Fortescue's, and Draco wasn't a Slytherin for nothing.
"It's Saint Potter," said Draco, trying to be the voice of reason. He wasn't accustomed to playing this role. "You said it yourself. Your father is in business with him. And I'm pretty sure he wouldn't think of marrying you to Potter if my father tells him otherwise."
He really should've paid attention to how he had shifted from challenging Daphne to supporting her within the same conversation. But even then, he had expected her to look at him with adulation or even gratitude, perhaps a compliment or two. Instead, she raised an eyebrow mockingly.
"You don't seem to realise it, do you, Draco?"
She crossed her legs in a way that emphasised her breasts and unwittingly enough, Dracos' eyes followed the undulating motion of those protrusions across her chest. Daphne had grown this summer, and was blooming far more than her younger sister.
And just like that, he lost his sails.
"...Realise what?"
"Harry Potter takes up the mantle of Lord Potter. Then he engineers a situation where you lose control and play into his hands, casting an Unforgivable in the middle of Diagon Alley. I know you can be short-tempered, but not even you are that stupid. I even heard something about compulsion charms."
Draco went red. Attacking Potter like that had been utterly brazen, and the more he thought about it, the easier it had been to imagine it had been because of the effects of a compulsion.
"I — er— yes, he might've! I'm — I'm not sure how things devolved like that! I mean me! Draco Malfoy, casting an unforgivable like that? Hah! Potter had to have done something! It's just common sense!"
There were so many warning flags popping up but Draco just braved through them with a confidence enough to make any Gryffindor go green with envy. Daphne was making sense, and looked like she would follow up on her plans despite his approval or disapproval.
"You're always going after Potter at school for whatever reason," egged Daphne. "I'm sure your suspicions about him being up to no good have turned out to be true at times."
Oh, how he wanted someone, anyone to say that! The last three years had been one foiled attempt after another. Sometimes it was McGonagall, sometimes the Headmaster, sometimes some crazy-arse miracle, or even Professor Snape! Potter's bloody luck always got him out of whatever nastiness he was brewing all the time.
"Imagine what he can do now, if left to his own devices. I've heard that the Potters were very wealthy, and had considerable say at the Wizengamot. What if… what if he was planning all this from the beginning? Maybe he's trying to sideline you from the Black fortune? It'd be right up his alley. Maybe if you're thrown into Azkaban, he could claim the Black fortune for himself, given how Sirius Black betrayed his parents to You-Know-Who and everything?"
His decision was made before Daphne could manipulate him any further. Even if their suspicions turned out to be false, there wasn't any danger behind it, he reasoned to himself.
"So, what's the plan?" He asked.
"Plan?" repeated Daphne blankly. "I thought you were the one with all the plans. Potter is currently in my tent, talking to my parents. I didn't want to smell his halfblood stench so I walked away with Auntie when I spotted her. All I know is that he's come to watch the finals with the mudblood. I just thought maybe, with so many people around, you could figure out a way to teach him a lesson without anyone knowing any better." She sniffed. "Clearly, I overestimated you."
"Oh, shut it, Greengrass," scoffed Draco, standing up, his tone morphing from uncertain to confident. "I've got a plan. But it's going to need a little bit of help on your side."
"Oooh? What's it? What's it?" Daphne was practically jumping in excitement. " You'll teach him a lesson for good, won't you?"
"I will," sneered Draco. Yes, his path was set. Daphne was right. With so many people and with everyone busy with the Finals, it would be hilariously easy to mess with Potter and his mudblood. "Go back to your tent, and wait for my orders. I have Potter's humiliation to plan."
"Uh, if you say so, I'll just let you be, Draco," said Daphne, slowly stepping away from the tent, submission evident on her features.
Draco didn't see her leave. If he had, he'd have been terrified out of his wits to see that spark of amusement on her face.
It was a pity that the wizarding world didn't have pornstars. If it did, Broderick was certain Harry Potter could have made a killing. The Greengrass patriarch had to reluctantly agree that the young Potter Lord had a perfectly chiselled body, with a cock that put his own dick to shame. That the boy was currently sitting inside his room in the Greengrass tent, without a shred of clothing on him, next to his fully clothed wife didn't help matters either.
Or the fact that he was currently sitting in the next room, staring at the events inside through the reflective mirror artfully placed to capture the insides of the tent-room.
"Harry Potter!" exclaimed Anastasia. "Why are you not wearing pants? You think you can just walk in here and show off your body and I will change my mind and beg you to fuck me with your big bad cock? That might work for the halfblood sluts at Hogwarts, but on the Lady of House Greengrass. Why don't you change into something decent so that we can have a conversation?"
Anastasia, Broderick had to agree, had all the traits of a successful actress. Too bad the wizarding world didn't have any of those either.
"I'll sit with you, but I'm not going to change," said Potter. "Me being nude shouldn't matter, if it's a conversation you want. Unless… you're afraid you won't be able to control yourself."
"Hippogriff dung!"
Potter nodded, "Yep, I can see it in your eyes. If I tried you would let me fuck you right here on this couch and by the end you would beg me to fill you with my hot sticky cum."
"You're a sick bastard, how can anybody be so arrogant? You make me sick, you will never, ever; ever; fuck me anywhere, nor would I ever beg you for your hot sticky cum."
Her denial was almost very well done, thought Broderick, except for the very end. He knew he was nitpicking but describing Potter's cum as hot and sticky were counterintuitive to Anastasia's apparent efforts of showing him down.
"I've never been so repulsed!" exclaimed Anastasia. "What's the matter with you? That's exactly why you will never get me, or any girl like me. Women with decency and class don't respond positively to your childish disgusting advances."
Potter's sole response was to start stroking his cock. Anastasia just stared at him silently for several minutes. She was watching him intently, as if afraid to miss a single thing. Every stroke, every squeeze of the head of the giant trouser snake. Every breath, every sigh, and every noise Potter made against the leather couch as he stroked his cock. When Potter caught her looking, she looked down at her lap and closed her eyes.
Maybe there was something wrong with him, but Broderick couldn't help but feel fear, nervousness, excitement, anger and arousal. He was suddenly assured that the giant piece of man-meat would be tearing and impaling his wife's wetness thoroughly. And part of him was actually wanting Potter to lead things to that. Broderick wanted him to shove that entire cock into her tight little twat.
"Really, Ana, that's what you have got to say? A woman of decency and class? Your fucking husband let me stay in this room with you all to myself. What kind of fool does that? You'd be so much better off by just giving in. Let me show you what you're missing."
"He left us because he trusts me," said Anastasia, playing along. "You think sex is everything? It's not! It's a beautiful thing meant for lovers, not for animals consumed by lust. Your kind of sex means nothing, it pales in comparison to making love to your soulmate. Having the body of a Greek god and a cock that would shame a horse doesn't make up for the lack of a connection and intimacy. Even if we were to ever have sex, I'd not enjoy it."
Potter smiled, and it was a dark thing.
"Fine then. Let me correct your ignorance."
He stood up, and walked towards Anatasia, his cock revealed in unhindered glory. Anastasia just watched as he came closer with every single step, his cock standing straight as an arrow. Stiff as a board and radiating sexual heat like a forest fire, Potter pushed his massive cock at her gorgeous little mouth.
Broderick almost choked as his wife opened her mouth almost instinctively, letting the fist-sized head into her lips, with the rest of the meat slowly sliding into her mouth. When she gagged, Potter slowed her advance, but never quite stopped. Steadily with each gentle thrust of his hips, he got an inch deeper every single time he pushed until the entire appendage was inside her mouth.
Before he knew it, Potter was already pulling at Anastasia's shirt, lifting it all the way up to her neck. He snapped his fingers and her bra fell down, revealing her breasts. His wife had a look of disbelief in her eyes, as if she truly couldn't believe what was happening or how she lost control of the situation. The rawness of her expression made it incredibly difficult to believe that all of this was merely a scripted play for the duo's entertainment in which Harry Potter was merely playing a part.
She couldn't even respond even if she wanted to. He pulled her head towards his hips, forcing more of himself into her mouth. His hand was clamping down her head, and his cock brushing against the back of her throat if those gagging noises were any clue. Her eyes were watery and tears were dripping out, but Potter seemed not to care, and instead kept up his ferocious pace. He was breathing loudly and grunting, enjoying the feeling of Broderick's wife's mouth around him.
Broderick himself was so hard that it felt like his cock would explode. Some part of him was screaming at him that he was letting things devolve too far, but the rest of him was too busy jerking off to the sight of his wife sucking Potter's cock to register the first half. It was so erotic that he had to stand up, unable to sit down without feeling like his cock would blow up.
Almost in rhythm, Potter's thrusts got erratic and then he pulled out of Anastasia's face.
And then he exploded.
A thick wad fell over her temples. Another one covered her cheek, and one shot into her eye. Each glob was the size of Broderick's entire orgasm. A copious amount splattered over her hair, while two torrents slipped into her mouth.
"That's a good girl," he said at last. "I bet your husband doesn't fuck your face like that."
"No, he doesn't quite do it like that."
And with that, Potter turned around, facing the mirror and winked at Broderick's reflection.
Broderick stood up, his own cock now harder than ever. Potter's taunting grin somehow made him more excited than if he had been the one to fuck and cum Anastasia's mouth. The idea of what had happened was exhilarating, but knowing the next part of their little charade was going to be was simply tantalising.
And with that, Broderick stepped forward, his cock hard and dangling, ready to accuse his wife for cheating on him with Harry Potter. Truly, his sex life had never been more exciting.
Notes:
If you want to support me, find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Chapter 110: Charade Part 2
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Anastasia never put much stock in the entire myth of the Boy-Who-Lived.
Then, Harry Potter entered her life like a maelstrom less than a week ago, and upturned everything. What began as a way to save her husband’s interests and play a part in his plan to saddle the Boy-Who-Lived with their eldest Daphne in a ploy to rob him off the legendary Potter fortune, quickly turned into Anastasia herself lying on the bed, screaming her lungs out while Harry fucking Potter shoved his mighty cock into her pussy, reshaping it and giving her pleasure the likes of which she hadn’t imagined was possible. The Selwyn daughter who had contented to becoming Broderick’s supportive wife, always working from the shadows and letting her husband bask in the glory, had transformed into a cruel, selfish, vindictive bitch that bedded a young man her daughter’s age for carnal pleasure of the sort she had never been introduced to before.
And if that wasn’t all, Harry Potter, keeping true to the myth, had performed a miracle on par with surviving the killing curse and offing the Dark Lord You-Know-Who as a baby.
He had transformed her husband Broderick Greengrass into a cuckold.
Listening to him agree was one thing. Seeing him willingly take part in the ridiculous drama like a fop, while Potter fucked her like a whore was another. But seeing Broderick truly believe that it was all an overly melodramatic sexual fantasy, when both she and Harry Potter were insulting and debasing him and his sexual limitations was nothing short of hilarious.
And the best part? Broderick had easily agreed upon for a second round, and a third, and even when Anastasia had continued getting fucked like a Knockturn Alley whore for the rest of the night while her husband slept. Anastasia had feared him waking up and coming to his senses, and exploding upon her, so she had added three drops of calming draught in his morning tea, just to be safe.
Imagine her surprise when he had instead been worried about her. And to top it all, he had actually agreed for a second time with Harry, a playacting session as he called it, and this time, it wouldn’t be inside the safety and privacy of Greengrass manor, but in the tent in the Quidditch World Cup. All it would take would be one incident, one little failing of the enchantments holding the tent together, and she would become the hottest tabloid material for weeks. Just the idea of the sheer disaster that would follow should have made her back out and obliviate herself for good.
Instead she just felt pleasure.
After the way her life had been one giant gilded cage, she had gotten a taste of this cruel wildness. And cruel or not, sadistic or not, the fact that she was quite literally, cheating and fooling her husband and turning her into a cuckold while she enjoyed mind-bending sex with a wizard of her daughter’s age had unleashed a beast within her. One that would not return to its shadowed cave now that it had seen the light.
It wanted more.
And Harry would provide her. Even if it meant degrading her husband even further.
“Don’t pretend for your reputation. No one else is here. I know it, and you definitely know it. Your cunt’s dripping, isn’t it?”
Anastasia didn’t answer. She knew her husband was watching everything from a corner in the adjoining room of the tent, seeing her being taken and abused by Harry Potter by the aptly positioned mirror.
Potter laughed at her silence. “It doesn’t matter, Anastasia. Your husband’s a pussy, no wonder he felt so comfortable leaving a hot beauty like you all alone for me to feast. He knows perfectly well that his tool cannot give you the pleasure you seek.”
“You’re wrong,” Anastasia countered with a fake stammer, the smile on her face and eyes screaming the opposite.
“Am I now?” He asked. “Allow me to correct your ignorance.”
He put his hands on her left shoulder. His grip was strong. She met his gaze.
He smiled.
“Dress break.”
Every single shred of clothing on her exploded. Her blouse, her bra, her robes, her panties — not a single thing remained. Before Anastasia could even react, his hands groped her boobs, squeezing them violently and pulling on her nipples, twisting them with all the roughness of a savage.
Anastasia moaned.
His rough treatment was consuming her mind. He brought his hands back up to her shoulder and pushed her down to her knees roughly. He didn’t even ask her to do anything. Even though she was not sure of what she was doing, and gave in to her instincts. She grabbed his veiny cock, touching it, feeling the huge balls that hung below, and desire bubbled within her. She opened her mouth, and took him in, feeling her cheeks stretching. It tasted so good, and she felt utterly right being like this, on her knees, serving him. Oh, how she wanted to be able to do this all the time, without having to run this charade with her husband. But on the other hand, fooling Broderick was half the fun itself, so she couldn’t really bring herself to complain.
Anastasia started to bob her head, trying to take more of him. She had handled it before, and even though she had taken him in her mouth before, somehow it felt different. She wouldn’t be surprised if he had some latent metamorphmagery talent, and was instinctively using it to buff himself up. She had heard of witches and wizards that manifested a magical trait partially. Perhaps this one was geared exclusively towards sexual prowess, which would also explain the impossibly large volumes of cum that rod of his kept chugging out every time it fucked her, or any woman into a mewling mess. Yes, the constant exertion of raw magical power into self-transfiguration would drain most wizards dry, but someone like Potter would barely notice the difference.
Unlike most people, she had a perfectly good idea of just how much power that lithe form was hiding.
Anastasia dismissed the thoughts for later. For now, she had to fit him in her mouth, but his length still seemed impossible. He was brushing up against her throat, and she still had so much more to go. His hand clamped down on her head, and pulled it towards him, forcing more of himself against her throat. It resisted. He started to buck his hips. Each thrust was more vigorous than the last. The tip entered her throat, stretching it roughly. He was enjoying it though. The new sensation sent him into a frenzy. Each brutal thrust forced more of his cock down into her throat. She was gagging loudly. Her eyes watered and tears dripped out, but Harry Potter kept up his ferocious pace. He was breathing loudly now and grunting, enjoying the feeling of her mouth around him.
Anastasia was enjoying it too. It had felt good to please him and to serve him, but to be used felt better. Physically it hurt, but being treated this way turned her on. She was wet, really wet, and could feel herself drip. She was his toy and it felt right. She started swirling her tongue as he hammered himself down her tiny throat. She reached down, and started to masturbate. It was clumsy, but her fingers felt so good. She had over half his cock in her mouth now and he kept hammering away, driving more of his stake in. It was getting hard to breathe. His hips were swinging forcefully. Only a few inches remained to go. Anastasia tried to stretch her mouth and throat, desperate to take all of him. Her pussy was burning, fingers frantically rubbing her clit. His hands clamped hard on the back of her neck, making her almost suffocate. Didn't matter. Needed more of him. He pushed her down. Darkness was creeping into the corner of her vision. The last of his cock rammed into her mouth. His swollen balls slapped against her chin. A wave of pleasure exploded from her cunt. Her hand was soaked, her body quivered, the orgasm coursing through her.
"Cumming from sucking a dick, you really are a slut.”
"Yes, sir. Your slut." She replied, but his plunging spike muffled her words. She was struggling to get air in-between thrusts, but even when he pulled out there was still at least an inch in her throat. She was dizzy. He was driving harder. Sweat was dripping off of him onto her face. His balls thumped on her chin. Suddenly he thrust all the way in, and she gagged and tried to pull back. His hands clamped down, holding her in place. Anastasia felt his cock thicken, ripping her throat. He let out a grunt and came. His cum was thick and brackish, but she loved it. It seemed to pour out of him, dumping down her throat. She was trying to swallow it all, knowing he would like that, but there was too much. It filled her mouth. He pulled out as she gulped desperately. He was somehow still cumming. A thick wad fell on her forehead. Another one covered her cheek, and one shot into her eye. Each glob was the size of another man’s entire orgasm. He was jerking his cock roughly. A copious jet shot into her hair. She opened her mouth for him. He angled his cock down, and shot out again. She swallowed and he shot another against her lips. He slowed his masturbating and dumped two final loads on her chest and sat down.
Without thinking she started collecting the cum with her fingers and licking it off. Her stomach was already turning from his massive load, but Anastasia couldn't help herself. She needed more of him.
"Clean me off, whore." His order snapped her back to reality.
"Yes, master," Anastasia crawled over to him on her hands and knees. Gently taking him in her hands, she started to lightly lick around. He tasted so good. His musk was driving her crazy. His cock was clean, but she kept swirling her tongue. His flesh was still soft, but it was rapidly hardening.
He pushed her roughly onto her back. He kneeled over her and went in for a kiss. His lips were electric. His light stubble scratched her cheek. Anastasia reached down and wrapped a hand around his cock, noting that despite their prior sessions, she was unable to hold half of it.
Metamorphmagery no doubt. The realization both excited and terrified her. She had heard of the infamous Nymphadora Tonks, a rookie Auror and yet one of the best stealth and recon experts out there. And Potter too was manifesting a similar talent, only geared in specific directions, but just if not more dangerous than the former. Nymphadora Tonks could shapeshift into nearly anything, making her almost impossible to identify, a walking breathing security risk. Harry Potter on the other hand, could just shapeshift his organ and bend the minds of any woman that was unfortunate, or perhaps fortunate, to fall on his path. No matter what enchantment or vow, this wife-tamer would definitely spill every goddamn secret out of a woman’s mouth if it meant more of this cock.
She herself was proof of that.
For a moment she imagined herself at his side, with an army of witches, all of them naked and starving for sex, genuflecting before him. They sat in rows, resting on their knees, with each of them coming up and plunging their mouths against his dick, and taking oaths to serve him until their last breaths. And Harry Potter, seated on a massive throne, would rule over them all, and over the entire Wizarding Britain, a powerful and insidious Dark Lord the likes of which the country had never seen.
Her thoughts were broken as Harry roughly bit her bottom lip. Her cunt gushed and she moaned, loving his abuse. Precum was leaking from him. It coated her hand, leaking between her fingers. If he hadn't still been hard, she would have sworn he came. She met his eyes.
“I… I am not protected,” she shrieked, mock-scared. “Please do not seed me.”
Harry laughed, and reared his hand back and slapped her. Anastasia whimpered, shocked from the pain. He had put no effort behind it, but it still was a powerful blow. She moaned, inflamed by his abuse. Why, oh why, did she want this? Why was this so goddamn addicting?
One thing she knew, that if Harry Potter did end up getting married to Daphne, she’d make certain that she’d not stop getting her dose of his cum. At least on a weekly basis.
“No need for protection,” he smirked, mocking her arousal. He pushed forward, aligning his cockhead with her slit. He reared his hip back and slammed forward. His first thrust smashed six inches into her. His width alone caused her to scream, stretching her to her widest. He continued to brutally jackhammer into her, forcing more of his spear into her. Anastasia’s eyes were bulging out of her head, tears welling from her eyes at the way he was splitting her. If she hadn't been so well lubricated he would have ripped her vagina in two.
“Please!” She moaned. “Slow! A! Ugh!”
Harry only leaned back so he was sitting on his feet as he knelt. Anastasia’s breast bounced up and down with the force of his thrusts. He turned his abuse to them, squeezing, twisting, slapping and pulling. The pain was subsiding slowly. Each thrust brought more pleasure. She screamed as he pulled at her nipples, feeling something deep within her, a mounting pleasure unlike anything she had experienced before. She raised her legs, tightening against his entry. The pain increased, and he grunted, but he was definitely pleased.
Then it happened.
She saw Broderick. He was standing at the doorway, staring. His mouth hung open. Anastasia could tell he wanted to do something, but he was frozen. The wife in her wanted to stop, to end these nasty games and reveal the truth, seek his forgiveness and walk away from this twisted madness. But she couldn't. She couldn't tear herself away from this cock. Pleasing Harry mattered more than her husband. The wife of Broderick Greengrass had died, leaving more room for the whore.
Harry also noticed and he laughed.
"What the fuck!" Broderick angrily demanded. "Anastasia, what the hell is going on?"
The look of alarm and guilt on her face nearly vanished. That her husband had not come in to put an end to this fuckery, but was instead playing his part like a fool made her pussy tighten. She had all but expected him to yell at her, or perhaps shove his wand at them and curse them, perhaps bind her while blasting Potter away. Not that it would help, for Potter was far more agile and strong than her husband. She was sure that if push came to shove, Harry Potter could force her husband to stay down and accept his position as a cuckold if it came to that.
He was weak like that.
Weak? When had she started thinking of Broderick in such derogatory terms?
She looked at him with a mix of surprise, and mock-guilt.
"Ohhh, honey, I'm sorry!" Anastasia said as she held her legs out for Potter to keep pumping into her. "I was just so horny. I really didn't think you'd mind. After all, you just left him alone with your sexy wife, and clearly expected this to happen. I would have told you about it later, you know, to make you hot. Besides, you aren't supposed to be home anyway."
It took everything to not fall laughing at that ridiculous attempt to excuse her actions.
Harry didn’t care. He just kept pumping in and out of her.
"Come on, honey, don't be mad," Anastasia implored. "It's just a little sex. And you’re still the love of my life.”
As she spoke those words, Harry cupped and kneaded one of her flawless tits, and she let out a moan. Seeing him still not intervening, she slid one hand down to Harry's swollen nutsack and caressed his huge balls while gently lapping at his cock.
For a good five minutes, her husband stood at the entry to their bedroom, transfixed, watching his petite, sexy wife skillfully take Harry Potter’s cock, only to be pulled up, and have her lick all over his cock and balls, making them wet and shiny with her warm spit. She never really stopped looking Broderick in the face, and the sight of her clear gray eyes flashing in obvious pleasure made his cock inside his pants ache, if the tent was any clue.
Broderick Greengrass had been turned into a cuckold and he was loving it.
“I —” Broderick began, when a loud knock on the door of the tent surprised them.
“Who’s it?” He asked loudly.
“It’s me.”
Anastasia froze. Even from inside the tent, she could recognize Lucius Malfoy’s cold, silky, spidery voice anywhere. The man reminded her of an immoral killer, a high-functioning psychopath that could kill a dozen people with his own hands, and then be annoyed because one of the bodies left some dirt on his high-quality robes.
Broderick’s eyes widened to form saucers, and he quickly snapped into focus, and cast a wide-area imperturbation charm around them. “Potter, leave right now. Anastasia, go change. I — I’ll go welcome him in.”
“I’m not your dog, Broderick, to blindly obey orders,” snapped Harry Potter. “I’m not going to just fuck your wife and play your stupid games when you feel like, and then run away and hide like a little bitch just because dear Lucius decided to pay a visit. You started this, so you own it.”
Broderick looked like he had been slapped. His face twisted into an angry crimson. “Now look here —”
“I’m Harry Potter of the Ancient and Noble House of Potter,” Harry snapped. “I refuse to run and hide just because you are uncomfortable owning your kinks in front of your death-eater business partner. I’m going to fuck your wife right here in this room.”
As if to reinforce his statement, he slammed his thick cock deep into Anastasia yet again, making her moan.
“If you’re that afraid of Lucius seeing us like this, then send him away, or come up with an excuse, if you lack the courage to own it.”
Broderick looked like he wanted to quarrel, but time was of the essence. Instead, he looked at Anastasia with a pleading expression. “Ana, make him understand! Lucius —”
Whatever little respect Anastasia had for her husband flickered away right that instant.
This… this was the man she had been happy to defer to all her life? This was the man that had used her talents in potions and herbology to create a flourishing business for himself, while keeping her in the shadows? He didn’t even have the guts to send Harry Potter — the man who was fucking his wife in front of him — away. Instead, he was begging her — his wife — to do something.
“No,” she said, a cold sneer forming on her face. “I refuse to insult House Potter like this, Broderick.”
Broderick looked like he wanted to yell at someone. Probably both of them. Which was good, thought Anastasia. At least it would show that he had some masculinity left in him. Really, just seeing his wife talk back to him, refuse to let another man keeping fucking her despite her husband saying otherwise….
“Look, I just can’t let Lucius see the two of you like this, alright?” exclaimed her husband.
Anastasia gave up right that moment. Really, her husband was too much of a pussy. It was a wonder she had never seen this side of him before. Maybe he had simply basked in and reflected Lucius’s dominance upon her, and she had bought it hook, line and sinker. But now, with another alpha male in the equation, his submissive side was open for all to see.
“I’m horny, and stinking of Harry’s cum,” said Anastasia without the slightest care in the world. She didn’t bother with the charade anymore. “And I was just about to cum again. I refuse to give all that up because Lucius decided to show up.”
“But —”
Broderick’s face was now just a shade away from purple. Maybe if she pushed him a little more…
“Look, Broderick,” said Harry. “I’m really sorry things turned out like this. But if you force her like this, deny her the pleasure she is so close to getting, what’s the message you’re sending your wife? That her pleasure, her happiness is second in priority over attending to your friend’s whims?”
Broderick opened his mouth, possibly to affirm Harry’s statement, but then he thought otherwise and closed his mouth.
Harry Potter gave a most devilish smile. “When we came to an agreement, it was to reinforce your relationship and your marriage, Broderick. To test the strength of your love in the furnace of these… fantasies, and help the two of you come out stronger as a result of it. And now you would throw all of this away just for a casual meet with your friend?”
“But— but I have never refused Lucius,” Broderick exclaimed. “He’ll — what if he thinks I’m up to something?”
Well, Anastasia thought. He wouldn’t be wrong. She pushed herself up, and began rubbing her face and her breasts against Harry’s cock and balls. He absently pushed her down and thrust his cock inside her again.
She moaned.
“Hmmm,” said Harry, pretending to think hard. “How about this? I happen to have an invisibility cloak. Perhaps we can arrive at a middle-ground where both of you can be satisfied?”
“H— How?”
“Simple,” said Harry, smirking. He quickly summoned a chair, and sat upon it, uncaring of his nakedness. “I happen to have an invisibility cloak, and will cast freshening charms all over us and the room. Anastasia here can sit on my cock, and keep getting her pleasure, while being hidden from view, while you and Lucius have your meeting.”
To Anastasia’s everlasting disappointment, her husband actually gave that point a genuine moment of consideration.
“Could you also silence yourself?”
“I could,” said Harry Potter, his eyes glinting malevolently. “But I’d rather not. If you’re putting your wife’s desires over your friendship with Lucius, the least she can do is stay silent while getting fucked. If she really values you, she should be able to hold back from making noise.”
Anastasia almost orgasmed from the sheer idea he was proposing. Just hearing him speak those words made her juices gush in excitement.
“But —”
“I accept,” said Anastasia, before her husband could devolve things any further. She gave him a most considerate smile. “It’s the least I could do for you, husband.”
Broderick looked at her, then at Harry, and then back at her. Finally, he let out a sigh. “I suppose I’ve got to trust you.”
“You can,” Anastasia promised.
She would be sitting there, naked on Harry’s cock, covered by his invisibility cloak while he sat on a chair. She would get fucked by him like that, while her husband was talking to Lucius Malfoy in the same room.
And her husband had just agreed to it.
Just what was it that Harry Potter did to Broderick? Nothing, not even the Imperius had anything on this.
She didn’t know. But one thing was certain, before the end of all this, she would definitely find out.
Notes:
If you want to support me, find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Chapter 111: Disruption
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Tall, white-haired, coldly elegant in black robes of the finest quality. One hand gripping a silver-handled cane which took on the character of a deadly weapon just by being in that hand. His eyes regarded the entire room with the dispassionate quality of an executioner as he stepped into the room, a man to whom killing was not painful, or even deliciously forbidden, but a routine activity like breathing.
That was the man who had, just that moment, stood outside the open door.
“Lucius, I…” began Broderick, his voice laden with uncertainty, and I couldn’t blame him. I didn’t know if it was because of Harry’s young age, or simply his lack of ability to sense power, but his memories didn’t do Lucius Malfoy justice.
It was my first time seeing the man in the flesh, and trust me, it was easy to see why someone so devilishly seductive and skilled as Narcissa Malfoy was afraid of openly rebelling against the man.
“...I think we should take this outside,” Broderick finished.
Lucius Malfoy gave him a condescending look filled with surprise, disdain and pity at the same time. “I have matters most urgent to discuss. Outside would not be a proper venue for it.”
I was sitting on a chair, as discussed, with my invisibility cloak thrown over us. Anastasia sat on my lap, naked, her head fallen back, resting on my left shoulder. My cock stood impaling her pussy, as she rhythmically bounced up and down softly upon it. My left hand was busy squeezing her left breast roughly, while my right hand caressed her wet form. She looked perfectly content to remain there, utterly nonchalant of her situation. Just a little sound and both of us would be discovered, and might even have to fight for our lives, and yet, nothing save her mounting pleasure seemed to have any worth in her eyes.
World Anchor – Anastasia Greengrass has gone up by 9%
Gained Affinities from World Anchor — Anastasia Greengrass
Alchemy +4%
On second thought, I really shouldn’t be surprised. Her sexual preferences included degrading, humiliation and exhibitionism after all. Her anchorage had leapt by 23% after I had cuckolded her husband, and yet again, by 3%, when I had done it twice. Apparently doing it with Lucius Malfoy standing a few feet away from us counted as exhibitionism in her eyes, even if the man couldn’t see us.
For a moment, I almost wanted to see if she’d make a sound, just to let the man hear her. Alas, that could put poor Broderick in a heap of trouble. Maybe even throw him off his newly-found cuckold fetish.
That was why I had cast Cave Inimicum around us for good measure. Back at the start of the summer when my Charms affinity was way down below 20%, even attempting to cast the spell was a fool’s errand. But now, as it stood at a mind-boggling 94%, casting every single charm in existence was child’s play, so long as it didn’t require a specific mindset that was beyond me at this point. Truly, I was looking forward to becoming the Triwizard Champion and using the Champion status to devour knowledge and magnify my arsenal during the upcoming year.
Hogwarts wouldn’t even know what hit it.
“I do not see your wife in here,” Lucius remarked, eyeing the entire room with slight distaste. “Is there any reason why you refuse to entertain my presence in your tent, Broderick? Perhaps something to do with the Boy-Who-Lived?”
His eyes scanned the room again, his gaze falling dangerously close to me. For a moment, I feared he could sense us. Despite Amelia’s claims, I had yet to engage in a serious spellfight with a Death Eater, and Lucius Malfoy was a spellslinger of his own league. One did not become the Left Hand of the Dark Lord by collecting chocolate-frog cards.
Broderick went white, and stood up. “Lucius, I — uh, I can —”
“I am not interested in your explanation,” snapped Lucius coldly, his cool, murderous eyes regarding the man. “You have always been a greedy bastard, my friend, but even you should’ve known better than trying to tangle with a brat that spends so much time with that old coot.”
Ah. False Alarm, I recognized. And from the looks of it, so did Broderick.
“I — I mean, Gideon thought it would be a good idea to—”
“Gideon Abbott would think licking Albus Dumbledore’s greyish arse is a good idea if he got paid for it. I thought you had standards, Broderick Greengrass.”
“I — The circumstances were different, Lucius,” Broderick said, finding a little courage, “Someone ratted me to the DMLE, and Potter has been mailing Greengrass Exports for purchasing Phyllida since the start of the summer. It was a good deal.”
“Was it?” Lucius hissed. “Potter has been nothing but trouble. I encountered the brat about two years earlier. Just as brazen and Gryffindorish as his parents. If not for him, the school would be well rid of both the filth and the mudblood-loving fool of a Headmaster. And then just before the start of summer, the brat survived having his soul sucked by dementors. Worse, Sirius Black was found dead next to him.”
Anastasia let out a weird mix between a grunt and a whimper. Her expression went wide in alarm, before I pressed against her naked breasts, assuring her that all was still fine. She looked at me, her eyes searching into my gaze, demanding confirmation of Lucius's words. I gave her a quick nod, and her lips frowned, before she relaxed again.
What do you know? I might be heading towards yet another Lilim soon. Especially if I could play upon her exhibitionist tendencies right.
“Sirius Black?” asked Broderick. “But wasn’t he the Dark Lord’s — I mean, if he too failed to kill Potter then….”
“Codswallop!” snapped Lucius. He didn't seem to realise that his friend was just making him talk as a way to avoid suspicion. “Black didn't betray the Potters. He killed too many of us to be the Dark Lord’s supposed Right-hand man,” he let out a cold laugh. “No, I only ever managed to frame him and put him behind Azkaban because —”
He paused and sniffed. “What… What is that?”
…Shit! Had I fudged up the Cave Inimicum? It was supposed to block all five senses and create a layer of ordinariness and boring unremarkability that one felt in a job one didn’t like. But if Lucius had sensed something….
My wand came swirling into my palm.
To Broderick’s credit, he didn’t go pale like before. “What’s… what?”
“I just….” said Lucius, narrowing his eyes, before whipping his wand in my direction. Anastasia went stiff, but otherwise remained stable, unmoving. Even if Lucius did cast something offensive, Cave Inimicum should be able to block it, or at least most of it. The remainder I could match with my own wandless ability, or even better, cast something dark at Lucius. That my ace in the hole — the wand hilt I had purchased from Borgin wasn’t with me the one time I needed it made me want to snarl, but Hestia needed it more than I did, if she had to complete her mission.
Still, prudence was necessary, but as much as I’d like it, I couldn’t cast the first spell. Not without giving myself away.
“Homenum Revelio!” Lucius intoned.
The spell bypassed the Cave Inimicum and washed over us, and a small grin tore past my lips. One of the first things I had done after shifting to my apartment was inspect my Cloak — the Peverell Cloak of Invisibility. And as my powers progressed and my skill with magical sensing improved, I discovered that there was so much to the Cloak that I didn’t know. It was old, like truly old, and yet, still as perfect as the day it was forged. Even as I was, I could feel its power echo in my mind, like a song forever being sung without anyone to hear it.
I didn’t know what form of abstract magic would manifest if I brought the three relics together, or if the Master of Death was nothing but a rumour spread by arm-chair theorists with too much time at their hands, but I definitely wanted to figure it out. After all, even in Canon, Harry Potter didn’t survive the killing curse the final time because he was the Master of Death, but because he had a horcrux insuring his very soul against a single killing curse.
Lucius grunted, and put his wand away, as the spell reported negatively. I could’ve snorted. According to the legend, Ignotus Peverell could hide away from Death’s own gaze whilst under the cloak. What chance did Lucius’s little revealing spell have?
On second thought, could Death’s gaze be an allegory for the killing curse?
That bore thinking upon.
Broderick slowly sat down, no doubt wondering what had just happened. Still, the man had kept his cool when it mattered, so props to him. Maybe I was being too quick to dismiss him as a cuckolded fool.
“What was that?” asked Broderick, looking sick.
“I just thought… never mind,” said Lucius, shaking his head. “Tell me, Broderick, why were you so insistent about not having this meeting in your tent?”
“I… It’s because of the DMLE,” blurted the man. “Somebody dumped a wad full of documents about Mystical Meanderies and Lomfay Enterprises. Bones stuck Gawain Robards on me, and you know he’s as mad as it gets.”
Lucius instantly went wary. “Are you being —”
“Watched?” asked Broderick. “I doubt it. Potter’s help got me out of it, and not even Robards
“You were out of reach, and even Lady Malfoy couldn’t tell me how long it was before you’d be back. And Potter was insistent, and Gideon….”
Lucius frowned. “Your friend Gideon has always been too slippery for my tastes. No doubt he had something to gain from this. Potter has been a pain in my arse right from the moment he stepped a foot into Diagon Alley for the first time. And ever since this summer, he’s been… erratic, if the rumours are true.”
I sat up straighter.
“...Erratic?” Broderick was having a tough time not to look in my direction. “How?”
“He left those muggles he was living with, and is living on his own, away from Dumbledore’s shelter. He even took up the Potter Lord mantle.”
“He’s sixteen,” said Broderick, playing the voice of reason. “Brats his age are rebellious. And the Potter mantle is his birthright.”
“I know Potter’s new status serves your agenda, Broderick, but for once, lift your head out of your arse and look,” hissed Lucius. “Something about this new matter bugs me. That son of a mudblood taunted and tricked Draco into casting an unforgivable in the middle of Diagon Alley. It was a nightmare and a half.”
In my defence, that was a little biassed. Draco was an arrogant ferret with absolutely no control over his emotions. Despite my role in the altercation, I had done nothing except provoke him a little. I had certainly not compelled him to cast the cruciatus on me, but I suppose silly things like the truth didn’t factor for Lucius Malfoy and his stupid son.
“I… I heard about it,” said Broderick, nodding. “I’m told Lady Malfoy taught him better than to tangle with Malfoys. Heard he rescinded the case and everything.”
“Everyone knows better than to tangle with that demoness that’s my wife,” muttered Lucius, but my enhanced hearing gave him away. “Merula informed me that Potter agreed to rescind his statements in exchange for property, gold and a public apology, and I quote, because he shares blood with Draco. I know how persuasive my wife can be, but this is Harry Potter! Gold? Property? He’s too much of a Gryffindor to fall for that. And that’s ignoring the Potter fortune.”
“You think there’s something more happening under the table?”
Lucius scowled. “I do not know. Even Narcissa’s behaviour has been quite erratic recently.”
“You — you cannot possibly think that she and Potter—”
“Pfft!” Lucius sneered. “Don’t be ridiculous! Potter’s a little brat. And the Lady Malfoy knows better than to entertain anything below her station.”
I stifled a laugh, conflicted over Broderick’s constipated expression over said ‘brat’ fucking his wife in front of them, and Lucius’s cluelessness about Narcissa’s infidelities.
“No,” Lucius went on. “What I’m concerned about is if Black told Potter something. Especially if Potter came into his fortune this summer. The brat is actually descended from Dorea Black, sister of Arcturus, the previous Lord Black.”
I froze. Narcissa had promised to keep Lucius in the dark about that little trivia. But if Lucius was doubting Narcissa herself, chances were he had done some investigation in the background.
“Dorea Black….” muttered Broderick. “That would make him her —”
“Great-grandson,” said Lucius absently. “If I didn't know better, I'd have assumed Potter was trying to get rid of my son by getting him imprisoned.”
“He's a Gryffindor,” Broderick said supportively. “Not a Slytherin. Maybe that's why Lady Malfoy was able to cow him so easily. She saw right through him.”
Lucius eyed him. “Tell me, Broderick, just how far do you see yourself fraternising with Potter? If we can play this right, it can earn you… shall we say, certain benefits in the long run.”
I froze. Broderick Greengrass was a greedy son of a bitch, but he hadn’t quite felt like Death Eater material to me. Manipulating the heir of an old family into marrying his daughter and stealing his fortune was one thing, but wearing masks and robes and causing large-scale genocide in the name of pureblood bigotry?
Was I wrong?
The way Anastasia stiffened against me, she was also of a similar mindset. I doubted her love for my cock would translate to taking up wands against her husband. At best, I’d probably have to stun her out of mercy, before fighting two-on-one against them. I could even use Anastasia as a hostage to get out of it, since apparition and portkey were banned within the entire grounds unless registered via the Ministry. Perhaps if I used some of my more dangerous perks….
Either way, I ran through a worst-case scenario in my mind and made assumptions on what it could mean as fast as I could.
“This is hardly the appropriate venue to discuss something like that,” said Broderick, doing his best not to look in our direction. “Have you looked at the time, Lucius? My wife should be returning any moment. Perhaps we can discuss this later… at your manor?”
“Broderick —”
“Lucius,” said Broderick in an even tone, his impatience getting the better out of him. “I have only just gotten somewhere with Potter with a business agreement, and looking forward to more. And the DMLE have let me be simply because Potter’s backing our agreement. Anything happens to Potter now, and both Albus Dumbledore and the DMLE will rain down on my arse. Whatever it is you’re talking about, I can’t be seen associating with it right now.”
Lucius Malfoy held his gaze with Broderick for several long moments, and I hoped that either Lucius was no Legilimens, or Broderick had enough sense to not look the elder Malfoy in the eye for such extended periods. Lucius looked like he wanted to determine what would be the correct thing to say in return. Finally, he made up his mind and exhaled, turned around, but not before saying his last bit.
“You are a friend, Broderick,” said Lucius slowly, contemplatively. “And more importantly, you’re a competent business ally. So consider my words when I tell you, portkey yourself and your family out right after the finals. And make sure that a Ministry official or two sees you leaving. See you at the Top Box.”
And with that cryptic statement, he left.
Neither of us moved from our places until I sensed Lucius cross the wards outside the tent, before I threw the cloak off, Anastasia slowly pulling herself off, leaving her juices dangling on my cock and dripping on my thighs. Much to my surprise, she didn’t get off me, and instead chose to push back down instead, moaning loudly as she melted over my chest and shoulders in carnal pleasure.
Even without a word, she had made her point. Regardless of whatever followed, she was still too much attached to my cock to let it go.
“Well?” I asked, smirking at the glances Broderick was sending his wife mewling in pleasure as she fucked herself on my dick. “It’s an interesting turn of circumstances, Lord Greengrass.”
“Uh, no, nothing like that,” said the man with a nervous laugh. “Look, you’ve got to trust me with this, alright? Obviously I couldn’t just deny Lucius outright. He’s my business partner and… and… look, you’ve just gotta let me take care of this, alright? You scratch my back, I scratch yours. Trust me, Potter, I have your best interests at heart.”
Of course.
“I trust you,” I lied easily. ‘You don’t exactly look like Death-Eater material to me either. If you did, Professor Dumbledore would have probably informed me about it.”
“Dumbledore —”
“You can’t tell me that you expected Albus Dumbledore to let the Boy-Who-Lived venture out on his own, did you? After all the years he spent training me in secret….”
Broderick stared at me.
“I mean, come on, the basilisk episode should’ve been evidence enough.”
More staring.
I was having a hard time not laughing at his expression. He reminded me very much like a cornered animal that wasn’t sure if attacking or attempting to escape was the right way to go about. And if that wasn’t tough enough, his wife raised her hips and sank down yet again on my shaft, eliciting a loud, perverse moan.
“Is it… is it true that you are also descended from the Blacks?”
Inwardly grimacing, I nodded. Narcissa had monumentally failed in keeping that little bit secret from Lucius, but she wasn’t infallible, I supposed. But she had come clean with me so far, and between her and Aunt Warburga, the process for my ascension to Lord Black was already set. I only needed a few key ingredients, and the death of Lucius Malfoy would serve as an excellent addition to that.
“I am.”
Just by the way his eyes were darting from Anastasia to my direction as if examining the situation, it wasn’t difficult to determine what he was thinking. Broderick believed he already had me by the balls by dangling sex with his hot wife, and I was already saving his arse from the DMLE. He was already angling for a potential marriage between me and his eldest, inevitably handing him the Potter fortune, and if he played his cards well, then possibly even the Black fortune.
After all, if Draco Malfoy became Lord Black, Broderick would forever stay under Lucius’s thumb. But if I became Lord Black, and Daphne, the Lady, then it would allow him a lot better chances at grabbing it all.
And if Voldemort truly returned, well then… tales of my prowess were clearly overblown, and would not make a lick of difference when the Dark Lord came for me, a battle I wouldn’t have a hope of winning.
So, it would be a simple matter for Broderick to pretend to be an ally to me as I married his daughter and guaranteed him the Potter, and in the best case scenario, the Black fortune; either through Daphne or Astoria. Whether Malfoy became Lord Black, or the Dark Lord won, in either case, Broderick would win.
Anastasia and I shared a single glance at each other, and a lone word was exchanged between us.
Amateur.
“I suppose our little tryst is over,” I said, as a reticent Anastasia pulled herself off my cock, but not without bending down and giving my cock a long-drawn lick from the tip down to the balls, before smacking her lips. I quickly cast a freshening charm upon myself, and summoned my clothes.
“You — uh—”
“Don’t worry, Broderick,” I said. “We still have the finals to attend. I believe we shall meet at the Top Box soon. And remember, do portkey away right after the finals. Who knows what might happen afterwards.”
I licked my lips maliciously.
I was right to come here. Just like in Canon, something big was about to happen. Voldemort had mentioned something about summoning the faithful to their Master’s call, and if Lucius was planning something that made him warn Greengrass to pop out, shit would definitely hit the fan.
“What are you going to do about it?” he asked slowly.
“Me?” I asked, shrugging. “Who knows? Half the things I do are simply because I can. My friend Hermione tells me I’m like a dog chasing cars. I wouldn’t know what to do with one if I caught it.”
He didn’t laugh. Nobody that noticed the glint in my eyes would have dared to laugh either way.
Something big was about to happen, and going by the patterns, it would be a larger, and far more gory mess than Canon. For all I knew, Lucius could have invited mercenaries, thugs, snatchers and werewolves to do his bidding. And that was without considering fellow Death Eaters. A demonstration of power before an international audience would definitely set the stage for the arrival of the Dark Lord Voldemort.
After all, nobody expected a fourth-year to somehow escape a warded cemetery with a resurrected Dark Lord and his acolytes in any reasonable situation, portkeys be damned.
“Ah, erm, good,” said Broderick. “See you at the Top Box then.”
And then he quickly left the room.
“Harry?” asked Anastasia slowly. “What sort of plan are you cooking in your head?”
“Plan?” I asked, arching an eyebrow. “There is no plan,” I waved off the idea as though such a notion was beneath me. “Lucius has a plan. And I will disrupt it.”
Anastasia narrowed her eyes. “What should I do?”
I gave her a lazy look, as I finished putting on my robes. “Never ask others what you should be doing, Anastasia. You should have your own clarity in life. See you at the finals.”
Yes. Lord Voldemort and Lucius Malfoy wanted a global audience. I would give them one. An audience to see them getting crushed.
And it would be glorious.
Notes:
If you want to support me, find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Chapter 112: Setting the Pieces
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The inside of the World Cup stadium was jam packed with people. Salesmen were apparating every few feet, carrying trays and pushing carts full of extraordinary merchandise. There were luminous rosettes - green for Ireland, red for Bulgaria - which were squealing the names of the players, pointed green hats bedecked with dancing shamrocks, Bulgarian scarves adorned with lions that really roared, flags from both countries that played their national anthems as they were waved; there were tiny models of Firebolts that really flew, and collectible figures of famous players, which strolled across the palm of your hand, preening themselves.
"Been saving my pocket money all summer for this," Ron told me, as we strolled through the salesmen, buying souvenirs. Though Ron purchased a dancing shamrock hat and a large green rosette, he also bought a small figure of Viktor Krum, the Bulgarian Seeker. The miniature Krum walked backward and forward over Ron's hand, scowling up at the green rosette above him.
I idly wondered if Ron would feel the same after what would transpire in the year to come at Hogwarts.
After the slight altercation earlier, Hermione had chosen to depart for the Top-Box to sit with Penelope and Hestia, though the latter would be waiting for Tonks to join her there. The rest of the Weasleys would be joining there too, but there was nothing I could do about that.
"Wow, look at these!" said Ginny, hurrying over to a cart piled high with what looked like brass binoculars, except that they were covered with all sorts of weird knobs and dials.
"Omnioculars," said the saleswizard eagerly. "You can replay the action, slow everything down, and they flash up a play-by- play breakdown if you need it. A real bargain I tell you, ten Galleons each."
"Wish I hadn't bought this now," said Ron, gesturing at his dancing shamrock hat and gazing longingly at the Omnioculars.
“Three pairs, eight galleons a pair,” I said firmly.
“Nine, and we have a deal.”
“Good, then I’ll just buy one.”
The saleswizard glowered a little, before shaking his hand and grumbling something under his breath. Snatching three pairs, he thrust it at me. Grinning, I took it and gave him the coin.
“Uh, no, don’t bother,” said Ron, going red. He was always touchy about the fact I came from money. That I had actually taken control of the family fortune and was spending it for once for things I like was probably irritating him more than a little.
"You won't be getting anything for Christmas," I told him, grinning, thrusting the Omnioculars into his and Ginny's hands. Hermione and the others could just buy it themselves. I had left Hestia with enough galleons for that.
“But mate —”
"For about ten years, mind."
"Fair enough," said Ron, grinning.
We were joined by Mr. Weasley, Bill and Charlie, all of whom were all sporting green rosettes too, and Mr. Weasley was carrying an Irish flag. Fred and George had no souvenirs as they had given Bagman all their gold. If everything went according to plan, I’d probably make a fuck ton of gold by the end of the day just from the betting alone. Either that, or have Ludo Bagman so deep in my debt that I’d be able to pull multiple favours from him, using his position as the organiser for the Triwizard tournament.
Either way, it was a win-win.
The entire place was literally swarming with people. A hundred thousand seats, according to Arthur, and all were booked weeks ago. A Ministry task force of five hundred had been working on this for over half a year. The entire area was layered with muggle repelling enchantments, as well as other protections. Like Amelia said, if the World Cup ended in a fiasco, it would destroy Britain's image before the ICW.
In short, the ideal stage for the resurrection of the Death Eaters.
"Prime seats!" said the Ministry witch at the entrance when she checked their tickets. "Top Box! Straight upstairs, Arthur, and as high as you can go."
The stairs into the stadium were carpeted in rich purple. We clambered upward with the rest of the crowd, which slowly filtered away through doors into the stands to their left and right, and found ourselves in a massively floating mandala set at the highest point of the stadium, circumferencing the goal posts. As the Weasleys took their place on one side, I took the moment to spot Barty Crouch Sr. seated right in front of Hestia and Penelope, as well as the empty seat right next to him.
“Harry, m’boy!” A booming voice shouted through the crowd. I turned to see a large, green bowler hat that looked oddly familiar, and recognized Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic. I schooled my expression, as the Minister came forward, and boisterously put his hand around my neck, as if I was his favourite nephew. “I’m glad I found you! Surely you’re in the Minister’s box?”
“Err, no, I’m actually with the Weasleys —” I began. “We have seats near the top level.”
“That won’t do, my boy. Sit with me!” Fudge looked passed me to Arthur. “The others want to meet the Boy-Who-Lived. You don’t mind if I take Harry with me, right Arthur? Excellent, com’n, Harry.”
Dismissing the flustered look on the man’s face, and the forming scowl on Ron’s face, I followed behind the Minister to the very top. It was a short flight of stairs, and I kept the smirk from forming on my face. After all, I knew exactly who I was going to meet up there.
“Harry Potter, meet the Irish Minister of Magic, Madame Derry Connelly, and the Bulgarian Minister, Radomir Apost-olov! Did I say that right?” At the hesitant smile from them both, he smiled apologetically, and went on. “Ministers, I wish to introduce to the Boy-Who-Lived, Lord Harry Potter.” He tilted his head in my direction. “He doesn’t understand English at all.”
I kissed the Irish Minister’s knuckles and saw the beginnings of my charm take effect, and shook the Bulgarian Minister’s hand. “At long last.”
“Indeed,” said the man in heavily accented English. “I have been looking forward to this.”
“You know English?” asked Cornelius, his eyebrows shooting up.
“Leetle,” Apostolov replief gruffly, amusement shining in his eyes. “I wrote to your secretary about ze auction of ze basilisk parts.”
“What basilisk parts?” asked Cornelius, perplexed.
“Salazar’s basilisk, Minister,” I said. “The one that I killed in the Chamber of Secrets. You’ll probably remember the petrifactions two years back…”
“Ah, yes, I remember,” said Cornelius. “But Dumbledore assured me that the perpetrator had been caught. Something about dark magic…. But I never heard anything about this… just how big was this basilisk?”
“About… seventy to eighty feet, I’d imagine. Why, just its head….”
It was probably not a surprise that Minister Fudge’s interest in the Quidditch World Cup instantly evaporated after that. As the basilisk carcass was officially mine under the Slaying and Ownership of Magical Creatures Act of 1781, the Ministry of Magic had very little to do with it. The only person who could probably say anything was Dumbledore, since the basilisk was technically part of Hogwarts’s heritage, but given that myself, and other students had faced peril at Hogwarts, my claim was uncontested. That I had already brokered an agreement with Dumbledore, thanks to Hestia only expedited the situation. But Cornelius Fudge did not become Cornelius Fudge by sitting on the fence when lucrative deals were being made.
“Harry, my boy, this is great news,” said the man boisterously. “But an international sale such as this requires supervision.’ He quickly excused both of us from the other two Ministers, claiming to look out for the young Lord and Britain’s Face, and put up a privacy ward to get to know the matter in full, as a deal began to formulate. In this, the Ministry of Magic of Wizarding Britain would provide me with an Order of Merlin, First Class for astonishing display of bravery and magic unforeseen (my use of the fabled blade of Gryffindor), my second one — the first being my Order of Merlin, First Class, for vanquishing the Dark Lord Voldemort.
What soon followed was a private gathering of relevant Ministry individuals — Barty Crouch Sr, Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation; Amos Diggory, the head of the Department of Regulation of Magical Creatures; Amelia Bones, DMLE Director; Hestia Jones, my secretary and official representative; Cornelius Fudge and myself, discussing how to smoothen this sale that would promote better commerce between Britain and Bulgaria, as well as other nations that would be bidding for it, with a three percent cess tax deducted on the entire lot. Given that a public bidding of this sort would only heighten the prices, even that was worth upwards of two hundred thousand galleons, to which I readily agreed.
And when I profusely thanked Cornelius in front of everyone for being so helpful, and announced one percent of the sales to be donated in his election fund campaign, Fudge looked like Christmas had come early. Amelia on the other hand, had an unreadable poker face on. She knew all about the basilisk, and while this auction bidding and my prior correspondence with the Bulgarian Minister came swerving out of nowhere, she knew me enough to know when I was scheming something. She watched me like a hawk, taking careful note of the way I handed my mokeskin pouch to Hestia to hold, which she never quite returned afterwards and left. I was confident she would figure out a good third of the things I didn’t want anyone outside the loop to know before the end of the World Cup.
“Winky!” cried Crouch Sr, and an elf popped in right next to him. That nobody even raised an eyebrow at how the house elf could pop in despite the Ministry enchantments put all around the World Cup site, or that it appeared that quickly was only a sign just how overlooked elven magic was. I swear, I had never been more disappointed than upon finding out that while house elves could serve as world anchors, I couldn’t draw out any of their magical affinities like I did with witches.
My best bet was that it had something to do with their nature as symbiont beings themselves. A house elf by its very nature, needed to form a bond with a wizarding location filled with enough ambient magic to empower them, much like the way a wardstone drew power from the earth itself. If a wizarding location wasn’t available, it could still bond with an individual and draw upon their magic — something I had been utterly horrified to learn, especially with how I had gotten Dobby to bond with me. It had taken some tinkering and bargaining with Gringotts to add an extra wardstone to my apartment just to empower Dobby, so that I could instead bind the elf to my apartment.
And then I got to know the other fact about binding house elves.
Not only did House-elves require a wizarding location filled with ambient magic to draw upon, they consumed enough magic on a daily basis as the protective enchantments did to ward off threats. And given the kind of protections I had set up thanks to the goblins, let me tell you it’s a damn high amount.
No wonder witches and wizards didn’t go about binding elves to their homes or themselves to do their bidding. Those little buggers would drain us of our magic, our lifes and most importantly, our finances.
I swear nobody ever tells you the full story.
It explained why even 12, Grimmauld Place, despite being the seat of the Black’s power, only had a single dotty elf serving everyone in the house, until he died.
But I digress.
I saw Crouch ordering Winky to get him his work tools from his office, his constipated expression as much a constant feature on his face as his Hitler-moustache. The elf looked utterly conflicted and even pleaded the man in its own way, but Crouch wouldn’t listen to it. I innocently asked Fudge if forging a document like this could be properly done in the midst of all this chaos, and Fudge instantly agreed, not wanting to sour the deal in any way. So Percy was pulled away from his family, and Crouch explained how he needed to go with his damn elf to his office, file the proper documents and get them back with the elf.
I swear Percy looked like he was conflicted between bending backwards to obey his boss, and keeping himself from strangling me for sending him away during the World Cup finals.
And then the duo popped away, while Crouch Sr and Amos Diggory busied themselves with discussing the matter with the Bulgarian Minister who wanted a Clause for the Right to First Refusal inserted in this agreement.
A small smile formed on my face.
And on that cue, the finals began.
"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome! Welcome to the final of the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup!"
The spectators screamed and clapped. Thousands of flags waved, adding their discordant national anthems to the racket. The huge blackboard opposite them was wiped clear of its last message featuring an advertisement of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans, with an ad from the Firebolt Company, the broom of choice for the year’s Quidditch World Cup.
"And now, without further ado, allow me to introduce the Bulgarian National Team Mascots!"
A glaring silence filled me, as I froze. That the people in the stands were roaring in approval didn’t even register. That the Aurors and other security personnel had to actively stop people from jumping off the railings in a pitiful attempt to try and impress the supernaturally beautiful horde of women that glided across the grounds, that didn’t matter as well. Instead, my brain and heart froze, the cumulative effects of the succubuses, their aura, resonating within mine, like the silken brush of cobwebs against my own will. This was no attempt at enthrallment, no passive allure affecting me. Instead, it was the incubus within me, rejoicing at being so close to its natural mates. If anything, I should’ve been laughing and dancing in harmony.
I should have, if I were an incubus.
But I wasn’t.
I was an Incubus Lord.
A King, or one with the natural inclination to exert authority over others. To rule over their emotions, their hearts and minds. Other people were prey, but succubi? They were subjects.
The Incubus Lord within me geared up, wanting to dominate them.
Make them all mine.
Succubus that were predators in their own right, even if the wizarding population had forced them to live within constraints. Not unlike a tiger kept within a metal cage. The cage might make it safer for people to approach it, but it didn’t stop it from attempting to tear a person’s face off if they got too close.
And just as it was with tigers, they fought and bled and used every trick in the book to prevent an alpha from subduing them and leading the pack.
And currently, standing amidst hundreds and thousands of witches and wizards, was one such Alpha.
Me.
And the veela noticed it.
They paused, mid-glide, and stared up, every single one of them, their skin glowing moon-bright, their white-gold hair fanning behind them without wind, and the audience fell silent. The World Cup didn’t matter, that the Quidditch teams were supposed to fly out didn’t matter, that a hundred thousand people were awaiting didn’t matter, just a warm, stupefied silence blanketed everything, as the unearthly, alluring creatures looked up at the Top Box.
Right at me.
And then I felt it.
The lazy sensuous hunger. The aura. The veela were communing with me in a language that was purely our own. A language that needed no words, merely a sensation that pervaded past the limits of human speech, of expression, even emotions. Such things belonged to prey, and for us, it was little more than food. We could wear their human skin and look like them, but make no mistake, the creature within us was no more similar to a witch or wizard than a thestral was to a mundane horse.
The veela had started to dance, and everyone else had gone completely and blissfully blank. All that mattered in the world was that they kept watching the veela, because if they stopped dancing, terrible things would happen. A similar impending sense of doom rushed within me, fighting against my own instincts to leap down, to join them in blissful harmony, to dance and exude my own allure. This… this dance was as much an invitation to Join, as much as a way to neuter the threat they recognized in me. For if I acted, if I jumped off, if I joined them, I would be bending before their will, losing my status as their Alpha. It would subdue my newly found powers, and my Lecherous Shrine, which I had come oh so close to activating, would be sealed away until I had a way to unleash it right back.
And if I didn’t, if I stayed my hand with an ironclad grip upon myself, if I proved my superiority, then the veela would have no option but to bow before my superiority, to acknowledge me as above them all, and thus revealing my nature before the whole world.
Damned if I acted. Damned if I didn’t.
And the people around it were not immune to its effects either.
The Irish Minister, something Connelly was already shifting in her seat. The woman, still appearing in her forties, stood up and approached the railing where I stood, and the next moment, her hands crawled towards my pants and softly but intently massaged my cock and balls from outside my pants. Her eyes were semi-glazed, and I could see several other women gazing at me with a similar dazed look — Narcissa Malfoy, sitting right next to her husband just two rows away, was looking at me most intently, as were a dozen other women, their eyes glued at me like I was a piece of exquisitely cooked steak.
Amelia and Susan were no different than the rest. Though, it was probably a testament to Amelia’s Occlumency that she was still able to shield herself from acting out. It wouldn’t end well for anyone if it did.
Not that it made any difference.
For all across the Top Box, people were standing up. From the corner of my right eye, I watched Mrs. Weasley watching me, lust vivid in her eyes. Ginny, and Penelope, even Tonks were already standing up. Hermione, surprisingly enough, was still sitting, trying to hold the other two back. Several pureblood ladies and girls were staring at me, some of them even pointing at me with their fingers while others were content to undress me with their eyes, their tongues licking their lips, their bosoms rising and falling with each exciting breath, and only the knowledge of their own reputations being at stake keeping them from rushing at me and jumping my bones.
And Hestia was nowhere to be seen.
The veela danced faster and faster, and wild, half-formed thoughts started chasing through my dazed mind. Maybe this feeling of harmony, this invitation to join, to give in to this hunger and embrace it all, it wasn’t theirs. Maybe it was mine. In the space of five seconds, my attention to detail fractured, and I wanted them all. All these ladies, I wanted them in the most primal sense, in every way I could conceive. Whatever gentle and chivalrous tendencies my soul harboured suddenly evaporated. Images swarmed over me—images of unleashing the fires burning in me upon willing flesh. Conscience withered a heartbeat later.
Something hungry, confident, and unrepentant took its place.
I realised, on some distant level, that something was wrong, but there was no tangible, tactile sense of truth to the thought. Instincts ruled me, and only the most feral, vicious drives remained.
I liked it.
A lot.
And —
“Switch Paths.”
Switching Paths…
Activating Path NECROMANCER
Registering Affinities…
Binding
Welcome, Necromancer!
There aren’t enough words in the English dictionary to fully explain what happened next. The Incubus Lord within me snarled and spat its disappointment somewhere in my chest, and receded, flowing back out of my thoughts, leaving me horribly fragile than ever. The raw power, the innate charisma, the physical strength, the ability to turn every emotion around me tangible and play with them, the feeling that I myself was the only being alive while everyone else were mere puppets… all of that vanished, leaving behind an emptiness, a cold wave of hunger so dark and deep that it would have swallowed something… like, maybe the entire world. An utter stillness spread out of my body, not peace, for that would be something tranquil, soothing, accepting. This stillness was a horrible, hungry emptiness, something that drew its power from being not.
And the world around him unfroze back into activity.
The ladies, the girls, everyone was looking away from me, at the massive arena beneath us all. The veela’s song and dance abruptly ended, their sudden confusion palpable, and they deserted the field, just in time for Ludo Bagman to roar into the microphone.
"And now, kindly put your wands in the air. . . for the Irish National Team Mascots!"
A great green-and-gold comet zoomed into the stadium in a radial arc, splitting into two smaller comets, each hurtling toward the goal posts. A rainbow arched suddenly across the field, connecting the two balls of light. The crowd oooohed and aahed, as though at a fireworks display. Now the rainbow faded and the balls of light reunited and merged; they had formed a great shimmering shamrock, which rose up into the sky and began to soar over the stands. Something like golden rain seemed to be falling from it, but I knew what it was.
Leprechaun gold.
Bagman continued to announce the teams as they flew in, and took their positions. First came the Bulgarians, and then the Irish — and I felt the Irish Minister slowly step away from me, careful not to meet my eyes or even look in my general direction. I met Narcissa’s eye in the crowd to my left, before turning to meet Hestia — who had appeared again, and was sitting next to Tonks and Penelope, eagerly cheering for the Irish.
She glanced at me.
Our eyes met.
Hestia nodded.
I smiled. Phase two was over. Time for Phase Three.
Notes:
If you want to support me, find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Chapter 113: Fleur Delacour
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 3 - THE INCUBUS AND NECROMANCER
CHAPTER 113 - FLEUR DELACOUR
Fleur Delacour hated her life.
No, it wasn't just because she was having to sit amidst thousands of testosterone-charged, sweaty pigs called wizards, as they yelled and brayed and threw their hats and their coin down at the spectacle that was the ongoing Quidditch World Cup. It wasn't because of her veela nature, that attracted the feelthy Eenglish pigs to her enchanting presence, not that she needed it, since her enchanting beauty was enough to draw too much attention regardless of whatever strata of society she was dealing with. It wasn't because she had to sit in the Top Box with her father because of aforementioned reasons, or the fact that her father was the Minister for External Affairs, the British equivalent of Head of Department of Magical Cooperation, and as the eldest, she had to attend whatever parties he deemed important to attend, regardless of her wishes. That he was a strong wizard too well-versed in Occlumency to be distracted by a slight twist of her allure didn't help, but again, that wasn't it either. That the Quidditch World Cup was happening in Britain of all places, a pigsty that sweltered with the festering madness and bigotry about blood just because they had claim to King Arthur and Merlin's creation — the Wizengamot could have been another genuine reason, but even that wasn't it either.
No, the reason she hated her life was because she was forced to attend this game — Quidditch.
Seriously, all those players zooming around, risking their lives with those bludgers and the opposing team while they scored goals with the Quaffle, only to see the tables turn because one lucky putain to catch that golden ball and score a hundred and fifty points? It was just wrong! For a sport's enthusiast like Fleur, it went against every single principle of game design. Just the Snitch's presence was enough to overwhelm almost every single point spread. The worst part? All the adrenaline rush and the efforts of the chasers and the beaters constantly switching tactics, flying against the opposite team and the bludgers, taking hits just to snatch the Quaffle from the other side — all of that meant nothing in the face of two salauds that didn't even interact and could change the entire game because one was luckier in spotting the snitch than the other. Like, what sort of imbecile invented the seeker position? Someone that didn't want to play but wanted a part and an off switch to end the game when they got bored?
Yes, Fleur Delacour hated Seekers.
That every single salaud and salope in this madhouse was cheering Krum and Lynch didn't make it any better.
The veela entered the stadium, dancing and singing and sashaying as if they were nothing but tools to push these sweaty pigs further into depravity. While Fleur herself was no stranger to depravity, for at times, the ability to switch off her mind and give in to her instincts was necessary, much like how she liked her marzipan five times a day to keep herself going. She had a bit of a sweet tooth. The collective libido ran rampant, and her father held her closer, and all five of their guards — all females, mercenaries hired from the best of the best for their protection, and Fleur prepared herself for being ogled from every direction, if not allure-influenced forwardness from her 'admirers'.
The veela consorts began to dance, and years of practice kept her from showcasing outright disdain on her visage. Her mother Apolline, was a veela, just like her grandmother, and a card-carrying, proud member of the Coven, one of the largest associations of powerful creature-borns from all across the world. Apolline currently held the seat for the official representative of France, and her marriage to Sebastian Delacour, the Minister for External Affairs, only enhanced her credibility. Seeing those of her kin debase themselves as mere cheerleaders, utterly addled, and given in to their veela instincts to become things instead of the prideful, territorial race of hunters that they were, made Fleur want to froth in the mouth.
Fucking Bulgaria and their fucking Veela sex trade!
That her father held her arm in an iron grip, knowing her spirited opinions about the matter didn't help either.
Really, nothing could be worse than this.
It should be noted that while Fleur Delacour, veela heiress of the House of Delacour and all-around stuck-up nosy bitch, according to her classmates, didn't have much experience challenging the universe. Or else she'd have known that someone up there, or perhaps the forces of Destiny itself, would have taken note of that mighty claim.
The change occurred when she was unaware.
Something must have clicked in the veela below her, and she didn't even realise it when she had actually begun to softly sway to an invisible wind that sang to her very soul. The veela were dancing below, a song of joining, of a bond both pure and deceitful, a longing to be fulfilled and a threat to be eliminated. A magic both subtle and esoteric began to saturate the entire stadium and Fleur felt every tissue in her body vibrate with this resonating power thrumming all around and within her.
This was no dance. This was no performance. This… was a response. A Call.
Her mother had told her all about Calls while growing up. Veela were creatures of emotion, beings that were able to twist on other's emotions and used it to entice prey. Unlike their close relative the Empaths, veela could not directly consume emotion, but instead played with them. In a world of witches and wizards, a powerful veela could become a perfect puppeteer, twisting others to follow their will. A little nudge there, and entire kingdoms could be put to war. One of her ancestors, a Greek veela named Selena, had caused a massive war that had caused two powerful kingdoms to go to war with each other. She had used the carnage as an ingredient for a powerful Bacchic ritual to enhance the veela powers down her own bloodline. Scholars, both muggle and magical, would describe her as Helen, from a similar-sounding Greek word meaning 'torch'.
And Calling was Veela's bread and butter when it came to their own kin. One could almost call it an invisible organ, a function that every veela was born with. A magical energy frequency that they, and other succubi operated on, and could use it to play a contest of wills to make the other submit before their might. Granted, Calling had gone out of fashion since long, given how direct it was. Instead, the veela race had adapted to tricks, deception and subtle influence to play a game of cloak and shadows and cat's paws behind closed doors. They could still fight, and could be rather savage when they did so, but if one lured them into a position where the veela had to fight, then it already lost in the eyes of the rest of their kin.
So why were these Bulgarian bitches performing a Call? It couldn't be that drinking Bulgarian rum had addled their brains to the extent that they were performing a massive call in unison when just flaring their allure would do. No, it was too precise, too connected, too synchronised with each other, much like how a plethora of instruments could be played together to produce a symphony in an orchestra. It was like every single veela on the field below had unequivocally forgotten their differences, forgotten their pride, given up their status as a predator and grouped together as pack animals in presence of a greater being.
But what could it be? What sort of being could have caused the entire horde of veela to group together and perform a Call, when just any random one among them could potentially reduce even the mightiest of men into bumbling fools?
"What… What is this?" asked her father.
Fleur marvelled at the strength of her father's Occlumency to resist something of this degree, but even so, it was woefully clear that Sebastian couldn't do anything more than that, especially if the tightness in his pants was any clue.
"Something wrong," she whispered in rapid French, not that it was necessary. The entire stadium was caught up in a daze of swirling lust. "This is… the air is screaming. It's filled with emotion. Veela magic. Do nothing, Papa."
Her father narrowed his eyes, despite very much feeling the growing unease in his gut. "We've been over this. I'm not going to sit back just because it's —"
"Papa!"
Sebastian fell silent.
Curious, cautious, Fleur Delacour expanded her senses, and the next second, she felt it. The dangerous stirring. Her senses, attuned to emotional tides and falls and their subtle impacts on the nature of magic went on edge. Whatever it was that was capable of instilling such a reaction in an entire horde of veela was no ordinary succubi. She delved a little deeper into the resonating Call, and the foreboding feeling magnified, and a shudder ran down her spine.
Could it be…
Tales that she had learnt on her grandmother's knee now rose to mind, stories about succubi that held such prowess that they ruled over other succubi as would a king, a lion that stirred among jackals and hyenas, ruling the forest by its will. A creature that would lord over other succubi not only because it was powerful in its own right, but because its mere presence was enough to attract other succubi like moths to its raging flame.
A nightmare in flesh, a male demon so impossibly powerful, that its very origins seemed more fantastical than real.
Fleur had heard the stories of Asmodeus, one of the oldest known Incubus in existence, one that had copulated with the demoness Lilith to produce a race of sexual demons known as the Asmodai, a group that were the precursors of the modern-day sirens and veela. Granted, the tales made Asmodeus feel less magical and more demonic, or perhaps, a god of lust. He even had entire hordes of faithful followers, the Lilim, that conquered, killed, and debauched in his name.
Today's incubi were less like their ancestors and more of Cambions, supernaturally attractive and charming, but that was all to them. Ancient Incubi were to Cambions what Cambions were to the socially inept. But if there was an incubus around that could make hundreds of veela join together and Call then…
Fleur couldn't help herself. Giving in, she joined the Call —
—and instantly flinched and fell back, having been burned in a way she had never been before.
For it was wrong.
Wrong.
Wrong.
Wrong. Wrong, Wrong. Wrong.
That was the only way she could explain it. As though something that didn't belong to this world was present. An aberration — an abnormality in the flow of the world and the universe as a whole. Something that could shake this world and rewrite it — change the flow of the very fundamental forces of nature and make it heed its commands and in a way that Fleur couldn't even register much less understand.
And then she felt it.
Power.
Overwhelming power.
Fleur's breath was cut short, her eyes widening at the impossible amount of raw magic that was exerting itself upon this stadium. The sheer potency of it was ludicrous, it was sexual magic that made her own allure feel like a simple pushing jinx compared to the full might of a Reducto Maxima. It was power she could expect from the likes of Gellert Grindelwald or Ekrizdis, power that could turn entire cities into barren wastelands if unleashed in one stroke.
And it was incubus magic.
She glanced at the veela below, her own occlumency barely keeping her from joining them in their Call — a hopeless effort to subdue this being from exerting his authority. One might as well attempt to stop a tide using an umbrella. She couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't speak. All she could do was follow the flux of the Call that was being directed straight at her — no, not at her, at someone near her.
The Incubus.
The realisation that a being like that was sitting in the Top-Box, within a few feet of reach within her, one that could turn her into a willing bitch at his whim, churned her stomach. Sweat erupted out of her body pores, not in the sexy way she liked and prefered, but instead, she sweated profusely in a matter of seconds, unable to bear the might of his proverbial fire.
There was a freaking Incubus Lord in the stadium with no one knowing any better.
She stood up, and stared. At the Ministry box. Cornelius Fudge, the British Minister of Magic and an utterly insipid and toxic little pest, couldn't be it. The Bulgarian… no, he was looking far too confused. The Italian was a woman, and the masculinity in the power couldn't possibly come from a woman. The feels were too different. There were some more people hovering around, but none of them gave the feels of being anything more than stupid, bigoted douchebags that cared little except their miserable little lives. That left —
Just… who is that?
His hands were holding the railings, and his attire a merger of tradition and practicality. Given his presence in the top box, Fleur could guess he was someone worth political attention, and powerful ones at that, if he was standing next to three Ministers. Fleur idly remembered that her father was supposed to join them, but he had refused, citing Fleur's safety, but promised a meeting in the Minister's Box in due time. Fleur glanced at the young man, suitably tall with messy black hair and a face that was a mix of rugged handsomeness and cunning smoothness, standing in the place like he owned it. His sharp, alluring green eyes flickered across the entire stadium, seemingly evaluating something. Fleur followed his gaze and found him looking at several ladies, some which Fleur recognized, giving him lust-filled looks. She looked at the Italian Minister who had slowly approached him, her hands slowly reaching down to his pants and rubbing the outline of something that promised a night of intense passion even from what little Fleur could gauge.
But more than anything else, what really caught her attention was the blatant disinterest in those green eyes. This man, who couldn't be older than twenty-two, looked utterly disinterested, with the air of a clerk stuck with office duty in the middle of a particularly sultry afternoon. This man had made her, Fleur Delacour, a moth to his flame, and he didn't even know it. He was just standing there, amidst thousands of people, attracting an immense number of ladies that were inches from starting the world's largest and most diverse orgy, with an entire horde of veela pathetically attempting to subdue his presence and make him play ball… didn't care.
At all.
Just who IS that guy?
Fleur couldn't help herself. She extended her own Allure and hit him with everything she had.
She might as well have thrown a punch in empty air and expect to hit someone miles away. He didn't even so much as meet her gaze and instead…
Turned away.
And with that, the all-encompassing presence around him vanished, leaving Fleur Delacour gasping like a fish out of water. It was like the mythical being had vanished from the stadium entirely. Even the horde of veela beneath looked perplexed, with varying degrees of emotion flashing upon their faces. Even the people around were slowly turning normal, the daze of lust on the ladies' faces dissipating with every passing second, replaced with abject confusion. The Italian Minister looked flustered, then embarrassed and slowly pulled away from the man's crotch, hoping he hadn't seen that little indecency. And just like that, the daze was over.
How? Fleur wanted to scream. He was still standing there, looking around. Merde, he was actually talking to Minister Fudge, while the Italian pushed herself into the safety of the shadows.
"Papa," she said softly, inquisitively. "Who iz zat?"
She had made sure her French accent was in full force. There were certain appearances to keep after all.
"That," said Sebastian Delacour, his eyes gazing all across the stadium, expecting an attack. "I believe, is Harry Potter."
"Ze Boy-Who-Lived?" asked Fleur, her curiosity doubling by the second. By all rights, the boy should be approaching sixteen, and from the pictures she had seen about him in the International press when he resurfaced after twelve years of obscurity, she'd have pictured him to be a scrawny teen, with messy green eyes and boyish looks, probably marred by the bigotry that festered deep within Wizarding Britain. Instead he looked…. Manly.
How did that happen?
"Oui," said her father. "I recognize him from some of the Ministry posters about Sirius Black and his infamous betrayal of the Potters. But he's grown, hasn't he? I reckon it's got something to do with him playing the prodigal son card with his family fortune since the onset of the summer. I believe he's onto something fierce with the Flamels, if my guess is right."
"Will we not meet 'im, Papa?"
Sebastian Delacour gave his daughter's earnestness a curious look. Unsurprising, really. Fleur had never been one to fawn over the entire Boy-Who-Lived or give in to the hero worship that other girls around her age ever had. Her father had brought her up to be pragmatic, perceptive and deceptive, and Fleur had been an ideal student.
"We will," he said slowly, his eyes reading her. "I'm supposed to meet the British Minister anyway. I was hoping to keep the nasty at bay until the first break."
He glanced at the oval stadium beneath as the Bulgarian and Irish players flew out into the open, attracting the mad cheer from the audience. Then he looked at the expression on his daughter's face.
"On second thought, now's as good a time as any."
"Ah, and here he is," exclaimed Minister Fudge with a boisterous laugh that had too many teeth in it to be genuine. "Sebastian, let me present to you Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived and Lord Potter. Harry m'boy, this is Sebastian Delacour. Sebastian here is the French Minister for External Affairs, and the ICW Representative for France. He and dear Barty butt heads way too often."
Personally, Fleur wondered how anyone with that moustache and constipated expression on his old, bald face could contribute anything to International Magical Cooperation, but what did she know? She noted the way 'Barty' looked at a seemingly empty pair of seats in the Top Box, only to look away when he noted her interest.
At closer look, Fleur noted that he looked way older than sixteen. It wasn't just a sudden growth spurt, a teen in a man's body. If anything, he looked utterly confident in his skin, and stood there, strutting like he owned the place.
"You missed the big surprise, Sebastian," Fudge went on. "Me and Harry just finalised the bidding process for his sale of basilisk parts with the Bulgarian and Italian Ministers. A thousand year old basilisk carcass that belonged to Salazar Slytherin himself! And our hero Harry Potter killed it with the sword of Godric Gryffindor no less! It's a tale for the generations!"
He looked so excited that Fleur wondered if a tug at his emotions would drop the man dead from a heart attack.
"A thousand-year-old, you say?" asked her father, eyeing Harry Potter speculatively. "And you killed it?"
"With Godric's blade no less," cooed Fudge. "Why, from what Harry tells me, Nicholas Flamel himself has registered as a private buyer. Luckily Harry here came to me for help, or else it would be an absolute mess."
Translation — the British Ministry was milking Potter's victory as much as possible.
"That's very interesting," said Sebastian. "I hope France will not be kept out of this deal. Oh, and my apologies, this is my eldest, Fleur. She's in her final year at Beauxbatons."
"Harry Potter," he said, offering his hand to her. "Pleased to meet you."
Fleur offered hers in return. "De même."
Their fingers met, skin meeting skin, their eyes locked with each other. Fleur tilted her head just a little to show her long, lush, silvery hair, and flawless, crystal, clear tanned skin. Her rich, abundant thighs spelt of unknown pleasures and delights. A deep breath ensured his attention would be caught on her full, rich, succulent, round breasts that did not sag in any feasible way. Added to that was a mischievous glint in her bright, blue eyes, her shoulders relaxed to reveal her confident, albeit lithe frame.
Even without the allure, she looked like a recruiting poster for wet dreams. And she knew perfectly the kind of attention she could receive when she used her skills that way.
Her mother had trained her in the arts of seduction since she was six after all.
She expected him to react, expected him to try to impress her like everyone else, or, knowing his roots, at least recognize the veela in her. Instead, the sheer dismissive glint in his eyes indicated that he was talking to worms and birdfeed — a lesser wretched existence not even worthy of his time and effort.
That sort of confidence could only arise from a being that was so far from a succubus that it was downright hilarious.
In hindsight, it explained what she did next, even if it was stupid of her to do so. Suicidal in fact, but Fleur had always loved adventure sports. It was why she was so much into professional broom racing and curse breaking, two professions with the greatest degree of risk and the greatest chance of expanding her talents. Taking a high and dangerous risk, she unleashed the full power of her Allure at his face, pinpointing it straight at his heart.
His gaze locked on her. There was something in his eyes, something raw and dangerous. And then, he smiled.
And then her allure vanished.
A soundless scream escaped her as she wrenched her hand back. Before this, when she had joined the Call, he had been like a massive bonfire, warm, bright, mesmerising, and filled with power, so much power. But up close, the sensation was absolutely reversed. She expected to be inundated, overwhelmed even. Instead, his power emptied her in a way that made her feel hacked apart, chewed, eaten and spit out. As a veela, a creature that was always attuned to the ebb and flow of emotion all around her, sensing nothing for even a few seconds made her feel like someone was trying to kill her via asphyxiation. There was no connection with the world around her, or Potter for that matter, no sense of feeling her senses, of establishing her own hold upon the world and becoming something in it. Instead, all she found was a numbing, empty void that sucked her into it and made her feel less just by the barest contact.
Gasping, frightened and hostile, Fleur met his eyes, and found a dark amusement in them. There was a familiarity as well, one that she couldn't place. Every bit of her Occlumency was strained to keep her from clenching her teeth, and transforming into her predatory self to attack this… this….
She didn't know what he was, but he was dark and greasy and utterly, utterly wrong. A natural enemy of her race, no, not an enemy. A predator of her race. One that held no importance to any emotion, and instead wanted to twist the world in its own perverse image. Did Minister Fudge and Wizarding Britain know what sort of abomination their National Hero was?
"Ah, Lucius, here you are," said Minister Fudge boisterously. Fleur turned around to see a trio walk into the Minister's box. She noted the way the blonde boy kept ogling her like a piece of steak, while the elder man, a black-clad figure of elegance with hawk-like eyes that practically stalked the place. His eyes lingered on Potter for a fraction of a second, and Fleur noted a glint of raw hatred in them, before it was quickly masked in a well-crafted shell of indifference. But most important was the woman next to him, a black-haired aristocratic beauty that could have given Fleur a run for her money had she been a little younger. Fleur noted the way her eyes were focussed on Harry Potter, evaluating him, yet there was a strange familiarity in her expression, like she and Potter went long back. Finally, Fleur noted the way Potter avoided looking at Narcissa, and instead focussed his gaze at Lucius, as if willing him to do something.
A little further behind them, stood another family of four — a man with a gorgeous wife and two daughters. All three women looked like they had diluted succubus blood in them, and with the way two of the three women were gazing at Potter, she couldn't help but wonder if they had been overly affected by the Call earlier.
"Harry Potter," said Lucius Malfoy silkily, his silver cane tapping on the floor just inches from Potter's feet. "My, have you grown. I can hardly see the kid I saw a few years ago."
Potter offered his hand and the elder Malfoy shook it. "Don't worry. I've still retained my other proclivities, as you might remember. For one, I own Dobby now."
The man's eyes turned to slits. "I wish you best of luck then, Mister Potter. This year promises to be quite… interesting."
Both of them were clenching each other's hands tightly.
"I look forward to it."
"Harry Potter," said the woman, stepping forward. "It's good to see you again, Cousin."
Fleur narrowed her eyes.
"Cousin Narcissa," said Potter, offering his hand, only to receive hers in return. Fleur took note of the way he kissed her knuckles with a knowing expression, and the woman — Narcissa — left something in his hands. Fleur couldn't exactly make out what it was, and could only guess it had a Notice-Me-Not ward placed on it, though anyone that could install a ward on something that tiny with such precision was indeed a Charms Master.
"And Draco," Potter went on. "How are you enjoying the World Cup? Rooting for Krum, I believe?"
The blonde boy's response was an irritated jerk.
"You should really come visit Malfoy Manor sometime," said Narcissa. "After Sirius's death, there are but only a few Blacks left. Despite our differences, a debt is owed to you. I look forward to meeting and getting to know a fellow Black. It's a trifle early, but perhaps I could invite you to our Christmas Ball? I can safely say that it promises to be extravagant."
Potter laughed. "Ah, I don't doubt that. I'll consider that."
Despite the hostility she naturally felt against Potter, Fleur couldn't help but note the existing power play going on between Potter and House Malfoy. The animosity between the elder Malfoy and Potter was clear with anyone with the eyes to see, and while the younger Malfoy was barely a nuisance at best, or a pawn at worst, the Lady Malfoy was trying to play something fierce with Potter.
Fleur noted the way Narcissa whispered something in her husband's ear, and with a half-hearted apology, she walked out to the inner corridors of the stadium. The father and son Malfoy took their seats, followed by the other family, as the Quidditch match began in earnest.
"Theeeeeeeey're OFF!" screamed Bagman. "And it's Mullet! Troy! Moran! Dimitrov! Back to Mullet! Troy! Levski! Moran!"
Fleur noted the Hawkshead attacking formation employed by the Irish Chasers, bearing down upon the Bulgarians. Unable to get past Quigley, the Beater for Bulgaria, they shifted to the Porkspoff Ploy, as Troy made as though to dart upward with the Quaffle, drawing away the Bulgarian Chaser Ivanova and dropping the Quaffle to Moran. The other Bulgarian Beater, Volkov, swung hard at a passing Bludger with his small club, knocking it into Moran's path; Moran ducked to avoid the Bludger and dropped the Quaffle; and Levski, soaring beneath, caught it.
"TROY SCORES!" roared Bagman, and the stadium shuddered with a roar of applause and cheers. "Ten zero to Ireland!"
She turned around to glance at Potter again, only to find a glaring emptiness in his wake.
Harry Potter had vanished.
Notes:
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Chapter 114: Decadence Link
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 3 - THE INCUBUS AND NECROMANCER
CHAPTER 114 - DECADENCE LINK
This is a mistake, thought Fleur Delacour as she ran through the empty corridors of the Quidditch stadium. The yells and shouts and moans of the audience reverberating through the empty corridors created a juxtaposition that did little to quell the curiosity and anxiety flooding through her veins. There was no mistaking the presence of a tremendously powerful Incubus in the Ministry Box, the same box that Harry Potter had stood. Merde, even the Italian Minister's actions — fondling his cock from above his pants — was a clue that the presence was exuding out of him. But the moment he had looked away, the presence had practically evaporated — something that made absolutely no sense. An incubus was an incubus, and one couldn't change that nature anymore than a thestral could shift into an abraxan.
Yet, an equally byzantine truth was that Harry Potter was no incubus. Fleur had sensed the power flooding through him, and it had repulsed her, and if not for her Occlumency, she'd probably have morphed into her avian form and hurled fireballs at him. He was an abomination steeped so deeply in the Black Arts that it was a wonder how the wards of Hogwarts even allowed him to walk through its halls. No doubt another example of the incompetency of those filthy English pigs.
But if Harry Potter wasn't the incubus, who was? Not the two Ministers, not the bureaucrats, and certainly not Minister Fudge. Someone disillusioned perhaps? But even so, how could that incubus stand Potter's dark stench? Why appear next to him, announce his presence publicly and then faze away?
Too many questions, and absolutely no answers. Fleur also held a lingering suspicion that something was going on between Lady Malfoy and Potter that the others didn't know about. Truly, there were so many exciting things going on at the World Cup, and the Quidditch match happening out there wasn't one of them.
She didn't know just what it was she was seeking, but the enigmatic Harry Potter was a mystery that both eluded and teased her, and beckoned her to follow through. The more she delved into it, the greater and tantalising it appeared. She was afraid she'd get addicted to this feeling if she wasn't careful.
Her footsteps silenced and her form disillusioned, Fleur sprinted through the long, empty corridors. As a veela, her ability to sense magic was far greater than the average witch or wizard, and Potter's stench was so invariably unique that she doubted she'd mistake his presence even if it was hidden amidst a thousand people.
But Harry Potter was nowhere. It was as if he had just apparated away. But that was impossible. The entire area was layered by anti-apparition and anti-portkey wards, and the only way to leave was either to wait until the match was over, or contact any of the Aurors to authorise an early departure. Hundreds of questions flitted through her mind when she heard it.
"This way, Potter."
It was a feminine voice, and one she readily recognized. Panicking, she quickly hid behind a pillar, only to realise that the voice was actually coming from below. She looked past the railing, and found Harry Potter standing outside a ladies bathroom on the other corridor, with easily twenty feet between them, and a fifty feet chasm below should one fall from trying to cross between one corridor to the other. Unable to stem her curiosity, she levelled her wand.
"Auscultatio."
The eavesdropping spell erupted out of her wand, and sprinted across the distance between them and —
—only for Potter to step to his right, the spell hitting the ground and missing him by a couple of inches.
"Merde!" Fleur hissed, and hid behind the railing again.
"Why are we here, Lady Malfoy?"
"You can call me Narcissa, you know."
Okay, the charm was working, even though it had missed the actual target.
"You've got some nerve," said Potter. "Trying to smuggle that cilice like that in front of your husband and everyone else."
"Strange. I thought the daring and impulsiveness would attract the Gryffindor you're supposed to be. Now stop standing there like an imbecile and come in."
Cursing under her breath, Fleur stood up again, repeating to herself that she had no business poking her nose at whatever was transpiring here. As soon as the World Cup finals would be over, she would have to attend a party or two with the winners, and after some refreshments and dinner, they could safely depart for her home in Marseilles. Yes, there was absolutely no need for her to get any further involved in Harry Potter or whatever madness he was involved in.
"Carpe Retractum!"
Instantly, a thin rope shot out of the end of her wand to wrap around a pillar on the opposite corridor. She jumped away from her position in the open-air lift shaft and allowed the magic of the conjured rope to reel her in towards the pillar, which she caught easily with her free hand. Effortlessly, she pulled herself up and then tightrope walked along the pillar to the edge of the corridor before dropping down onto the balcony below. Recasting her disillusionment charm as an extra precautionary measure, she slipped into the ladies' bathroom.
It was a dingy sort of place. And by the looks of it, absolutely unused. Then she recognized the tingly sensation at the back of her wand and registered a subtle diversionary ward at work. Nothing very forceful, just a tiny nudge to ignore that particular door and walk straight, something that could easily fool anyone without the proper Occlumency defences.
All the cubicles were open and empty, except for one.
And another charm later, Fleur hid in one of the other cubicles, listening.
"Really Narcissa? What's gotten into you?"
Narcissa Malfoy didn't answer. Instead she took a step closer and pulled the zip of my pants down, followed by the rest of it, and grabbed my cock. With an expert twisting motions that could only be hers, she kept working my shaft while her other hand slid into my shirt and caressed my abs. With another non-verbal spell, both of our clothes vanished from our bodies, only instead of disappearing completely, they appeared upon the hangars hung on the wall for the exact purpose.
"I have to say, of all places I expected to meet you, this… was definitely not in my list."
I eyed the loo around me. Even with Narcissa's quick charmwork in expanding the cubicle until it was the size of a small room, the feel of being inside a loo stayed consistent. More so, it was a far cry from the quality offered by Twilfit & Tattings, and more along something closer to the Weasley home.
"Jerking another cock in this depraved, unhygienic place… I'd have expected such a thing from a mudblood. Not you."
Her magnificent breasts pressed into my chest, I took a long inhale of her scent. A mix of female arousal and lavender exuded her that should have made my head spin with delight.
My fingers slid down her body and cupped my sex, and I began rubbing the tiny cluster of nerves for half a dozen seconds before pushing two of my fingers in. It was a perfect repetition of what I had done the first time we had met, and given the surroundings, it felt poetic.
"Are you close?" I asked. There was a lot to do and I couldn't waste my time with this ridiculousness.
"Not so quick, Potter. It will take more than your fingers to make me cum."
I rolled my eyes. The last time it had taken me a sex marathon that had lasted for the better part of two hours before she had acquiesced to my superiority in the bed. This time, I didn't have the time or the intention to give her that long.
"'Sides, what's wrong with you?" She asked. "You never miss the chance to have sex with me. Don't tell me you've gotten someone better."
Technically, one could say that Amelia Bones was Narcissa's better in many ways, but in other ways, Narcissa had her beat. Then again, I placed Penelope's utterly submissive attitude on its own pedestal, as I did Hermione's ferality. Hestia's propensity for pain and bondage was greater than anyone else, only for Susan's fighting spirit to steal away certain aspects of the show. Emmeline's self-denial was utterly tantalising, as was the pleasure of cuckolding Broderick as he used and violated his wife's body in every way that mattered.
But honestly, none of them mattered. Because as much as my memories highlighted the pleasure I felt from sex, it felt absolutely bland right then. The dark power flooding through my veins wanted blood, wanted death and carnage, wanted people to scream and run away, fearing for their lives as I twisted the bodies of my victims and inflicted every form of violation upon their very souls.
"No Narcissa," I growled softly. "I just think we're wasting time as it is."
"Ah-ah," she said, wagging two fingers. "You ain't going anywhere until I have had my dose of orgasms. I've been missing them for quite a while now."
It took everything in me not to snarl. But rationality prevailed, and I knew what must be done.
Switching Paths…
Activating Path INCUBUS LORD
Registering Affinities…
Binding…
It was only because of the practice I had with Path Switching, and the constant agony that practising the Black Arts brought me that I was able to live through the feeling of my eyes burning in their sockets like living coals, as magic, tremendous amounts of magic swelled and surged within me, like a dormant volcano suddenly erupting its innards into the world outside. The power, the allure, the physical strength and the abilities of the Incubus Lord swelled within me, and an euphoria rose like a tidal wave.
Welcome, INCUBUS LORD!
That notification was expected. It was the second that surprised the fuck out of me.
Forge Orgasm Contract with Fleur Delacour?
A mote of surprise, confusion and dark amusement coursed through me as I instantly answered —
Yes.
Contract Forged with Fleur Delacour
And from right behind me, a powerful allure exploded in the cubicle behind me.
I had been utterly shocked at seeing Fleur Delacour earlier. I didn't know if Harry had somehow missed meeting the Delacours in Canon, what with being too busy watching the match with his Omnioculars, or if it was just my luck that I was meeting the Delacours at the World Cup. Either way, reading about Fleur Delacour, Veela Princess in the books was in no way comparable to the real thing. And she was the real thing, a work of art. Beauty. Grace. As such, she was not so easily quantified.
Watching her attempt to use her Allure on me had been enlightening. I couldn't really explain the process, having barely understood it myself. One moment I was shaking hands, the other moment, something that was purely her flooded through me, and in that one moment, I saw her — Fleur Delacour, as she truly was. Her facial features, superb as they were, felt almost extraneous. They weren't any more important to her appeal than a glass was to wine. It was at its best when invisible and showing the spirit contained within. Beyond mere physical presence, I could sense the nature of the woman—strength of will, intelligence, blended with a sardonic wit and edged with a lazy, sensuous hunger.
Or maybe the hunger was mine. Despite being a Necromancer, the feeling of her brought forth a hunger within me. In the space of maybe two seconds, my attention to detail fractured, and I wanted her. I wanted her in the most primal sense, in every way I could conceive. Whatever subtlety the Incubus Lord might have gone for suddenly evaporated. Images swarmed over me—images of unleashing the fires burning in me upon willing flesh. Conscience withered a heartbeat later.
Something hungry, confident, and unrepentant took its place.
Instincts ruled me, and only the most feral, vicious drives remained.
That she was able to do this to a Necromancer made me afraid.
So very afraid.
And curious.
I liked it.
A lot.
And to know that she was right there, hiding in the cubicle next to mine, and had just orgasmed from the sexual aura of the Incubus Lord made things that much more exciting.
I smiled. This was going to be fun.
Activating Decadence Link
It was the perk I had obtained from fucking Anastasia, and might I say, it was one of the most perverted and dangerous perks I have ever obtained. The sheer selfish pleasure that the woman had obtained by fooling her husband into believing that she loved him while cuckolding him by fucking a younger man and trying out all her darkest, most depraved fantasies while making her husband actually enjoy it had manifested into a perk so electrifying and sinful that I had troubles believing that such a power actually existed, and yes, it was mine to use.
A power to link two people that were getting pleasure from me, the Incubus. Using the Decadence Link, I could fuck one person and make the other feel the exact same thing.
Even without touching her.
Decadence Link forged between Narcissa Malfoy and Fleur Delacour
Activation Period : 60 seconds.
Link Activated.
More than enough for my purposes.
"You want me to make you cum, Narcissa? Is that right?"
"...Yes!" said the horny woman. "I want you to make me cum again and again and again. So stop standing there and fuck me."
I smiled. "There'll be no need for that, Narcissa."
The last time we had sex, I had to activate the Devil's Charm. It had magnified her carnal desires and reduced her inhibitions massively. She had gotten so horny that she had outright demanded an anal fucking in the middle of the DMLE. And that was before I had upgraded myself to Incubus Lord.
This time, I didn't do any of that. I just… stopped hiding my power.
One moment I was standing there, doing nothing save two of my fingers that were encased within the soft, wet folds of Narcissa's pussy. The next moment, an ethereal wave of power exuded out of my fingers, and through them, into her pussy. Her whole body thrummed in response to that power, to my presence, my proximity, my… everything. That smile on my face conveyed something to her in a flashing instant — Narcissa moaning in ecstasy, beneath me, looking at me with that lovely face mindless with sensation. And with that image came a hundred and thousand others, each of them a single captured moment, the kind of moments that are the only one to survive a frenzied dream, frozen and layered atop one another, each of them a promise, a prediction, and every one of them aimed right at the most base, the most primitive parts of her brain. It wasn't just limited to visual imagery. Each layer of the flash had its own round of sensual memory, every one of them only partial but intense — touch, taste, scent, sound and vision — dozens and dozens of dreams and fantasies, each of them being their own moment of absolute ecstasy, a memory that was just as real as reality itself, all of them compressed into that one instant of dark inspiration.
That was what I hurled at Narcissa.
It was the power of Throes of Ecstasy — the ultimate technique of my Devil's Charm back when I had been just an ordinary Incubus. Yes, I am quite aware of the irony of that statement. But with the addition of the Eye of the Incubus, a perk I had gotten after fucking Emmeline to submission, highlighted Narcissa's erogenous points and her sexual preferences, even the ones she had hidden from me until now. Directing the Throes of Ecstasy to operate based on those preferences made it all that more effective and dangerous.
One moment we were matching gazes, the next moment, her eyes widened to saucers. Narcissa arched her back, her mouth opening as she screamed and screamed and screamed, her pussy exploding with cum.
"FUUUCCCKKK!" Narcissa screamed her lungs out as she exploded, "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! I'm cumming! I'm cumming! Yes!"
Her hands clawed against my arms, bruising, even drawing blood. She wanted to get up, she wanted to get away, she wanted to push me away and pull me deeper. She wanted to coil her legs around me and wanted to push me out of the door. She wanted to scream and she wanted to cry and do a million different things. Her back arched up, pressing her sweaty breasts into my chest as she screamed and screamed. Tears ran down her cheeks and her mouth frothed with spit. Her eyes were wide as saucers and her lips were stretching to an extreme as she screamed and screamed. Her pussy had become tighter than a Gringotts vault, locking my fingers within it, while her cunt juices squirted from deep within her, coating my hand and trickling beneath.
And yet, she would not stop cumming!
Her mind was bombarded with hundreds of psychic projections, augmented with sensations of all five senses, making it more real than real could be. In effect, it was like having a hundred different orgasms with all of them triggering all at once. The victim would lose all sense of rationality and control and endlessly orgasm until there was practically nothing left. What was worse, the victim's magic forced her to constantly cum until it could expunge the psychic attack out of its system. And because this attack was directly injected into one's body — through my fingers into her cunt — it bypassed any and all Occlumency in the process.
And so long as my fingers stayed within her, it acted as a stimulus for one of the thousands of psychic memories I had injected her with. Her body was reacting constantly, leading her through countless mind-shattering orgasms.
Smiling, I pulled my fingers out, and Narcissa staggered back, looking at me through slanted eyes as she fell down to her knees and hands, trying her best to get up but failing miserably. Her mouth was open, but no words were coming out. All I could sense was that she was repeating some kind of phrase over and over again. One wandless Sonorous later, I knew what it was.
"No one's made me cum like this before!"
"No one's made me cum like this before!"
"No one's made me cum like —"
And on and on.
And with that, two things happened. The first was, quite predictably, Narcissa's World Anchor shooting all the way to a hundred from the 87% it had stood earlier. Not surprising, since Amelia Bones had jumped from midway values to the very top after I had defeated her in a battle of sex, finishing her off with the Throes of Ecstasy. For Narcissa, who was already sharing common agendas with me, not to mention her already high anchorage, hitting 100 was a no-brainer.
But it was really the second one that held my interest.
Decadence Link Shattered!
I smiled. The sixty seconds were over. Time for the clincher.
Binding Spell — Orgasm Denial Active
Let's see what you make of this, my little veela princess!
"What… what was that, Pot… Harry?" asked Narcissa, who was still trying to push herself up. A difficult task, since her own body had been rocked to euphoria so many times that it was a miracle she was even conscious right now.
"That was me making you cum with just my fingers," I told her. "Now, why don't you tell me what you've truly planned?"
It took me a little over half an hour to fully understand her little master plan in absolute detail. After entire months of feeding Walburga's cilice belt with my blood and magic, and in return, it unleashed its curses into my bloodstream. One would call that a nasty deal and stay a mile away from this horrendous artefact, but desperate situations called for desperate measures. Every single time I had put on that belt, it twisted and blackened my soul in ways I couldn't really explain even if I tried. All I knew was that this was a ritual involving an equivalent exchange, a barter with the Black Family Magic, a ceremony to prove myself worthier than the other candidates by performing what the others would shrink away from. A prolonged exposure to the Black Arts, a journey of agony, sacrifice and slow mutation of the soul to inherit that which should not be mine, in order to become the Lord Black.
And tonight, all my plans, all my pain and sacrifice would bring about my Ascension.
"Well, my future Lord Black?" asked Narcissa. "Aren't you forgetting something?"
"Oh? Ha, right," I said, a little startled. "How do I do that? I mean, I could just ask Dobby to —"
"As useful as it would be, I'd rather not depend on the elf that I once commanded," said Narcissa stiffly. "If you will but say, 'I, Harry Potter, Lord of Number 12, Grimmauld Place, do hereby grant Narcissa Black Malfoy admittance,' it should be sufficient for me to just pop in and out without issue."
I coughed and then did as she said.
"Right then," she said. "I'll be off. When all this is over, you shall find me at your chambers at Grimmauld Place, and I'll be very diligent in paying obeisance to the new Lord Black."
"Not worried about your husband and Draco?"
Narcissa whirled back in a bit of annoyance. "Draco is the son of Lucius Malfoy, and the next Lord of House Malfoy. So long as that stays intact, he is free to do as he pleases. As for my husband, if not for him, both of us wouldn't even be here in the first place."
And with that, she left.
A little over an hour later, the door to the cubicle next to Harry Potter creaked open, revealing a crouched, thoroughly exhausted Fleur Delacour. Unlike the proud veela heiress of the French Minister of External Affairs that had stepped in, this one looked absolutely ruined, her hair untied and all over the place, her eyes blood-soaked and tears streaming down her cheeks, and her clothes thoroughly drenched in sweat, toilet water and her own juices.
She was crying. Moaning. Grunting. Spasming. All of it and more. What had happened to her, she knew not, save that one moment she felt that impossibly vast presence of the Incubus return with a vengeance, his impossible allure crashing against her like tides crashing against the shore. The next thing she knew she had a thousand sensations of pure ecstasy, of a silhouette satisfying her carnal needs in a way she hadn't known possible; like she was being had in the most primal way possible, from every hole, every inch of her skin, every single one of her senses flooded with an influx of such potent stimuli — and she was receiving them all at once.
Her eyes had rolled to the back of her head, and her throat had gone hoarse from the screams, while her pussy kept spitting out spurts of cum all over the place. Even after several minutes had passed since Harry Potter and Narcissa Malfoy had gathered things up and left the cubicle, Fleur had stayed there, crumpled on the floor, staring blankly at the ceiling, her mouth open.
"Plus fort! Plus vite!" her lips kept moving. "Encore! Défonce-moi!"
And yet deep beneath her utterly exhausted and debauched state, her second mind worked frantically, terrified as it desperately went through everything it had just learnt and felt, threw up psychic shields and rewove her mental pathways, instilling commands that her base consciousness wouldn't even understand even as it carried it out. It thought about what it had just learnt there.
Harry Potter was an Incubus. One so powerful that just exposing herself to his power had made her orgasm.
Harry Potter was a dark wizard, one that was so deep into the Dark Arts that his stench alone triggered her fight instincts.
And somehow, those two opposite natures worked together seamlessly within a paradoxical existence that made no sense. And he was in cahoots with Narcissa Malfoy to arrange for something terrible to promote his own Ascension, whatever that meant.
Believe nothing you hear and half of what you see, her father used to say. Clearly, he had picked it up by exposing himself to the British.
Slowly, painfully, Fleur pulled herself up. Whatever madness the duo was up to, Fleur wanted no part in it. But getting back to the Top Box wasn't an option anymore, not in her condition. No, the only way forward was to get back to her tent, and hopefully, get away from this madhouse that was Wizarding Britain.
Barely managing to cast a disillusionment charm on herself, Fleur slowly began to trudge her way downstairs, her lips still moving on her own, whispering…
"Plus fort! Plus vite!"
Harder! Faster!
"Encore! Défonce-moi!"
Again! Drill me!
And on and on she went.
Notes:
If you want to support me, find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Chapter 115: Desperation Part 1
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 3 - THE INCUBUS AND NECROMANCER
CHAPTER 115 - DESPERATION PART 1
In 1849, French writer Jean-Baptiste Alphonse Karr wrote 'plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose' — the more things change, the more they stay the same. In other words, despite apparent changes or advancements in society, certain fundamental aspects or patterns remain unchanged over time. The muggle probably didn't know it, but his wise words certainly applied to a whole lot of things other than societal changes and aspects.
Like time-travel.
Or reality distortion.
Or Ireland winning the 1994 Quidditch World Cup despite Victor Krum catching the Snitch.
After concluding my little tete-e-tete with Narcissa Malfoy in the dingy corners of the unused public bathroom, I had returned to watch the match. Though, calling it a match was an inapt description since it was more like Victor Krum versus the Irish Chasers, what with the Bulgarian Chasers reduced to mere spectators as their keeper deliriously tried to fend off the Irish Chasers from scoring goals in a frenzy. It didn't help that the referee Adelheid Bersch allowed a succession of dubious calls that allowed Ireland to gain fifty points, while simply ignoring blatant violations from the Irish side.
That's the problem with having a team that depends on your 'star' to carry you. Krum was their ace, but the ace wasn't good enough against the Irish.
I saw Victor pounce downwards, tricking Lynch into a proverbial goose chase towards the floor below. The spectators were yelling for Krum to catch the snitch, while others screamed at Lynch to beat Victor at his game. What neither could see was that it was a Wronksi Feint, since the snitch was actually hovering right behind the Bulgarian Keeper's left ear.
The kind of things you notice with increased affinity to magical sensing, and a greatly elevated attunement to the kinetic element. One only needed to read the legends of Cu Chullainn and Mac Roich to know what speed demons were on the battlefield. With everything else happening during the summer, I didn't have the time to actually touch my Firebolt or go on a ride, something I wanted to correct as soon as I went back to Hogwarts. Ron's dream star was going to suffer a reality check once the Triwizard tournament started.
Wait. Was I actually feeling jealous of Victor Krum for being above 'Harry's' level of play? Or was it the incubus taking note of a possible competition?
Huh! You learn something new everyday.
As the match ended, I watched the crowds in the stands scream about poor officiating and even possible sabotage, breaking into one of the most spectacular mob fights I had ever seen, and Amelia had to order her Auror squads to don riot gear and institute a curfew. Runic shields sprang into existence, as the mob devolved into spellfire. The aurors sent neon sparks up into the air, and a light drizzle began to fall from above. Mass produced quantities of calming draught, erupting from multiple nozzles, began spraying down at the unsuspecting masses below, while more security personnel rushed in, taking the Quidditch players out first, followed by the occupants of the Top Boxes.
"Return to your tent and take Susan with you," said Amelia to me under the pretext of helping me walk out safely. "Whatever madness you warned me about, I can only thank my lucky stars that it hasn't happened yet. I'd be glad if things ended in a terribly boring night."
"Or maybe," I joked. "They saw your teams in action and got cold feet?"
"One can only hope," said Amelia with a tired sigh. "This entire thing already has me exhausted. I'd ask you to come home with me and Susan and spend the night but I know you have all sorts of hijinks planned before this event is over. Really, I could do with another oil massage."
I remembered what happened the last time I gave her an oil massage and smirked. "Promises, promises, Amelia. Tell you what? If everything works in my… in our favour, I'll fit in an oil massage and an overnight visit before leaving for Hogwarts."
"Excellent," said Amelia, and walked away, leaving me on my own.
As I walked out following the Aurors and other personnel, I noticed Ludo Bagman, who had fainted earlier, was now looking at the leprechaun gold calculatively, and a slight nod at Fred and George made them take note. The twins winked at me as they went on with their victory celebrations while Ron looked both excited and flabbergasted that his words had come true. Maybe I could twist that into making him believe he was a Seer. Not sure if that would make him focus better or turn him into a charlatan, but it would definitely be an interesting year.
By the time the crowds were finally let out of the stadium, I was already at the Potter tent. As promised, Susan had come with me, and she was currently helping Penelope with making some drinks for everyone in the magically enlarged space. I noticed a little friction between her and Hermione, possibly because either registered the other as a threat, or potential competition in my hierarchy of lovers.
And it wasn't even the only point of concern.
Hestia had invited Tonks to our tent, and given the way Tonks had been giving me icy looks, it was clear she had taken my postponement of our little ice-cream date as a personal rejection. It probably didn't help that I hadn't even mentioned an alternate arrangement. Both Hestia and I were suspicious of her sudden agreeing to date me, and believed that it was just her cover to try to figure me out, which made it less of a casual date, and more of a cop hounding a suspected criminal to see if she could gain some evidence.
Too bad I had other priorities to focus on. Once things were taken care of and I was away at Hogwarts, I could ask Hestia to reschedule things, perhaps on a Hogsmeade weekend.
Even that wasn't all of it. While Hestia and Tonks had engaged themselves in glasses of Ogden's Finest, Tent Potter received a surprise visit from Anastasia Greengrass and her 'friend' Emmeline Vance. Apparently both of their husbands were away meeting some 'old' friends, and with the recent dealings between House Potter and House Greengrass, Anastasia wanted to come and greet me. Emmeline, my acquaintance through Gideon Abott, had just gone with the flow.
It was funny, seeing Tonks's expression at finding Emmeline walk in there. The woman was both her senior at the Ministry, being in charge of the Obliviation Office, and at the Order, where she was in charge of teaching Occlumency to young and untrained recruits. After what happened in the last war, Emmeline was also tasked with filtering through the members, checking for potential spies and traitors among them. Unlike how it was in the books, the Order of the Phoenix was a competent, covert organisation that operated from the shadows, mostly staying limited to gathering intel from all possible sources, and establishing diplomatic relations with others.
In the end, both ladies decided to stop for drinks, while I walked out, wanting to go meet the Weasleys. Even if events followed the canon route, things would fall apart quickly and I didn't want the Weasleys to be miffed at me. As I crossed the tents towards the one with WEEZLY written on it, I noticed the twins talking to their father, explaining their big plans for the money they had bet with Ludo Bagman. Apparently the sucker had come to pay them off in Leprechaun gold, only for Arthur Weasley to come in. Somewhere between explaining what was going on, the leprechaun gold had vanished, leaving a red-faced Ludo Bagman facing the wrath of an angry Arthur Weasley.
"Look at them singing," remarked Fred.
And indeed they were. Even from a distance, I could clearly see the crowds pouring out of the stadium, towards their campsites. Raucous singing was borne toward them on the night air as they retraced their steps along the lantern-lit path, and leprechauns kept shooting over their heads, cackling and waving their lanterns. With Ireland's victory, they were going for an extended celebration.
"I can't believe it's taking them that long to come out."
"Ah, that's the limitation of Wizarding Space, Harry," said an excited Arthur. "Mass distribution is always a challenge in wizarding space design. If too many people leave the area too soon, it can cause sudden contractions within the Space and tamper the charms inside. These things are expensive, you know."
"It's been over half an hour now," I protested.
"And it'll take another half an hour before the last of the crowd gets out. And finally the Aurors will deactivate the auxiliary enchantments and then they'll come out. Fascinating things, wizarding spaces are. I'd have loved to study them, but I only managed an EE in my Charms NEWT. If only Molly would have shared my interest!" He moaned. "She had an Outstanding in Charms and Defense."
"Charms and Defense?" I asked, a little surprised. Maybe her victory over Bellatrix in the books hadn't been a fluke after all.
"Oh yes, my Molly actually wanted to join the hit-wizards back then," explained Arthur. "But her father was most insistent on getting her married to Angus Prince, and while we were dating each other, I wasn't quite confident to be able to support a family with her."
"But then, how did you — you know?"
"Boys! Why don't you go see if your mum has finished making cocoa and fetch a glassful for Harry here?" He said, pulling me aside and speaking in softer tones. "Please don't judge her when I say this, but she fed me a love potion back then. Of course, it wasn't like she needed it, for I was head over heels for her, but it pushed us to do the unexpected and she got pregnant with William."
"I'm guessing her father didn't like it."
Arthur winced. "He was furious. Would've almost cast her out of the Prewitt family, if not her brothers Fabian and Gideon."
"I… see," I said, wondering why on earth was Arthur Weasley spilling dirty secrets of his marriage to me of all people. "I guess it's a good thing then, that she's still a Prewitt. I mean, the other Prewitts are dead, aren't they?"
"Well there is Muriel and her family," said Arthur. "She's Molly's great-aunt, but from a cadet branch. The Prewitt family is matrilineal, so only a female Prewitt can assume control. Unfortunately, Molly's pregnancy out of wedlock went against the Prewitt Charter, so she can never take up the mantle."
And that was why they had all those kids until Ginny, I mused. "I had often wondered…."
Arthur shook his head like an old elephant. "Molly is quite stubborn. She refused to give up the mantle of Prewitt. It took us seven attempts to have Ginny. I like to think that it was our growing desperation along with the magically powerful number seven that helped us get a female child. Once Ginny gains her OWLs, she can offer her candidacy for the Prewitt name."
I sensed a But coming.
"Unfortunately, that came with its own complications," said Arthur, slightly distraught. "I'm not sure if you know this, Harry, but witches in general tend to have more difficulties procreating than their muggle counterparts. It's why you have so many wealthy families, yet the majority of them end up having a single, or at best, two children."
The contradiction was obvious.
"Uh, Mister Weasley —"
"Arthur, please."
"...Arthur," I said. "If you don't mind me asking, why exactly are you telling me this?"
Arthur pursed his lips. "I… I just don't think I'm the right person to answer that. Think of this as a sign of trust between us, Harry. Perhaps the next time you come to the Burrow, we can discuss this further?"
I tilted my head slightly. "Sure —"
Every single hair on my neck suddenly rose and stood on end, all the way down to my heels. Gooseflesh erupted over my entire body at once, and a primal, primaeval wave of utter terror flickered through my brain, utterly dislodging every rational thought in my head.
"...mind."
I looked ahead, at the Quidditch World Cup stadium in front of me. That feeling… it hadn't been the result of some random eddy of energy. A wave of magic that focussed was nothing less than a disruption, an attack, the psychic equivalent of an ear-piercing shriek, loud enough to burst eardrums — and whatever had done it wasn't even in sight yet, or…
Or was it?
For one long, uncomprehending moment, I just stood, staring, bracing myself for whatever was about to follow and felt a tiny bit silly when nothing happened. And then….
"GET DOWN!"
BOOOOOM!
One moment I was talking to Arthur; the next moment, the entire stadium went up in a mountain of flames. There are no words to convey the sheer violence of it. There was just this single, terrible power in the air, a sudden blow of disorienting pressure, as if I had been hit by a truck made of pillow-top mattresses.
For a couple of moments, I heard nothing, felt nothing. A familiar high-pitched tone like the Emergency Broadcast system droned within my head. Lights danced in and out of my vision. My eyes wouldn't focus enough to track them. Smells were incredibly sharp. The air was acrid, thick with smoke, laced with the scents of things it is unhealthy to burn. Some part of me recognized that the stadium was burning, seeing the flames erupt out of it and crash down like comets upon the hapless crowds below. I told my muscles to move but they failed to obey. Maybe they did, it was impossible to tell, leaving me drunkenly impaired.
Vulnerable.
Then it hit me.
The stadium was burning! The stadium was BURNING! And inside it was —
"AMELIA!" I yelled, and raced towards the burning wreck. I think I noticed Arthur and one of the twins were trying to stop me, but I shook both of them off with a violent twist of my shoulders, and rushed in. Within seconds I had rushed through the burning edifice, the heat making me feel like I was standing in the heart of the sun. It was suffocating, my body bursting out in sweat only for it to immediately evaporate before it could do much to cool me down, while my robes began to smoke, scorched in the heat of the flames all around. If not for my innate magic cocooning me like a shield, I'd probably have fallen several times already.
The air hung heavy, thick with the metallic tang of blood and the acrid bite of brimstone. Silence, a thick blanket where the stadium's usual cacophony resided merely seconds ago, was broken only by the distant wail, a mournful symphony approaching. The Quidditch World Cup stadium, the heartbed of tonight's entertainment, lay in a state of shattered grandeur.
Shopfronts gaped like broken teeth, their displays a macabre collage of singed mannequins and twisted metal. The vibrant yellows and greens of the amusement units were reduced to skeletal frames, their paint peeling like blistered skin. A lone butterbeer stall, its brightly coloured awning ripped to shreds, stood as a stark reminder of the place's interrupted routine. A stray shammock, a colourful reminder of the excitement from earlier, lay snagged on one of the half-molten stands, its fabric billowing like a mournful flag in the dust-laden breeze.
I ran through it.
The stadium wasn't just burning. It was breathing fire. The stands, once bastions of steel and glass, now resembled grotesque furnaces, their windows glowing malevolent orange. The stairs, slick and rising like serpents, now shimmered like obsidian rivers, reflecting the infernal light. Smoke, a writhing black beast, choked the atmosphere, obscuring everything into a perpetual, apocalyptic darkness.
Dust, a gritty shroud, settled over everything, coating the once-polished chrome of the stands in a layer of despair. The iconic Top Box stood resolute, yet its facade bore the scars of the blast - a spider web of cracks marring its constitution, as if the very soul of the stadium had been etched with the violence.
I ran through it all.
Yet, amidst the inferno, flickered embers of defiance. Hit-wizards, those that were positioned in the periphery and the grounds, charged into the flames, their wand spitting defiance at the inferno. On certain corners, I noticed the silvery sheen of the protego spell, with silhouettes of survivors huddled together, their faces illuminated by the dying embers of hope. Some of them emerged like shadows, dazed and stumbling. Some, cloaked in dust, coughed, their faces streaked with soot and tears. Others, their clothes ripped and bloodied, moved with a slow, stunned purpose, sifting through the wreckage for loved ones, their calls echoing with a desperate hope that fought against the rising tide of despair. The vibrant lifeblood of those present had been cauterised, leaving behind a wound that would take far more than healing spells to heal.
I continued running, looking around desperately for that one face that truly mattered. That one woman that mattered.
And then I found her.
Amelia lay on the floor, covered by a wall of dust. One knee had bent so that she was lying on her lower leg. The other leg was crushed beneath a large piece of the ceiling that had fallen off, taking the better part of her lower body and her left palm.
"...Amelia," I whispered. "Oh God."
I knelt over her. Her eyes were open wide as she stared up.
The fire around us flared again, briefly turning the world scarlet.
I didn't care.
"Don't worry. I'll get you out in a jiffy," I promised. Placing my wand atop the fallen rock, I drew on my emotions, the shock, the pain, the feeling of helplessness… I took it all and channelled it into a single spell that I cast using Parseltongue.
"Confringo."
The curse did its job perfectly, shattering the bonds within, and the once-large boulder turned into sand and dissipated in the wind. Instead of being happy at the successful casting, I staggered back in horror, looking at Amelia's condition. The boulder had smashed her innards, leaving nothing but splintered bone, torn tissue and blood, making a pool around her, merging with her crimson hair. My instincts screamed to cast Vulnera Sanentur on her, but casting it would only serve to kill her faster, since it drained the magic from the victim, and hers was already down to fumes.
Episkey wouldn't do a thing, and I didn't have any healing potions on my person.
"DOBBY!" I yelled. "DOBBY!"
No one responded. Then I remembered that the anti-apparition and anti-portkey wards present around the stadium area prevented even house elves from popping in and out, unless they were previously registered.
Amelia made a couple of gurgling, choking sounds.
"No," I said. "No, no, no. Amelia? Come on, Amelia!"
She looked up at me for a second, and the corners of her eyes wrinkled as she smiled weakly. Her face had gone grey. Her lips were blue. "Harry…. You're here. Good. At least…"
She closed her eyes and coughed. Despite the extreme agony, she reached across her chest with her other hand and weakly touched my hand with hers.
"Harry," she said. "Take care of — Susan. Tell her, she is… free."
"Susan's not big on relayed messages," I said, choking on my own words. "If you want her to know she's free, tell her yourself."
Amelia coughed again. Or maybe she was trying to laugh. It was difficult to say. "Idi-ot! I— Harry, I love —"
Her eyes were on mine, and I couldn't look away.
And I saw the flame of a candle flicker and go out.
Her eyes emptied. Just emptied, like the windows of an abandoned house. One moment, her body had been gasping for breath, straining, her face full of pain and confusion. Then…
It was just an empty house.
"No," I said. "No, no, no."
And the Screen flickered in front of me.
You are losing Anchorage from Amelia Bones
100%
95%
90%
85%...
Lower and lower it went, and regardless of my efforts, Amelia neither moved nor reacted. Angry, I cast whatever healing spell I could, but the World Anchorage kept going down.
I bent over her. Airway, breathing, circulation. I opened her mouth, tried to make sure it was clear. But it was pooled with blood.
I couldn't see her then. Was weeping. I bent over her anyway, and breathed into her mouth.
Nothing.
The house was still empty.
65%
60%
55%...
No! It couldn't end this way! I had plans! And those plans required Amelia! More importantly, she was someone I wanted as a partner. I wasn't going to let some random Death-Eater attack take away my destiny of becoming God. My…
My…
It hit me.
Meta-Luck is being deployed…
World Anchorage raised to 100%
Used Meta-Luck : 34
Remaining Meta-Luck: 74
A surge of energy swelled inside Amelia's battered, broken and most certainly dead form and for a moment, I believed I had done the impossible. I had resurrected her, snatched her from the jaws of death and returned her to the living. Meta-Luck had the power to rewrite Reality, so why not bring the dead back to life? Surely, surely —
You are losing Anchorage from Amelia Bones
100%
95%...
"NO," I whispered. "No! No! NO! NOT AGAIN —"
And yet it was happening. The Meta-Luck had raised her anchorage back to 100, but it hadn't done anything to restore her quickly depleting magic, or her body's deteriorated state. If only I could —
Meta-Luck is being deployed…
Third-degree burns on a third of her body. Complete muscular and nervous damage of the left leg, left palm and her lower abdomen. Spinal damage. Massive skin damage to her right hand.
Nobody could heal that kind of injury, magic or otherwise. And yet —
Used Meta-Luck : 69
Remaining Meta-Luck: 5
And yet, it did nothing, for her anchorage kept falling lower and lower…
55%
50%
45%..
I was out of options. No spell, no ritual, nothing I had in my arsenal could do anything. Her body was healed, but her soul had already been sundered and it was depleting her lifeforce. And I had exhausted the lion's share of my Meta-Luck. The moment her lifeforce went down completely, the moment her magic vanished, so would her anchorage and Amelia would be gone past the point of no-return. Not even Meta-Luck would be able to bind her soul and tether her to the….
My eyes widened.
"...Tether."
The Tether System transformed people into Lilims, and served as living anchors, tying myself to them. So long as they stayed intact, I would be fine. Not even Death would be able to touch me. But the door didn't open on both sides, and I could tether someone else by latching their souls to myself.
The Incubus Lord had no such power.
Luckily, someone else did.
Just like that, I knew what to do next. I glanced at the fallen bodies all around me. Several of them were groaning, cursing, crying, taking their last breaths, but most certainly alive. What I was going to do would break every rule in the book, and would be probably the darkest and vilest thing I would ever do. If Amelia ever truly found out what I did, she'd probably kill me with her two hands, Magic be damned. But —
But if I did this, and I succeeded, then Amelia would stay alive.
It was an utterly selfish thing to conceive of. Only a person that valued his own life as the only one worth living would be able to progress with what I was planning. But Amelia had a 100% anchorage, and I could safely bet that I would be able to turn her into a Lilim, and thus, her safety and continued existence would guarantee my own existence. A twisted little truth, but for this particular incident, it could work,
And if I didn't, a part of me pointed out, then I would be committing a great evil for nothing.
Damned if I tried. Damned if I didn't.
Steeling myself, I came to a decision.
Switching Paths…
Activating Path NECROMANCER
Registering Affinities…
Binding…
Welcome, Necromancer!
Notes:
If you want to support me, find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Chapter 116: Desperation Part 2
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 3 - THE INCUBUS AND NECROMANCER
CHAPTER 116 - DESPERATION PART 2
Amelia Bones lay dead on the floor. A muggle doctor would've pronounced that 'brain death' was equivalent to the state of 'real death' but I knew better. Her lifeforce had depleted, her magic fading, and her soul was slowly sundering itself from its earthly bonds, the process delayed by the World Anchorage that tethered me to her. I had other tethers, of course, so Amelia's death wouldn't remove me from this Reality, and wouldn't magically affect me except a loss of a 100 units of World Anchorage.
But the same couldn't be said about her. She was dying, her spiritual self already between two worlds, and the only way I could hold her soul and restrain it from leaving was if I too, stepped into both worlds with her.
There was only one way of doing that.
I raised my wand, and channelled every bit of power available to me.
"CAVE INIMICUM!"
The strongest known privacy charm expanded out of my wand, and I guided the barrier to reach out as far as I could, spanning over a fifty feet radius. Trying to maintain a ward this large was going to exhaust me within a minute, maybe one and a half if things went in my favour.
Thankfully, that was all the time I needed.
Switching Paths…
Activating Path NECROMANCER
Registering Affinities…
Binding…
Welcome, Necromancer!
A soft, serene smile spread on my face as I sat in meditation, embracing what I was.
Harry Potter.
Tetherer.
Necromancer.
The Black Lord.
I smiled, and in my eyes, the whole stadium was reflected as my gaze grew and grew and grew. A vision swam before my eyes, a world silenced. I saw the infinite darkness of the void beyond consuming all things. I felt the death of the world itself approaching.
But before all of that, the ones in my vicinity would have to pay the price for my desires.
Don't get me wrong. I was not being cruel. They had suffered, and I would let them die as true heroes, perished in the line of duty, killed by the explosion caused by Malfoy and his ilk. The bill would, of course, come due for Malfoy, but that was for later. For now, these Aurors, these veterans would find some meaning in their existence. Fulfilment of what I knew to be to their purpose.
A purpose that I would define.
Establishing parity with physical constitution…
Enacting…
Accessing available affinities and Perks…
I raised both hands, and spoke with a familiarity I didn't possess.
"Eat."
A whirling sensation erupted out of me, like the world had been caught in a gale, only there was no wind. Instead, a hideous emptiness oozed out. Black, sludge-like fumes branched out of my body and gripped the bodies of those fallen around me, people that were one foot in the grave only barely staying away, though whether by luck or sheer defiance was difficult to say. The dark power trickled through their bodies, twisting them, coursing through their veins to corrupt their souls before they could their earthly forms.
The people screamed. Aurors. Hit-wizards. Civilians. I didn't care who they were. All I could feel was them screaming as their minds and souls were torn apart. They thrashed wildly as they lay on the floor, unable to do a single thing as every single memory they had acquired for their entire lives were getting ripped out, disabled, sifted and discarded by something that they didn't even understand, something that ravenously fed upon their very souls.
Accessing Incarneum
Magic was closely interwoven with a wizard's faith. You needed to believe in the magic for it to work — not just that it will happen, but that it should happen.
And that was what made Tom Riddle, or any necromancer, so dangerous. Magic was essentially a force of creation. Even with disciplines like transfiguration and charms that dealt more with altering the nature of existing objects rather than creating them from scratch, the caster had to create the result in his mind first, and then shape the object through his willpower, intent and magic. Necromancy on the other hand, made a mockery of life, even as the caster used it to destroy. Besides being murderous and extremely icky, there was something utterly profane about using magic to create a rotting semblance of a human life. Every time I even considered it, my stomach turned a little, just thinking about what it might be to work a spell like that.
And necromancers like Voldemort actually believed in it. Which really seemed to twist him further and further into an inhuman. A deadly, powerful, calm and intelligent inhuman.
The irony was that it was the same deadly, calm, intelligent inhuman approach that was going to help me save Amelia.
I raised my wand, potent necromantic energy seeping out of it, and drew my first rune.
"INGWAZ!"
The power of Initiative. To go against the universe itself and do what one wanted to do. Had this been conventional magic , or healing, I would have gone with the Tiwaz rune, the generally accepted rune for willpower.
"WUNJO!"
The rune for lifeforce. Spiritual strength. Magic. That which flooded the human body and made it alive. The spiritual component of Life itself. With a complex series of wand movements and a confidence that felt both familiar and alien at the same time, I created a path to converge the flow of lifeforce towards the new sink — a runic circle floating above Amelia's unmoving form.
World Anchorage — Amelia Bones falling…
35%
30%...
Damn it. Faster.
Dagaz, the rune of transformation came next. Followed by Thurisaz, Naudhiz and Perthro, the runes for reflection, necessity and stability. The three-dimensional arrangement of the sequence initiated a process of osmosis into Amelia's body, creating a facsimile (reflection) of lifeforce flooding through her system, providing everything necessary for its stability. That her body had been healed through my use of Meta-Luck earlier only facilitated the process faster.
The art of Incarneum was a trickthing. It followed the principle that primal magic, the substance that created souls, created life itself — it was all permeating. It operated from the idea that the caster was the only one whose existence was worthy, thereby making everything and everyone else less. The discipline shattered the concepts of individuality and viewed everyone else as ingredients, their lives crafted from the same matrix and thus, could be altered and reused to add to the caster's own spiritual constitution, using it to enact miracles ranging from accelerated spiritual healing from dark curses to ensuring that one's life never ended.
And it was working. For the Anchorages were being pushed up again.
World Anchor — Amelia Bones has gone up by 3%
World Anchor — Amelia Bones has gone up by 7%
World Anchor — Amelia Bones has gone up by 2%
And so on. The body was healed from within, and so long as the anchorage stayed over the other side of sixty, things should be safe.
It was time to cast the final rune. I raised my wand and —
"EXPELLIARMUS!"
My wand went sailing out of my hand. I turned around, shocked, infuriated, and surprised, exactly in that order, as my gaze settled on the angry gaze of Nymphadora Tonks, her teeth clenched, her wand levelled at my face as she silently summoned my wand to her feet, and pressed it down on the floor with her shoes.
"Cease whatever you're doing, and stand up! Your game is over, whoever you are!"
"Nymphadora —"
"DON'T CALL ME NYMPHADORA!" She bellowed. "And get off from Madam Bones's body. I'll say it one last time. Stand up, and cease whatever you're doing! Or else…."
"I am Harry Potter," I snapped. "And can I ask you to piss off? I'm trying to save Ame — Madam Bones."
"Don't lie!" she snarled. "That's not healing! That's dark magic! I don't—"
"EXPELLIARMUS!"
Nymphadora's own wand was sent flying out of her hands, as she stared, dumb-struck at her best friend turned opponent levelling her wand at her face. "Hestia —"
"INCARCEROUS!"
Tonks stepped back by several steps to avoid being caught by the hex, and I instantly summoned my wand back to my hand. Hestia quickly summoned Tonks's wand into her left hand.
"Harry," said Hestia, her expressions blazing, "Complete what you were doing. And fast!"
"Have you lost it completely, Hestia?" screamed Tonks. "He's an imposter! Open your eyes! He's doing dark magic!"
"Not dark magic," snapped Hestia. "That's Necromancy! Get on with the times, Dora."
Tonks looked conflicted between snapping back and actually registering what Hestia had just revealed to her. Not only was I, the Boy-Who-Lived, casting dark magic, but the darkest of magical arts — Necromancy, over Amelia Bones's body. Meanwhile, I quickly undid the damage Tonks had done by interrupting the ritual.
"URUZ!" I said, drawing the rune of Restarting. Of Renewals.
And the runic circle continued to pour the liquid darkness into the DMLE Director's body.
World Anchor — Amelia Bones has gone up by 6%
And yet, Amelia Bones didn't so much as move a finger.
Come on, Amelia. Don't give up on me now. Come on.
No.
This couldn't happen. Not again. Not when she had finally found somebody to be with after all this time.
Harry was not James, but he was hers.
James had used her, Harry had completed her.
James had been given her hand, her feelings and her body to enjoy through a contract. Harry had defied her, fought her, and defeated her in a battle of her own choosing, conquering her mind, body and soul.
James had always been a child, yearning for the bird in the bush and ignoring what he had in hand. Harry was her lover, and even if there would be more, he would always be hers.
And now, when her lifelong exile had finally come to an end, now when she had finally found a taste of being free meant, when she was truly satisfied in bed with the man of her dreams, she was being snatched away from him? Even as she stood in this dark corridor, she could feel herself moving away from reality, from her own body. The pain from her battered form had clouded her mind, leaving nothing except raw agony flooding through her body, and yet all she could think of was the feeling of having his hand in hers during those last but vital moments. She wanted to tell him that the weekend he had spent at her manor had been the only weekend she had truly lived after over a decade and half.
Still, even if she was dying, she drew hope and satisfaction on the fact that Harry and Susan, the two people most important to her, were both away and safe. Harry would keep Susan safe, and he was there, kneeling before her in her last moments, probably fruitlessly attempting to cast spells to save her life.
But it was already too late.
Or was it?
A darkness was rushing in, like the waves of the ocean in the shroud of the night. Maybe this was what would take her into the Afterlife, if such a thing existed. Amelia thanked herself for having the foresight of having a portrait commissioned and placed in her office. Susan would know to activate it. Even in death, Amelia could watch over her niece, and see Harry give her the life that Amelia herself was denied.
"No, wait —" she said, as the darkness grabbed her. "I just need a little more time."
But the darkness wouldn't listen. It pulled her, enveloped her. Amelia didn't know where those terrible energies would take her. Perhaps they would wash away everything she was, her memories, her magic, her existence. Giving up, she closed her eyes and let herself be pulled, surrendering herself to her fate. The feeling of her hand in Harry's would now dissipate, and all she would feel would be nothing.
…
Or would it?
The feeling didn't dissipate. Instead it strengthened. And with it came a whole bunch of other sensations. A terrible wrongness, a rush of vitality, and with it came pain.
Agonising pain.
She was moving away, away from the dark corridor into something familiar.
A world of crimson.
And pain.
And…
And…
Amelia didn't know what it was, but one thing she definitely understood. Harry's fate, her fate, entwined as it was — it all made sense. She focussed her entire attention on the black tendrils dragging her.
Whatever it was, the end it was not.
"INCARCEROUS! STUPEFY! LOCOMOTOR WIBBLY!"
Hestia kept hurling spells at her best friend, as Nymphadora Tonks, despite being wandless, kept proving exactly why she was Alastor Moody's protegee. Alastor Moody who was retired, and for that reason, absent at the World Cup. A good thing, for he too, would be dead otherwise like Kingsley Shacklebolt, Michael Proudfoot, and others. I hadn't sensed Gawain Robards's soul within the stadium so he must have either been outside my established territory, or he wasn't even inside the stadium when the explosion took place.
"UGH!" exclaimed my secretary, shifting from firing basic hexes and stunners to faster offensive spells to take down her best friend who was utilising her metamorph talents like nothing I had ever seen. One moment she was a little girl, the next moment she'd be a tall, ruddy man, and the immediate next, she would be an athletic figure dodging through Hestia's spellfire without the slightest bit of effort. She'd run circles around Hestia, keep dodging in unpredictable ways and kept getting closer and closer, sometimes at me, and at other times, at her, keeping Hestia on her feet and panting as she neared magical exhaustion with every passing second.
"BOMBARDA!" yelled my secretary.
Tonks leaped back and settled with a cold stare at her once best friend. "I guess you've truly changed, huh, Hestia? An exploding curse at your best friend to save a dark wizard that's pretending to be the Boy-Who-Lived? Guess it's always about sex with you, isn't it? You just want to have the best sex, no matter who suffers because of it! First Charlie Weasley and now… but I guess my words wouldn't matter to a traitor like you, would it? I'm not gonna be surprised if you try to kill me next!"
"She won't," said the most surprising voice. "But I will."
Nymphadora snapped to her right, staring flabbergasted at Emmeline Vance, who stood further away, wand aimed at her. "Emmeline, you —"
"PETRIFICUS TOTALUS!"
The full body-bind curse from Hestia hit Tonks, taking advantage of the sudden distraction, and the metamorph Auror stiffened as a rock, rooted on the floor, her eyes glaring at Emmeline Vance who slowly walked up to her.
"Hestia might let her friendship prevail over her thoughts even in such dire situations, but I will not. Harry, continue with the ritual. Is it what we think it is?"
"Close," I said, gritting my teeth as I felt the gathered lifeforce finally converge into the runic circle. Thurisaz had begun working, which meant that the gathered souls would soon lose every bit of their identity. But it also meant that all their fears, all their agony, all their curses at being mutilated in such horrifying manner would also pass through, unless it was filtered by something capable of absorbing it.
That was me.
"Next time, try to be a little subtle with things," scoffed Emmeline. "And if you can't, at least use a bloody privacy ward."
"Did," I said through clenched teeth. "The necromantic energy ate it up."
"That makes sense," said Emmeline, nodding. She turned to Nymphadora. "I know you probably have a hundred and forty-six different things going on in that head of yours right now, Tonks, but trust me, you have no idea of what's going on, and letting you act now is only going to make things worse."
The only thing Tonks could do was clench her teeth.
"Ah, that's unfair. Hestia, you should at least let her speak," chided Emmeline softly, her casual demeanour only making her look crazier. Without waiting for Hestia, the Obliviator twisted her wrist a little, and Nymphadora let out a loud cough, her face now devoid of the binding enchantment.
"Guess he's got you in as well," sneered Tonks.
"The correct grammar would be that he got in me," corrected Emmeline shamelessly at a flabbergasted Tonks. "But I doubt that matters to you any more than to say… what I ate for breakfast yesterday."
"What's wrong with all of you? That imposter —"
"Is Harry Potter," stressed Emmeline with such conviction that even Tonks was caught flatfooted. "Despite how it might look, despite the differences you've seen, and despite the necromancy he's doing right now, trust me, Nymphadora Tonks, that is Harry fucking Potter!"
"And how do you know that?" yelled Tonks.
"I've been inside his mind," said Emmeline coolly, before a cold smirk flashed across her features. "Granted, not as many times as he has in me, but it's the principle that counts. I've seen his memories. I've seen his mindscape. He is unequivocally Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived."
"Can you even hear yourself speak?" snapped Tonks, frothing in the mouth. "You're a married woman, Emmeline! You've got a son that goes to Hogwarts! And you're shamelessly claiming to sleep with a boy, who's currently performing necromancy over the DMLE Director's body, and you and my so-called best friend, both members of the Order of the Phoenix are helping him? Have both of you utterly lost it?"
Emmeline sighed. "I suppose there are times when the full body-bind curse does make sense." She turned at me. "Harry, might I ask you to hurry up and finish whatever you're up to? There's no telling who else might be here and what Lucius Malfoy and his ilk might be planning to do next. Speaking of, you never mentioned anything about an explosion."
"I would have," I said, as the raw emotions from the souls threatened to tear my mind apart. "If I had known. Now let me concentrate."
"Figures," said Emmeline. "Domino effects and all that."
She raised her wand, "Now then, we can do this in, how would Albus put it? The right way and the easy way. The right thing here would be to explain everything to you, and prevail upon you to see sense and not attack us the moment we release you. It means trusting you to understand the severity of the situation and trust that Harry Potter is actually trying to save the DMLE Director, no matter how ghastly or dark the magic he is invoking. It means helping us fight through whatever sinister plans the Death Eaters and Voldemort have planned for tonight."
"Vol— voldemort?" asked Tonks, blanched.
"Yes, remember him? Dark Lord, terrorised the nation for over a decade before this guy here offed him for the better part of two decades? The one that nearly ended half the lineages in Britain because of his hypocritical pureblood supremacy movement?"
"Emmy," warned Hestia. "Stop chatting with her. Just obliviate her and be done for good. Who knows what else might happen?"
"Right. So much for doing what's right versus what's easy," grumbled the Obliviator, making me wonder if she had one too many bottles of firewhiskey from my tent before coming here. "Well Tonks, we don't have the time to explain everything and trust you to keep an open mind and not fuck the night's plans. So, it's gonna be a quick Obliviation. You'll remember passing out from drinking one too many glasses of firewhiskey at the Potter tent. Not exactly something that looks good on one's resume, but hey, after this shitshow of a Quidditch World Cup, everyone needs a pull-up miracle."
She levelled her wand at her face. "Obli —"
"AVADA KEDAVRA!"
The loud casting of the killing curse from afar, followed by the green light that shone amidst the darkness far away stopped Emmeline in her tracks. And with that, a loud and terrifying howl tore through the silence like a tank through a wall of glass.
"... Werewolves," murmured a horrified Hestia, looking up. From the shattered ceiling, the light of the full moon trickled to the floor. "I… I had forgotten."
"An explosion that killed most of our Aurors and hit-wizards," said Emmeline tersely. "And now we've got Death Eaters throwing killing curses and their pet werewolves prowling for prey."
She turned at Nymphadora and gave her a cold glare. "Well, girl? Can I trust you to defend my back or what?"
The metamorph blinked. "I… I suppose I can do that."
"Harry," said Hestia in a defeated voice. "How long do you think —"
"Not for long," I promised her. "As soon as I'm done saving Amelia, I'll join you lot. Until then, one of you needs to protect the Weasleys and Susan and Herm… oh shit!"
Hestia blanched. "Harry, Hermione hasn't morphed during any of the full moons before. There's no reason for her to suddenly shift now."
"True," I said, clenching my teeth. "But she hasn't had this much amount of necromancy pooling around on a full moon night either, has she?"
"I'll take care of it," said Hestia.
"No," said Tonks. "I'm a metamorph. Lycanthropy doesn't affect me. I'll make sure Susan Bones and Granger are safe. Buty I need answers," she levelled a gaze at both women. "And it better be a good one."
And then she left,
I glanced at Emmeline and Hestia.
"Well, go on," said the Obliviator. "Hestia and I will take care of things until then. But don't let us have all the fun alright?"
"I'll try," I said dryly, closing my eyes.
I felt the collected lifeforce take root within Amelia's body, and felt magic surge within her. Her consciousness was missing, as was her soul, and yet, physically, her body was active. Blood was forcibly being circulated by magic. The brain was slowly showing signs of activity.
The dying people around me gave out one last bellow of agony, rage and despair. It was the final scream of someone who knew they were dying and utterly powerless to prevent it and who didn't even know why. Death from the burns and scars and falling masonry was one thing, but feeling their very soul being hacked apart? That was an entirely different experience.
All their life force, their souls were churned and harvested and pulled together by the tendrils, dragging them kicking and screaming out of their very bodies into the runic circle, only for Thurisaz to transform them into neutral lifeforce, and Naudhiz and Perthro to direct their new movements inside a body that would become their own.
I ignored it all. I had come too far to turn back now. The dissolved soul fabrics were all done pouring inside Amelia's unmoving form. It was time to apply the final rune and finish this for good. With shaky hands, I cast the final member of the runic enchantment.
"HAGALAZ!"
The rune of awakening.
I dropped the wand, and raised both hands over her still form. With the confidence that the universe was mine to command, I ordered the darkness.
"GIVE. HER. BACK. TO. ME!"
In the middle of the Potter tent, Hermione Granger suddenly dropped her mug of cocoa, her eyes turning a dark silver. She went still, her eyes dilated, and her breathing momentarily stopped.
"... "Granger?" asked a wary Susan.
A look of surprise and elation flitted through Hermione's silver eyes, before she threw her head and howled in mindless rage as her muscles started to bulge and her jaw cracked and distended into a muzzle full of long, sharp teeth.
Saliva dropped from them.
Her clothes were torn from her morphing figure, and swept away by the raw energy emanating out of her like a wind. Her metallic silver fur reflected the erratic light inside the tent, while looming over her. Standing over eight feet tall, the beast radiated with primal power that was overwhelming to the bulk of the world's population.
Her nose flared and a myriad of scents and magic filled her senses. Dark power. Necromancy was afoot. Fire was burning. Curses. Spellfire. Fear. Danger. Screams escaping into the night from souls as they were being rendered apart. All of that and more were recognized instinctively with a single whiff.
The silver werewolf held up a paw full of sharp, metallic claws. Black fumes of raw necromantic energy oozed out of them.
Lying on the floor in torn, hacked apart robes with a body as pristine as ever, Amelia's body twitched. The black power that was seeping down into her from the runic circle above finally finished its descent, forming a strange inscription right below her neck, in between her breasts.
Dark eyes suddenly shot open and Amelia Bones screamed.
Notes:
If you want to support me, find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Chapter 117: Necromancy 101
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 3 - THE INCUBUS AND NECROMANCER
CHAPTER 117 - NECROMANCY 101
It hurt. It hurt so much.
Amelia screamed and screamed as her entire body was engulfed by an unyielding tide of energy. Fires roared within her, seeping from the pores of her skin, while an arctic tundra threatened to submerge her beneath the weight and all-consuming coldness of a glacier. Her eyes burned and shrivelled in her sockets, only to heal almost instantly, and be burned again. Her entire body flailed like it was being crushed from all directions, her soul screaming to leave this wrongness that was the body and yet something wouldn't let it pass. For a split-second, the little semblance of conscious thought that Amelia had idly noted that if the afterlife was really so bad, it definitely explained why witches and wizards went out of their way to avoid it.
Something cracked within her, and Amelia Bones knew the true definition of the word agony.
Her world, her entire existence was engulfed by massive black tendrils, ripping through her heart and her mind and her soul, her fragile psyche unable to do anything save bearing it impotently as the darkness took root deep within her. There was no explosion, no light, no sound, or force. Rather, it was a mad outpouring of raw power that tore the vicinity apart like a gale of fierce wind, except there was none of it. Blood coated her mouth and back thickening, congealing from liquid to something jet black and semi-solid that began to squirm, turning in on itself and digging into her flesh. Amelia tried to scream, but nothing emerged from her mouth save the same writhing black tendrils that fell from atop and coated her entire form. Her skin wrinkled and dried in seconds, desiccating and invigorating her at the same time, her veins pumping unnaturally and in the wrong direction and then —
Assimilating newly gained magical constitution…
Establishing parity with existing magical affinities…
Enacting…
Adding 21% affinity for Incarnaeum
Amelia didn't know what she was seeing, or why, but she knew one thing. Somehow, Harry Potter was responsible for whatever was happening to her. Her dying in the explosion, she could digest. Her coming back from the dead? She definitely had a problem with that.
Merging innate 61% affinity for Organic Transfiguration with newly added 16% affinity for Hemomancy
Merging Complete
Adding 41% affinity for Fleshcrafting
Adding 29% affinity for Osteomancy
Parity Established
Thousands of questions rushed into her mind. The power that was flowing in was unknown as well. It was strong, stronger than anything she had ever felt within her. Like a part that was always there but she hadn't been able to access.
Her body felt like it was at war with itself. It was an odd sensation, as if two parts of her being, which were normally perfectly compatible with one another, were now fighting to overcome the other simply because the other existed.
Death. Life. Taking. Giving. Darkness. Light.
Conforming with Tether System with established 100% World Anchorage
Configuring Spiritual Baseline for LYCTOR Amelia Bones…
Preconditions Set!
Rendering Complete.
And then the words vanished completely. Amelia Bones opened her eyes.
"Welcome back," said Harry Potter.
She woke up with a raging headache, and a body that throbbed with every breath. Her mind ached, her muscles felt stuff, and groaning in pain, and her body felt like someone had reforged it with lead. She half expected to see herself tied in bandages and lying in some hospital wing, but instead her eyes welcomed her to the macabre vision of a burning and smoky stadium in the aftermath of the explosion. And Harry Potter was….
He was floating in mid-air, cross-legged, his hands fixed in a particular gesture that reminded her of mudras of Ancient India, while energies that felt both detestable and familiar at the same time swirled around her. Energy that she recognized as Dark beyond comparison and yet utterly right, like they were just as much natural as the air she breathed in and out.
And then it hit her.
"Harry —"
"I told you, Amelia," said Harry softly, and despite the screams and yells outside, she could hear him without any issue. Like he was something more than human. "I won't let you die alone."
"But I — I died. I died, didn't I?"
"You did."
"And then… you brought me back."
"Well technically I wouldn't call you dead. I mean your soul had departed from your body, but it hadn't truly crossed the threshold. Getting it to reconsider coming back would be tricky, what with your Scandinavian ancestry."
None of his words made sense.
"Harry, if I died —"
"Yes, Amelia. I resurrected you. Merlin's Beard, any dimwit can see that."
Amelia was caught up between digesting the ludicrousness of what he had just said; the memory of herself fruitlessly attempting to shield against the explosion, before a massive piece of rock from above crushed her body before the flames overpowered her; her pristine looking body that was bereft of all injuries; the idea that she had been dead, and most importantly, that Harry Potter had been the one to resurrect her.
Finally, she exhaled. "You used… dark magic."
"Technically, that's Necromancy, though I did bypass several of the steps."
"Harry, Inferi Creation is against the law."
Harry gave her a flabbergasted look. "Are you seriously threatening me with prison-time over resurrecting you from the dead? If it helps, I certainly didn't raise you as an Inferius or apply fleshcrafting to clothe you with a flesh mask. Your body is alive and pure, well, relatively speaking. Now get up, we've got work to do. Your little international cooperation event is in shatters, and before you yell at me, I had no idea they were going to pull off something like this. A bit of fire here and there with spells going around, maybe, but detonating the freaking stadium? Clearly someone's been aiming to be an overachiever in Malfoy's little group."
He was telling the truth. How she knew that, she had no idea. But she did. The stench of his magic was anything but the darkest of its kind. Every single time she had met Harry Potter, the power within him was warm and bright and blazing. Now though, it was imploding into itself, like a self-devouring hole that would suck the entire universe inside it if allowed the chance. How the person she had met just moments ago could alter his magic into something this twisted she had no idea, but she knew that the reality was most possibly stranger than anything she could imagine.
Instead, she glanced at the bodies strewn apart and dead all over the floor. She recognized several of them as her own juniors. Michael Proudfoot — he had been looking forward to a promotion this Christmas. She herself had filed the form. Kingsley Shacklebolt, his skull cracked open from one side with a large metal apparatus tearing through the middle of his body, severing him in half. She had been grooming the man to be her replacement when the time came. David Savage; younger brother of Senior Auror Cornelius Savage - the elder had always hated that he shared his name with the incompetent Minister of Magic — so many dead, so many of her men and women , hit-wizards, Aurors, civilians, all of them dead.
Fury rose within her. She turned to Harry, the dark power within her seeking vengeance. "You knew! You knew something was about to happen! If only you —"
"Nothing would change!" snapped Harry. Something about his voice made Amelia flinch. It was less human and more like metal grating on glass. "Nothing… look, I know you've questions about all this, and you are upset about whatever's happened, but trust me, I only had one shot at saving your life over others and I chose you, Now you can either call me selfish and a dark wizard for performing Necromancy, or you can use this opportunity to seek vengeance on those that have killed all these innocent people."
His eyes dared her to challenge him.
"Go on, Choose."
When Amelia didn't speak at all, Harry said. "Look, I need you to listen carefully. Malfoy and the other Death Eaters have planned something really big."
Amelia let out a hollow laugh. What could be bigger than literally crippling the DMLE in one single strike?
"I'm not sure what it is," said Harry. "But there are a lot of people out there in Death-Eater masks, hurling killing curses. Oh, and they've brought werewolves with them. My secretary Hestia Jones is out there fighting them, and Emmeline Vance is with her. You know her, right?"
"Head Obliviator. But how do you —" she paused at his glare. "Go on."
"They'll need help. Hit-wizard help."
Amelia didn't need telling twice. She stood up, and wandlessly summoned her wand from the debris around. Her body felt perfectly fine, with absolutely zero injuries, something that would no doubt change soon. She reached out into herself and felt some tiny relief to find her magical reserves there, pulsing and strong. However, unlike the metaphysical ball of solid power that was ready to be used whenever needed, the reserves felt larger, restless and agitated. It no longer sat there, ready and humming inside her contently as it waited to be used. Instead, it practically surged out of her with an almost conscious predatory desire to be unleashed.
"What about you?" She asked. "I might be the DMLE Director, but there's just one of me here. Your skills could come in handy now."
"They could, and they will," said Harry calmly, and for the life of her, Amelia couldn't bring herself to interrupt him. "But it doesn't solve the problem, Amelia. It's a full moon night, and there are werewolves out there. Auror Tonks is out there protecting Susan, and as useful as I would be in a spellfight, I think I can contribute to more by being here."
"But —"
"Trust me, Amelia."
Amelia scowled at him. "You know you're lucky I love you?"
"Oh please," said Harry, smirking. "You only love me because of life-affirming sex."
Amelia snorted. Life-affirming indeed. "I'm going out. Don't keep me waiting out there, Potter. I want to see exactly how you fare compared to this old lady."
"Old lady my arse," grumbled Harry. "Now go. Also, don't go after Lucius Malfoy. He's mine."
"Can't guarantee that. Finders, keepers, as they say."
"Amelia!"
Smirking, Amelia quickly summoned her spare copy of protective gear she had kept in the Bones tent, and adorned it, activating the protective enchantments within. It wouldn't save her from the Unforgivables, but it would deflect most hexes and redirect physical damage so long as it wasn't overwhelming.
"Lucius is mine. You can have the rest." There was no negotiation in his tone.
…finally, something she could understand. A mutual distaste for one of the Death Eaters that bordered on irrationality. Then again, he had promised her back in her manor, that he planned to take care of Malfoy for good before the summer vacation was over.
"Pending that the bastard doesn't get in my way on his own merit, or has his face hidden with a Death-Eater mask, I'm willing to accept that."
"Don't tempt the world," he said. "It will probably take your words as a personal challenge."
This time Amelia smiled lightly. She couldn't tell if he was truly being serious, or just worried about what would follow if she did steal his prey from his hands.
"Good hunting," he told her.
Amelia opened her mouth to say something, but instead she just nodded and left, leaving Harry Potter free to wrought whatever madness he had in mind next.
The moment Amelia vanished into the woods, I exhaled and allowed myself to let go of the breath I was holding. As a child, I had read that no plan ever survives the enemy. With Lucius Malfoy deciding to literally bomb the fuck out of the DMLE's core strength in one single cataclysmic explosion, I now know it's true.
Clearly if anyone up there was trying to teach me a little humility, they were getting it right.
Closing my eyes, I mentally reviewed my next great bout of insanity. Being an Necromancer was unlike anything I had ever experienced. At least there I knew and understood the nature of the creature that I was, the instincts it operated on, and given the teenage propensity for lust, it was all too easy to pretend that I just had a superpower to get women's panties wet, instead of being a wholly different creature that operated on the fabric of emotions in the same way a tailor did with cloth.
But the necromancer? That was another thing entirely. Even if I tried, I couldn't really explain to you what it felt like. The moment I switch gears into Necromancer mode, I don't just gain Tom Riddle's affinities for the various strata of Necromancy, I become Tom Riddle. Okay, I don't necessarily have the homicidal glitches he thinks is part of his winning personality, but I believe in what he does. In what every necromancer does.
It's like, I can actually experience my brain working differently. Working faster. Operating from a perspective that's absolutely alien yet intimately familiar at the same time. It's not only about a different sort of power, no. I also have a lifetime of knowledge, of his knowledge. And most of it is so intertwined with the horcrux that it's part of me.
And that knowledge was currently telling me of all the fascinating and terrifyingly brilliant things I could do right now. The massive detonation, the shock, the deaths, the ambient magic arising out of helpless of the people that were about to die, the anger, the rage, the fear of never seeing their loved ones again, the hatred against those that shattered their happy lives — the sheer amount of emotion was saturating the atmosphere, making it alive of sorts, the way you have in a haunted house in the movies? But to a necromancer, that's me, it felt like sitting in a well with a ton of dark spiritual energy all around me.
Energy that I could use for a number of very exciting applications.
So I called them in. The necromantic energy that I had called upon. The raw emotions lingering around the corpses and manifested shades. The predatory spirits set free in the moonlight outside. All the fear and trauma that had been skyrocketing since the explosion. The turbulence caused by the explosion itself. I gathered it all, and got it swirling together in a big circle, crafting a vortex of sorts. In the right conditions, I could have drawn it all into myself, altering my own magical constitution to become something more. With so many people dead and the DMLE crippled, it would be exceedingly easy to draw off the life of every living being within a vicinity, and use them to elevate myself into some kind of Necromancer demigod.
Necrolord Primus
I blinked, surprised at the suggestion from the Screen popping up. No surprises there. If upgrades for the Incubus existed, the Necromancer should be no different. On second thought, Necrolord Primus was way cooler as a title than Incubus Lord. For a moment, I wondered what conditions I needed to set off before achieving that particular title….
CONDITION FOR NECROLORD PRIMUS
Activation of Title — The Road Not Taken
Creation of 7 Lyctors (Current Lyctor Count: 1)
OR
Create 7 Horcruxes
That was… illuminating.
I had already created one Lyctor, which I assumed was the Necromancer-equivalent of Lilim, so I needed to perform six more. With so many dead bodies around and such intense negative emotions running rampant in the air, perhaps….
I was tempted. I was only human.
But I didn't.
Because as much as the current 'Me' wanted it, I wasn't just a necromancer. I was an Incubus Lord too, or close to becoming one, once I activated Lecherous Shrine. While Incubi fed on emotions and used the magic of life, love and lust, necromancers delved deeper into the path of Death, not just making a mockery of life, but also attempting to go against the Order of the Universe. The two paths were not just different, but complete and utter opposites, and the only way to travel between both and craft a path where opposites converged into one, where Life and Death co-existed within one entity, was to activate the Title the Screen had granted me — The Road Not Taken.
One that would take me considerable time to fulfil first.
I glanced at the Screen again.
CONDITION FOR NECROLORD PRIMUS
Activation of Title — The Road Not Taken
Creation of 7 Lyctors (Current Lyctor Count: 1)
OR
Create 7 Horcruxes
Tempting. So very tempting.
A part of me pointed out that if I was feeling queasy about my chances, afraid that things would go wrong and the backlash would kill me, I could always go for a safer alternative. I could gather all of the swirling energies and use it to fashion an artefact or relic of great power — the necromantic equivalent of Gryffindor's blade or Ravenclaw's Diadem or perhaps, to use a relatively modern example, the Philosopher's stone.
It was a valid option, and yet, what I was attempting was something that was both greater and lesser at the same time.. A feat that would turn any self-respecting necromancer green with envy, and yet sneer at me with disgust and disdain for using something so spectacular for something so… pedestrian.
With a flick of my finger, the Peverell Cloak of Invisibility — Death's Cloak, rose out of my mokeskin pouch, and settled over my shoulders and back like a loved one hugging me from behind. As an Incubus, I had never quite felt anything significant arising out of it, but now…
Now I felt its power echo through my mind, like a song forever being sung without anyone to hear it.
I raised both hands, and cast my first rune.
"EIHWAZ!"
The rune of Death. It represented a Yew tree, associated with death, balance and enlightenment. Death was the opposite and balancer of Life, while Light was balanced by Shadow. For Necromancers that travelled the path of shadows, and sought enlightenment in Death, Eihwaz was the go-to rune for majority of their rituals.
I raised both hands, and a massive runic circle began to form, the gathered energy cumulating above me, spinning in the form of a vast mandala above my head.
"PERTHRO!"
The sigils of a dice cup formed in the air before me. Perthro was one of the more abstract runes out there, symbolising Fate, Chance, Mystery and Destiny. None of the people that had perished within this stadium had died magical deaths, like say, by the killing curse. The explosion had killed them in an otherwise mundane method, which meant that the raw emotion of shock, fear, agony, suffering, helplessness… all of it was still there, lingering around their bodies. For those sensitive to such things, it was like being in an oppressive, malevolent, and stagnant atmosphere. The entire zone would probably become a haunted zone, if not properly sanctified. Come to think of it, I could bind all these leftover remnants of desires and emotions, and thus magic, and confine them within an even smaller area. It would be no different than a facsimile of Azkaban prison and ideal for breeding demen—
I shook my head. The toxic energies and the necromancer's mindset were messing with my thoughts.
I focussed on the Perthro rune again. Like I said, the people here had died natural deaths. Their souls hadn't suddenly sundered away, like they would have, had they been killed with the killing curse, or stabbed with one of my Necromantic-energy imbued blades I had stored up in the Potter tent. The souls were still around, floating in Limbo, the shock of their deaths still restraining them from Passing On. And that was what I intended to use in my favour.
Algiz came next, the rune of Defense and Group Effort. Sowilo, to grant them power. Ehwaz, the rune of transportation. To facilitate their shift from the Limbo world to the mortal one, using their emotions to find a way back. I wasn't attempting to bring them all back. Oh no, just attempting to resurrect Amelia had required me to kill dozens of others that were close to dying but technically alive. Attempting to summon all these souls would not only require a threshold that was impossible for me to supply, it would also create a spiritual vacuum of sorts that would implode, taking myself and every single Life within a radius of a mile or more.
No, what I was attempting was something similar to the Brother-Wand Effect between Harry's holly wand and Voldemort's yew wand, which caused the losing wand — Voldemort's, to temporarily regurgitate the memories of the last spells cast by it, resulting in summoning of shades of Harry's parents, Cedric Diggory and the others. Only there was no regurgitation this time. I was attempting to use those lingering emotions to craft a temporary facsimile of the original personality, complete with memories, a transient shade that could possess their own dead bodies, after I raised them as Inferi.
It was terrifying. Dangerous. Enthralling. The power to infuse Unlife into a dead body, to not create a sock-puppet inferi, but an actual consciousness, however temporary, and have it behave like a living, breathing person….
This was the power of a god.
A god of Death.
If a Necromancer could do this, just what could a Necrolord Primus do? And….
And if I could gather the other two Hallows then…
A humm of anticipation echoed into my very soul, one that had arisen not from my own thoughts, but from the Cloak on my person.
Oh yes, very exciting possibilities, indeed.
It was time to cast the final rune.
"DAGAZ!"
The results were absolutely spectacular.
Notes:
If you want to support me, find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Next Update is on 5th November.Also, I am finally done preparing chapters ahead. Expect a steady schedule with 6 updates a month like before.
Chapter 118: Nightmare At The World Cup Part 1
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 3 - THE INCUBUS AND NECROMANCER
CHAPTER 118 - NIGHTMARE AT THE WORLD CUP PART 1
Deeper into the woods, Hestia and Emmeline were rushing in as fast as they could at the sounds of the screams that penetrated into the heart of the forest. Emmeline had cast the fog-making charm Nebulus as they ran, making it difficult for anyone to follow them. The anti-apparition and anti-portkey wards were still out there, but they didn't prevent anyone from physically crossing those wards and walking in. An obvious defect in the planning, which was what probably allowed the werewolves to enter into the World Cup site.
Then she caught it.
It was a wild, fierce smell, something that hit her hindbrain and set the hairs all along her spine up straight. The musk of the creature's odour, merged with the scent of urine, a little bit of blood and meat, and the faint sweetness of marrow with the rasping dryness of cracked bone.
More importantly, it was a smell she was quite used to, having lived with a werewolf for the better part of three years. The reek hit her as they closed in on the invaders — large, wolfish forms with massive, fur-outlined bodies and gnarled, muscular limbs. Easily six foot and above, their bodies covered with mane and fur with sharp claws that could tear a human body in a single go with just raw power.
The beast noticed her, and came rushing, howling as it leaped towards her, eager to make her its night's snack, when a concentrated burst of precisely aimed energy smashed into it like a truck hitting a car. The creature's body went full rag doll, flying back from the impact in an explosive crackling of breaking bone — only to hit against a large old oak standing stolidly in its way.
"Sectumsempra!" Hestia snapped, casting the spell Harry had taught her recently. The dark severing curse struck the fallen werewolf, slicing it into several pieces in one go. The physical remains splattered away, leaving a bloody smear in its wake. The individual pieces twitched for a few seconds, and then went still. The largest portion, the one with the head, let out a death rattle before life vanished from its eyes.
"Dark, dangerous, and dirty," commented Emmeline. "Where did you learn that spell?"
"Harry taught it to me," Hestia said, noting the effects of her skill. This was the first time she had used it against a real opponent. "He warned me not to use it unless I wanted to kill the other person, or well, beast, I guess."
"You're lucky that werewolves classify as beasts," said Emmeline. "I'd be oath-bound to take you into custody otherwise."
"Trust me, before the night is over, you'll thank Merlin and Morgana and the Four Founders that I knew this spell."
"And why is that?"
Hestia's response was to raise her wand up, and say, "ACCIO HARRY'S DAGGERS!"
As always, Magic didn't care for the specifics very much, and a pair of daggers came flying at her. Emmeline squealed and hastily jumped to her right, just in time to avoid being scratched by one of the daggers that came zooming from behind. Hestia caught the pair, and grinning shamelessly, cast the anti-summoning charm on them.
"The first rule for fighting a werewolf," said Hestia. "They are stronger than you, faster than you, and can regenerate faster than you can say Stupefy. So if you get the chance, hit them with the nastiest shit you've got."
She held one of the daggers, which Emmeline took reluctantly. "Imbued with necromancy from back then. Even a slight nick should slow them down, if not kill them, so be careful."
"Aye-aye," said Emmeline.
Hestia rolled her eyes. "Second rule about fighting werewolves. They're pack beasts. Where there's one werewolf…"
"There are more."
"Right, and chances are they'll have a common ancestor. In which case, you're doubly screwed."
Emmeline blinked.
"Bloody ignorance everywhere," Hestia muttered. "What are they teaching in the DMLE these days?" At the Obliviator's raised eyebrow, she explained. "Look, lycanthropy isn't just a magical condition. It's an inheritance, that's why werewolf children are born with lycanthropy ninety percent of the time. And if two werewolves have been bitten by the same werewolf, or are descended from the blood of the same werewolf, then their blood will resonate with each other, heightening their powers. Bottomline, fighting multiple blood-related werewolves is one of the fastest ways of screwing yourself over."
Emmeline digested all that, and looked at the body of the decapitated werewolf. Then she looked at the dagger she held in her left hand. Then a chorus of howls arose that told them that they were coming their way.
"So, uh, can you show me that wand movement again?"
"Just give him a chance! Go out on a date with him! Bloody bollocking date with a bloody necromancer, more like!" growled Nymphadora Tonks as she rushed through the grounds, her body transformed into an athletic female form and amplified further with magic, allowing her to rush at speeds that would make even the fastest muggle sprinter green with envy.
"I swear," she vented. "If that bastard gets Hestia or any of the others killed, I'll make You-Know-Who look like freaking Mahatma Gandhi compared to what I'll do with him."
In hindsight, there was obviously a lot going on that she didn't know about. Potter's sudden visit to Bones manor, the Boss Lady choosing to take two days off from work, possibly her first ever leave during all the time she had been DMLE Director, the sudden changes in Auror drills and the shifts in the patrolling, all of that were heralds of something. Emmeline accusing Potter about the explosion suggested prior intel, or at least, inadequate intel, or else the situation wouldn't have gone FUBAR to this degree.
Still, necromancy? Fire and brimstone; undead corpses; inferi, weird rituals and skeletons rising from the dead? That was the stuff of nightmares. The Boy-Who-Lived was…. Nymphadora couldn't believe she was really saying this, but Potter was supposed to be this suave motherfucker, getting into the pants of every girl, woman and werewolf that risked falling into his path. With the way Hestia sang praises about his cock and his skill at using it, she had wondered if Lily Evans had succubi blood in her ancestry, which the Boy-Who-Lived had activated by accident or something. It would fit in perfectly with the series of curious events littered across the pages of Harry Potter's adventures at Hogwarts.
But a necromancer? That made no bloody sense! Nymphadora knew diddly about necromancers, but even she knew that that lot were celibates. No, it was more like they sacrificed their masculinity, or femininity for that matter, and undertook all sorts of weird rituals to help them walk the valley of the dead.
At least, that was what those fiction books at her dad's place told her.
But Potter—
Her thoughts ceased to a halt, as a loud howl pierced her ears, and Nymphadora reached the outside of the Potter tent, a blasting curse on her lips, and pushed the flaps open and inside was —
SILVERFURSHARPTEETHDARKEYESHUGECLAWSHOWLINGANGRYMADMERLINITWILLKILLME—
"REDUCTO!"
— fired her strongest blasting hex at the silvery werewolf that was approaching her. The beast's eyes widened as it dodged her spell with remarkable ease, its claws tearing through the magical tent like knife through butter, causing part of the tent's spatial charms to instantly give away and crash at places. For Tonks, it was like being inside an actual house while it was crashing from atop. Theoretically, she knew that the ceiling was nothing but conjuration that would dissipate upon contact with a simple Finite but that didn't make it feel any less scary.
Especially with a mammoth-sized silver-furred werewolf with claws emanating black fumes similar to the kind she had seen Harry Potter invoke just moments ago in the middle of the burning stadium.
While he was performing Necromancy.
"AAGH! What's happening —" shrieked Susan from inside, when Nymphadora heard a gruff voice outside shout —
"INCENDIO!"
Tonks cursed her breath, and jumped to her left this time, just in time to avoid the rush of flames that came from behind her.
Really, could things get any worse? The tent was collapsing, Susan was inside, Granger had morphed into a werewolf and lost control of her senses, and some sonofabitch was casting the flame charm at the Potter tent from outside. Her Auror instincts kicking in, she rolled twice to get as further away from the werewolf as possible and cast the glass-shattering jinx.
A tiny, seemingly inconsequential little spell she had learnt back in First-year, and used it to great effect to prove that she was magically unstable and could cause accidental magic — by shattering windows around her. It had been enough to keep the more offensive bullies at bay. Even as an Auror cadet, she had used it so many times as a distraction that casting it silently and wandlessly had become second nature to her.
Right now though, it was the other effect of the spell that came to her aid. Werewolves were faster, stronger, sharper with greater reflexes that witches and wizards could even imagine. And with that came greater sensitivity to external stimuli.
The werewolf — Granger staggered and fell backwards, clutching its ears in agony in response to the ultrasonic sound emanated from Nymphadora's wand, howling in pain. Nymphadora took that moment to take a breath and look for Susan when —
"BOMBARDA!"
A wave of physical might struck her from behind, landing her spreadeagled on the floor, the pain shooting up her broken spine tearing through her mind. Anybody else would have been paralysed for good, but Nymphadora Tonks wasn't just an ordinary witch, she was a metamorph. In the middle of the pain, she partially deconstructed her spine, and reconstructed it back. Rolling to one side she yelled —
"CONFRINGO DUO!"
She had aimed to strike the pillar next to her attackers. Unfortunately, her coordination from the sudden resetting of her spine hadn't been perfect. That and the emotions running rampant within her made what should have been a powerful wall of blasting force to turn into an orb of light purple shooting out of her wand and hitting the Death-Eater closest to her in the ribs, causing his chest to explode.
The man was dead before his body hit the floor.
The second Death-eater was caught completely unaware. And right then, an angry howl alerted Tonks to the other and more dangerous threat in her vicinity and she twisted her wand in hopes to conjure a shield, but the werewolf simply leapt over her and crashed into the remaining Death-Eater, clawing his face off in one go.
The bastard didn't even get a chance to yell in shock before the light of life escaped his eyes.
"PETRIFICUS TOTALUS!" yelled Nymphadora, but this time, the werewolf snapped its claws, the fumes dissipating her curse before it could have any effect.
"Fo…r… sake, Gahl…." the werewolf growled in confusion.
Nymphadora blinked. It took her a couple of seconds to absorb the impossibility that the werewolf — Hermione Granger — was actually speaking to her. Then she noted that the beast was actually sitting down placidly on its hind legs very much like a human being, tilting its head as it rubbed its injured ears that were slowly healing back.
"...Granger? You're… you're in control?"
"Bloody… gering 'Ell!" growled Hermione the werewolf in annoyance, her ears perking up as she sniffed around. "Of cuss…sss.. I'm! Vy… Tack me?"
"How the hell are you in control?"
"Vell," said Hermione, her morphed vocal chords giving her a crude, pseudo-Russian accent. "Clean liv'n, right diet," — grunt — "'n luck. Hard to say it goo' or bad luck."
She growled softly. "Vy attack me?"
"Potter told us there was a chance you'd transform. I heard Susan's scream and I walked in and thought the worst."
"I din 'tack S'san. She's —"
"What the hell is going on?" came the voice of an annoyed Susan Bones as she rushed in from the other side of the tent. She regarded the two bodies on the floor, then at the tear on the roof that had caused a quarter of the tent to collapse, and then at the growing flames trying to consume the tent from one direction. Then she looked at Tonks, and finally at the werewolf.
"'Er fault!" growled Hermione Granger, pointing a claw at Tonks.
Susan didn't look happy at all.
Witches and wizards, even those that weren't Albus Dumbledore, were physically a lot more agile and powerful compared to muggles. Hestia proved this effectively by leaping nearly twenty feet into the air straight up, thanks to an Ascending charm, avoiding multiple streams of spells launched at her by the attackers clad in Death Eater attire, before launching an overpowered severing hex at them. It was a display of truly phenomenal agility and flexibility in spellcraft.
Emmeline, ever the efficient soul, chose instead to just duck, letting it go over her head by an inch.
Show-off. The two witches thought of each other at the exact same instant.
"AVADA KEDAVRA!"
Instantly Hestia hurled herself to the ground and took aim at her attacker, unleashing a Fumos hex, surrounding the figure with dense, black fumes, obstructing his vision. A small vengeful smile formed on her lips as she aimed for his groin.
"REDUCTO!"
Emmeline, on the other hand, was flicking her wand in a set of complicated movements, casting the Flagrante curse upon the rubble on the forest floor, before coupling the Ventus and Animatus charms together to hit the werewolves. The moment a single of them made contact, it produced intense white heat, enough to scorch if not outright liquify the organs at the point of exposure. The three Death Eaters supporting the werewolves quickly cast shield charms, but the intense heat added with the momentum of the attack shattered their shields and forced them backwards.
Hestia wasn't that skilled with Animation, so she just cast a fire-whip and began slashing at the werewolves to keep them at bay.
It wasn't enough.
More than a dozen attackers came their way, jumping from tree to tree, branch to branch, using both the night and the forest as their cover, and the extreme agility to dodge the best of everything the two witches had to unleash on them. The Death Eaters too had changed tactics. While initially caught by surprise at the sudden resistance, they were quickly shifting to sneak tactics by disillusioning themselves and attacking from the shadows, while letting the werewolves take the lead. Where and how those bastards had learned to keep those werewolves on the leash was anybody's guess.
"REDUCTO! IMMOBULUS!" screamed Emmeline. "ARRESTO MOMENTUM!"
Another flash of light hit a werewolf, stunning it and hurling it in mid-air, only to freeze like that. A slash from Hestia's fire-whip relieved it of its head.
"We're surrounded," said Emmeline, frowning. "There are too many of them. We can't deal with them alone. Hestia, we…."
Hestia's mouth worked and twisted, but no words came out. How could they? Words couldn't possibly contain the frustration, the rage, the fear that poured out through her. It cut through her weariness, sharp as thorns and barbed wire. It wasn't fair. Harry Potter had faced Voldemort and his Death Eaters, his summoned demons and everything that madman had brought to destroy this world. He had fought them for years, and now, time-travelled to the past to stop things from going down that path. He was already doing his best, and yet, Destiny, the cold-hearted bitch that it was, was already changing things, making events happen that hadn't happened before. Malfoy and his ilk were supposed to conduct a little show of power. Instead they had gone ahead with a devastating attack that had all but crippled the DMLE, and Harry, who could have evened the odds for her, was held back in attempting to save Amelia Bones in a last-ditch attempt.
And these werewolves… even if she and Emmeline and the others managed to kill or incapacitate them all, it wouldn't matter. The werewolves were just pawns, foot soldiers in the war. The real people out there would still survive, and use their political power to influence the Wizengamot to go deeper into their twisted bigotry until they had the nation ready to be served in a nice plate to the Dark Lord post his resurrection.
It wasn't fair. They were doing everything they could. They had risked everything.
And they had lost.
And now they were going to die.
The realisation, the despair, the loathing, the helpless fury could affect someone badly. It would crumble them like brittle concrete, or melt them like dirty lead, or shatter them like cheap glass. Hestia only knew what it did to her.
It set her on fire.
Fire in her heart, in her thoughts, in her eyes. She burned, burned deep down in her gut, burned in places she hadn't known she could hurt.
Hestia hadn't revealed this to Harry Potter, but ever since she had come to know about her natural affinity for the Dark Arts, she had gone through some of the volumes that Harry studied for bettering his warcraft. She had come across one spell, one that could turn the tables, but if she failed, could burn the entire forest down and every single man, woman and child with it.
She remembered reaching out for the pain within her, thinking that if she had to die, then so help her, she could take these murdering, bloodthirsty sons of bitches with her. The anti-apparition and anti-portkey wards would definitely keep people from escaping, and she was sure there were more Death-Eaters further up north.
Emmeline must have sensed something, and stood back to back with her, because the next thing Hestia remembered was thrusting her wand up towards the heavens and yelling —
"BURN YOU BASTARDS! BURN! PROTEGO DIABOLICA!"
She reached for fire. And fire answered her.
A circle of intense, bright, teal flames exploded in blazes around them. The flames leapt up five feet, ten feet, twenty feet, and with a flick of her wand, Hestia sent the flames rushing in every direction, the wind around her roaring around in a gale. Unlike ordinary fire, it did not seem to spread upon contact with the foliage, but whatever came into its contact was incinerated instantly. A werewolf tried leaping off a tall tree branch to bypass the flames, only for the fire to leap up into the air and grab the creature, scorching it in an instant.
The werewolf was reduced to cinders before it crossed the boundary.
"WHAT MAGIC IS THIS?" asked Emmeline from behind.
Hestia didn't respond. As she stood inside the flaming ring, Hestia's mind was brilliantly lit with the power coursing through her. It burned her, and some part of her screamed in joy that it did. Her robes flapped and danced in the gale, as the flames grabbed every single werewolf and two of the Death Eaters within its grasp, scorching them for good.
"AVADA KEDAVRA!" yelled another masked figure, but the spell clashed against the roaring flames and was deflected away.
"Alright," said Hestia slowly. "Apparently the Protego Diabolis can deflect the killing curse. You learn something new everyday."
The fury within it grew and grew. It swelled and burned and surged out of the flaming barrier, a claw of teal flame, swooping at the Death Eater who had stepped in a little too close. It tore through the hastily raised shield, impaling the person through the chest. The only thing to escape was a scream of agony, before he was incinerated to ash. The others that had managed to escape would forever be scarred and handicapped, and those less fortunate just twitched, while most lay dreadfully, perfectly still.
Dead.
Hestia tightened her grip on the wand, but the flames still rose outward, clashing against her intent to restrain it. The next thing she knew, a wild animalistic roar that was too huge to be classified as sound, rose and expanded into a firestorm, before a massive wild boar, demonic variations of the wild spirits, arose from the flames. It threw its head back, its tusks rising high, and belched out gouts of teal flame into the sky.
"Hestia!" Emmeline yelled. "That's enough. End your spell right now!"
"Gosh, I'd have never thought of that," Hestia snarked. "Only problem is that I can't."
"Can't?"
Hestia winced in pain, sweat forming all over her body and face. "This spell is fueled by negative emotions. Pain, rage, helplessness, a desire to protect one's loved ones no matter what. And there's a lot of negative emotions running rampant in this area right now, and it's causing the spell to react —"
As if to confirm her words, a horrifying rush of heat exploded, as the wild boar galloped two massive steps ahead and unleashed a torrent of flame, creating a clearing in the woods.
"...yeah, just like that," she finished, a bit lamely. "So long as this place is rich with emotions, it's gonna be a tough nut to crack."
"So long as there is emotion…." Emmeline paused as it hit her. "Hestia, use Occlumency!"
"What? Weren't you listening to —"
"Just shut up and do it! Occlude your mind! Silence every single emotion."
"Yeah that would be great. Only I'd lose control of the spell and let it destroy the entire area."
"Trying to contain it is guzzling through your reserves anyway, Hestia," Emmeline argued. "Sooner or later, it'll drain you dry. Better to let it loose now, and then attempt something else."
Hestia thought about arguing, but Emmeline was the psychomancy expert. Everything she knew about controlling her mind and manipulating her emotions came from her. "Fine, we do this your way. But I swear if this doesn't work…"
"If it doesn't work and we die horribly, you have permission to hate me."
"..."
"Occlude, girl!"
Hestia shut her eyes, receding into the safety of her mindscape, one that had taken her an inordinate amount of time to build. It wasn't anything fancy, just an ordinary muggle establishment overlooking the sea. The presence of the sea, its waves clashing against the shore always had a way of making her feel comforted. Emmeline had commented on the irony that Hestia found calmness in the aggression of the waves during the time she was slowly building her mindscape, but she had jutted it down to her idiosyncrasies. Every mind was unique after all.
Only this time, her mindscape wasn't what she had expected. The establishment had been burned down, as if a viral infection from outside had corrupted it beyond recognition. Where there should have been a nice, elegant hotel with marble floors now lay masses of shattered stone and cold, dead, half-melted scraps of iron.
The waves of pristine, oceanic blue had taken a teal sheen, and were crashing against the building, demolishing it yet again with every single sweep. It would keep doing that, taking away just a little with every sweep, until just a blank void existed.
Until she was nothing.
Like she had always been.
Like she would forever be.
Lies, whispered a gentle voice in her ear. That might have been true before, when there was nothing but emptiness within you. But it isn't like that anymore.
You are not alone.
No, Hestia thought, or at least the thoughts felt like her own. There's nothing. I'm nothing. All alone, burning and burning until there is nothing left. Nothing….
She shut her eyes.
"Shutting it away will not unmake the truth, Hestia."
Her eyes snapped open, and she spun around, her eyes widening as she fumbled, trying to believe what she was seeing. Standing there, wearing a sleeveless shirt and pants, looking ready for some fun time on the beach, was Harry Potter.
"Hey!" He waved.
"You… No, nononono…. This is an illusion. How can you be inside my mindscape? You —"
"Really, Hestia? I told you all about time-travel and being an Incubus and turned you into a Lilim. You digested all of that. But I show up in your mindscape, and that's when things enter loopy territory?"
Hestia couldn't help but chuckle at his words. "Yeah, when you put it like that… I guess…."
"But you're not wrong. I'm not, after all, Harry Potter. Not the one you know anyway."
Hestia blinked. "Then you —"
"This place isn't real. Neither are you. Nor am I. The real me out there is…" he trailed off, and Hestia thought she saw a flash of terrifying rage flicker through his features for a split second. "But you are here. And I am here."
"But… how?"
"You are my Lilim, aren't I? What kind of Incubus Lord would I be if I didn't take responsibility?"
"But…" she trailed off. Her mindscape was already in shatters. The Diabolis spell was tearing through her mindscape, corrupting her from inside. "I shouldn't have used that spell so recklessly."
"You shouldn't have."
"And now I don't have a mindscape anymore," she lamented.
"There is no free lunch, Hestia. But everything's not lost."
"No?" Hestia challenged. "The spell is burning my spirit. It's corrupting me. You being here, cheering me up, doesn't help, until the real you —"
"The REAL ME is busy raising the DEAD!" thundered Harry Potter. His voice made her entire body thrum in response,something simple and elemental that didn't care how long it held her in torment. Her muscles and ligaments from everywhere were at the trembling breaking point. Her own heartbeat was torment. Her face burned.
"HARRY POTTER WAS GIVEN THE POWER OF LIFE! TO PLAY WITH THE FABRIC OF EMOTION, OF MAGIC ITSELF!"
The sandy floor beneath her feet shattered like glass. Like the sound of a cannon's blast, a spiderweb of crevices tore out in all directions.
"INSTEAD HE SEEKS THE COLDNESS OF THE GRAVE!"
He threw his arms upwards at the frozen sky and shouted, utterly furious, and a bolt of scarlet lightning flashed from the seething skies. It smashed into the teal ocean, creating a momentary vacuum before the waves rushed to cover it.
"HE SEEKS TO BECOME THE GATEBREAKER! THE HARBINGER! THE JAWS OF THE END OF THE WORLD!"
The hate coursing through him was a tangible thing, a gravity that strained space around it and couldn't be ignored. Hestia could only stare at him, and knew that she was standing before a power ancient, alien and utterly, utterly savage, one that could crush her like an insect, a power potent and deeper and more deadly than anything that she had ever known. Beside that power, even the army of werewolves, the Death Eaters, or even the out-of-control Protego Diabolis seemed as frail and fleeting as transient shadows.
That she was still there, unmoving was partly out of her fear, but more importantly, she knew in her heart of hearts that Harry Potter would not hurt her.
And then he looked at her, his gaze meeting her own. Not for the first time, Hestia noted her mesmerising his emerald green eyes were up close.
"You are my Lilim, Hestia Jones. And until your Lord is alive, nothing can touch you. Even if the waves of darkness crash against the frontiers of your mind, it cannot, shall not, penetrate the bastion of your Lord."
As he spoke those words, Hestia felt an almost magnetic pull to look behind him. And there it was, on a massive plateau that didn't exist, stood a behemoth of an edifice. To call it majestic would be an insult, for even with both eyes, she couldn't fully picture the entire thing together. Seven stacked platforms, constantly morphing in ways that defied Euclidean geometry, shapes and sculptures and pillars of varying designs, it constantly changed like the insides of a kaleidoscope that was forever coming into focus, with an exception of a doorway that stood at the bottom of the stairs, a permanency attached to the ever-changing edifice.
"What in the world is that?"
"That, my Lilim," said the Incubus Lord, "is Lecherous Shrine."
Notes:
If you want to support me, find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Next Update is on 9th November.
Chapter 119: Nightmare At The World Cup Part2
Notes:
I finally have a Discord server, and although it's still fresh around the corners, there's a lot of potential. Given the nature of the story, I went with the name Penthouse for the server. Let me know if you think it fits.
If you are interested in joining it, following for more updates and snippets, and discussing SED in general, just hop in on the link.
https://discord.gg/jvzqqvHhr7
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 3 - THE INCUBUS AND NECROMANCER
CHAPTER 119 - NIGHTMARE AT THE WORLD CUP PART 2
Emmeline Vance considered what she had just been through, and for the first time in many, many years, was not certain what to make of it.
The explosion at the stadium was a shock, both on a personal level, and as a Ministry personnel. As Head Obliviator, she had been on a first-name basis with many of the DMLE, especially the Senior staff. Hell, Amelia Bones made it a point to run the new recruits through her psychic evaluation before giving them the nod for Cadet-ship. Seeing so many of them lying dead, including Amelia Bones, Emmeline reminded herself, not that the statement would remain true any time soon.
And that led to the second shocking event of the evening.
Harry Potter was resurrecting Amelia Bones. From the dead. True, she had seen him do some truly spectacular things recently, both magically and up close, but this was on a league beyond anything else. Absorbing the raw necromantic energy from the corrupted form of Hermione Granger was one thing, but to keep someone from passing on, to put a stopper on Death and force someone to return into her broken, sundered form and draw breath again, that was something else. It was evil, it was wrong, and yet… It was beautiful. A true miracle. And wasn't that what Magic was truly about? Not just defying a couple of physics' rules or altering biology, but actual resurrection after the body had perished?
It was Magic with a Capital M.
Emmeline had a solid affinity for magical sensing, and the powers she had sensed back inside the burning stadium had been very… intriguing. Twisted, chaotic, bizarre, familiar….
And powerful. Terribly so.
She watched as Hestia followed her directions, shutting her eyes and receding into the safety of her mind. As an Obliviator, she had seen some pretty dangerous hexes, curses and enchantments over her years in and out of office. But not even she had ever come across a defensive spell that was so… dangerously offensive. And if she had learnt this from Harry Potter's private books…
Emmeline licked her lips.
Emmeline as a person had always been attracted to power. Not just raw strength, but esoteric, mind-melting, abstract forms of power. The kind that she had only read about in books, and on very, very rare occasions, watched with her own eyes when Albus Dumbledore had faced off Lord Voldemort.
So yes, say what you will, but she rather liked this new incarnation of Harry Potter. She would take great joy in watching him run wild, exploring his abilities, both as an Incubus Lord, and a Necromancer and turn the upcoming war on its head. Already he had made made changes, gathered quite a number of ladies from influential Houses under his banner, including herself — Head Obliviator, Anastasia, Lady Greengrass, and would be married to Susan Bones, the Lady of House Bones, and while he hadn't quite put it out there, Amelia Bones as well. The 'Iron Lady' was no doubt one of the most formidable entities in the entirety of Wizarding Britain, but that didn't make it any less true that she had a body mature enough to put Emmeline herself to shame. And with Harry's nature as an Incubus, and the sudden familiarity with the DMLE Director only made it more evident that yes, Harry Potter was indeed 'boning' Amelia Bones.
Emmeline had, of course, heard of the stories of James Potter being an old fling of the DMLE Director. To think that James Potter's son would finally dislodge that stick up her arse brought a smile to her face.
All she had to make sure now was that any of these ladies didn't end up playing Harry and use him as a tool.
She glanced at Hestia. The girl was standing utterly stiff, as if under some kind of petrifaction, and Emmeline would have been worried, if not for the fact that the teal flames around them were slowing down, getting smaller and smaller. Truth be told, she had theorised that she and Hestia could attempt freezing charms together, after Hestia cut herself off from this flame spell. It would likely damage further areas of the forest, but at least both of them would be alive. She had not expected… well, this.
She glanced up at the massive flaming boar, roaring and grunting and wanting to escape the flaming domain, only to be held back in place by an invisible hand. Emmeline didn't know what Hestia was doing, or how she had learnt to control the spell with such finesse, but it was working. Holding her wand in a vice grip, she stabbed it into the ground beneath her, yelling —
"FINITE INCANTATEM!"
The general counter spell. An invocation that had no general wand movement, had no standard for energy costs, and had just one and one purpose alone — to dissipate existing magical energies, spell, enchantment, curse or otherwise. She winced as the counter-spell literally guzzled through her reserves, creating a perimeter of white light around her, before spreading radially outward. The flaming boar let out a last defiant roar before being completely subsumed into the flames, which flickered and died, leaving a large area of burnt foliage with both of them in its centre. Emmeline fell down to a knee, while Hestia suddenly unfreezed, and looked at her in surprise.
"Emmy, it's — uh, it's gone. Just as Harry promised!"
"Harry?" Emmeline felt a surge of irritation mixed with surprise at her words. "Have you gone crazy, Hestia? I just —"
No, you don't understand," Hestia said earnestly. "Harry… Harry helped me. In my head. He —"
"Well, well, well, what do we have here?"
Emmeline looked up at the sudden voice, absolutely surprised at the mask-clad Death Eater. Firstly, because it was a female, and second, it was a voice that she knew very well, having had to deal with its owner's obnoxiousness every single day at the Ministry.
"Alecto, is it?" she asked, tilting her head. Alecto Carrow, sister (and lover) of her brother Amycus Carrow, was the Head of the Sub-Department of Regulation of Intoxicating Substances. Her department contributed to about a quarter of headaches for the Obliviation Office, because of their absolute, or perhaps she could call it intentional inefficiency.
"Head Obliviator," said Alecto, vanishing her mask with a wave of her wand. "What is the Lady of the House of Vance and Abbott doing here all alone with that halfblood?"
"Do I know you?" Hestia asked politely, pretending she had not gone through the Order files that registered Alecto and her brother Amycus as 'Marked' Death-Eaters.
"I should hope not," Alecto scoffed, sticking her nose into the air. "I would be abhorred if I was known by someone as lowborn as yourself."
"If you don't like me…. And you think I'm beneath you, and I don't know who you are… then why are you talking to me?"
Emmeline stood up, taking deep breaths. She was already occluding herself, running multiple pathways to consider multiple avenues while also performing psychic exercises to cool her body down and prepare herself for the fight that was quickly approaching. "Speaking of…." She turned to Hestia. "Allow me to introduce you, Alecto Carrow. Head of the Sub-Department of Regulation of Intoxicating Substances. Oh, and her brother is an Obliviator. I swear, both of them are literal nightmares."
"I am a nightmare?" accused Carrow. "You're the one that's being a boot-up my brother's arse."
"Bet he likes it," Hestia quipped.
Alecto turned to Hestia and gave her a look akin to eyeing a particularly nasty worm. "I believe I'll take your tongue after I've torn that head off. Filth like you have a nasty habit of climbing to places you do not deserve. Trust that mudblood filth's son Harry Potter to take a halfblood as his secretary."
Hestia gave her a flabbergasted look. "You hate me… because I am Harry Potter's secretary?"
"Obviously. Harry Potter is the latest of a line of traitors and disappointments. But not to worry! Not to worry! It's to exterminate uppity vermin like you from this world that we began this Purge tonight. With the entire world as witness, we shall take our world back from all those who are unworthy, from those mudbloods and halfbloods who would contaminate our world with their filth!"
"You're being quite boisterous tonight, Alecto," said Emmeline. "Showing up in a Death-Eater attire. Speaking of mutilation and murder and sedition. What? Did hiding your psychopathy become a little too much for you?"
Aleto sneered at her. "Haven't you gotten it already? The stadium is burning, and with it, Britain's reputation and any faith the world has in this government. Tonight has been a demonstration of what we are, and what we can do. And when the Dark Lord returns to power, we shall serve him this world on a silver platter, to rebuild it and shape it in his image. It's really sad that you wouldn't be here to see it, Emmeline Vance. Your blood is just as pure as mine."
"Really?" asked Hestia, raising an eyebrow. "You and what army?"
As if to answer her question, four more figures appeared behind her, their masks gleaming in the darkness. They could also hear the rustling in the trees. Clearly there was more than one werewolf hiding in them, waiting for orders to pounce. No doubt these were from Fenrir Greyback's pack. There was no other way the beasts would follow the likes of Alecto Carrow otherwise.
Emmeline drew a long suffering breath. "You had to ask!"
Alecto turned around at her compatriots who shed their masks. As expected, her brother Amycus was one of them. The other two were Thomas Jugson and Timothy Warrington. Jugson was a Ministry worker in the Department of Transportation, while Warrington ran some shady businesses in Knockturn Alley. His elder brother Nathaniel was the Lord of his House and had a seat on the Wizengamot. The last one was….
"Walden Macnair, she called out aloud. "I didn't think it was possible to see you without that axe of yours. Rumour has it you have it on your person even when sleeping."
Walden gave her a hungry leer, one that made her stop all trains of thought.
Humans shouldn't look at other humans the way he was looking at her. His gaze… something about it sent chills rippling on the nape of her neck. He was analysing her in some way, laced with nefarious intent. A Marked Death-Eater in the last war, Walden Macnair served as the Ministry executioner for the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures. He also had the impeccable record of never missing a single job and carrying them out with an almost religious fervour, enough that he had bagged multiple Employee awards and several pay hikes. Personally, Emmeline believed that it was less because of his work ethic and more because he just liked butchering on general principle.
"Madam Vance," said Amycus with a little bow. "Your blood is just as pure as ours. Why not kill the bitch next to you and join the right side?"
"The right side?"
Next to her, Hestia gripped her wand tighter.
"What are you doing?" Jugson asked. "That's Emmeline Vance! She was high on the list of—"
"Shut up," said Amycus, turning to Emmeline. "She's a respected foe, not some muggle garbage you can take out with the trash."
A foe? Emmeline thought furiously as her mind ran a hundred miles a second, her blood turning to ice. Did that mean they knew about her affiliation to the Order? Impossible. Part of the reason why she supposedly turned a blind eye to her husband's activities was that apart from merely skirting the line, Gideon spent a lot of time hanging around Broderick Greengrass, a man that frequented Lucius Malfoy's business circles. Access to the Greengrasses gave Emmeline a lot of intel that she wouldn't gain otherwise, especially with Anastasia inviting her to parties with the majority of the ladies representing the traditionalist and extremist families. It allowed her to keep a 'proper' public presence while secretly serving the Order's interests. Did that mean someone from the Order had given her away?
Either way, there was a time to converse and a time to fight… and the line that bordered the two was quickly approaching.
"Just one question," she said slowly. "Just what are you aiming to get from this? After the stunt you pulled, surely you can't expect any mercy from the Ministry."
Macnair let out a contemptuous snort.
"The Ministry?" cackled Alecto. She was always the less level-headed of the two. "What Ministry? Look around, Vance. Your vaunted International Cooperation is in shatters. Most of the Aurors and the Hit-wizards are dead. Those that are still living will be butchered by our army before the night is over! Our army is currently targeting all the blood traitor families — the Longbottoms, the Weasleys, Potter," she sneered the name out. "Too bad our Lord wants him alive! I'd have loved to tear his head off with my own hands."
Yeah, good luck with that. Emmeline thought wryly.
"We're the bringer of the changing tide, Lady Vance. Despite your adherence to the law, you are still a valued pureblood. A descendant of an old family. Cut down that filthy halfblood next to you and join us. Someone of your pedigree and skill would be an excellent lieutenant to the Dark Lord's forces."
"Really? You'd do that for me?"
"Of course," said Amycus, completely missing the mockery in her tone. "None of us is ignorant of your prowess. That is why all five of us are here. You can either go down fighting us, expending the last vestiges of your wrath to protect this inconsequential rat," he eyed Hestia with disgust. "Or you can join us. With the DMLE in shatters, perhaps you can be the next DMLE Director, commanding the forces in the Dark Lord's name."
Emmeline opened her mouth to retort, but then she paused, and smiled softly.
"I'm afraid Madam Bones might take offence to that. The Iron Lady is known to be quite the vindictive woman."
Alecto let out a callous laugh. "Amelia Bones is dead, Vance. She was in the centre of the stadium, right where the explosion went off. She did not survive."
"Strange…." came an amused voice from behind Alecto. "I feel pretty alive."
The silence in the forest clearing was deafening as everyone turned to stare at Amelia Bones. She stood at the edge of the forest cover, her body just a little more than a silhouette, but with enough depth to prove that she was no apparition.
Alecto stared at her in shock. "It… can't be."
"Alecto Carrow," said Amelia Bones. "Amycus Carrow. Thomas Jugson. Timothy Warrington. Walden Macnair. This is quite the group. No doubt planned to take out the more skilled witches and wizards if they see through your psychopathy."
Macnair even made a funny little bow at her, his lips twisted in a hateful sneer.
"You… you're dead!" whispered Alecto. "You are DEAD! I made sure you were standing there right when the explosion happened! I — I killed you!"
Amelia Bones tilted her head, and took a step forward. At closer look, Emmeline was able to make out her battle-robes, worn above her Auror robes that looked completely fine. She looked like she had just walked out of her office, not someone that had perished and been resurrected back by a necromancer.
"Strange… I don't remember dying," said Bones softly. "Perhaps you'd like another attempt to kill me for good this time around?"
"You are dead!" Alecto shrieked. "Dead, dead, dead!" She lashed out with her wand and sent a blasting curse at Amelia, which sped harmlessly through her form. Alecto smiled, and then laughed as she spoke. "See?" she said with disdain and a hint of relief. "If you were alive, that would have hurt you! Be gone, ghost!"
"Ghost or…." came an amused voice from behind. "An excellently cast illusion."
The Death Eaters turned around, realising that they had been fooled. There, standing next to the halfblood and Emmeline Vance, stood the DMLE Director, with not a shred of blood on her. Emmeline would never admit it aloud, but seeing the woman like that, with that infectious grin of pure joy on her face left her feeling slightly uncomfortable. Knowing that she was resurrected didn't help matters either.
"So," said Amelia Bones, taking a step forward, her wand already emitting sparks of vengeful crimson. "I noticed quite the body count around this place. Clearly these two witches have been more than what you and your ragtag army could deal with. I'd have thought you'd have learned your lesson."
"Clearly they are not known for their genius," Hestia quipped.
"Clearly," Amelia drawled. She held her hands out. "Well then, shall we dance?"
Emmeline said nothing. As much as she hated to admit it, the body count had less to do with their personal spellwork and more to do with the esoteric spell Hestia had cast. The last time, it had taken the enemy off-guard and unprepared, and they had paid dearly for it. It was clear they were not about to make the same mistake again. No doubt they recognized that a spell like that must have exhausted both of them, which was why they had the audacity to reveal their faces.
Amelia Bones was powerful and skilled, but she was just one witch. Even with everything Emmeline could offer, two witches could not face an entire army alone. It would be stupid to expect Hestia to contribute to the spellfire, and her biting words weren't helping either.
She noted the way the Death Eaters and their pet beasts were encircling them in their unforgiving embrace. They would leave no gaps, follow no rules and attack without mercy. The anti-apparition wards would prevent them from escaping, and the Death Eaters would exploit that to their advantage. And even if just a single werewolf came close, it would slaughter all three of them before they had the chance to blink.
It was a flawless strategy, simple in both plan and execution. There was no reason to believe it would not work, but for some reason Emmeline couldn't bring herself to believe that. She didn't know why, but a subconscious instinct honed from her years of serving in the field warned her that the Death Eaters had already committed a serious blunder. A fatal error that would cost them both their victory and their lives.
That they should have ran.
"KILL THEM ALL!" yelled Alecto.
Streaks of silver, blue, red and purple came from the Death Eaters. Emmeline quickly raised the strongest shield she could conjure, while Hestia tapped on the ground to raise a wall of rock to deflect their attacks. It blocked the spellfire, but also cost them a way out.
"Stupid, now they're gonna come from above —"
The deathly resonating howl erupted from the branches of the trees, as three werewolves leapt into the air, swooping down at them. Emmeline prepared to cast the severing curse Hestia had taught her, but Amelia Bones had other plans. She levelled her wand in the air and called out to the heavens.
"FULMINATA HORRIBILIS!"
In response, a bolt of pure lightning burst out of her wand, branching out in a multitude of tendrils, Faster than the eye could follow, it struck the three werewolves, freezing them in mid-air, their bodies convulsing like a beating heart before they exploded into blood and gore, and only a quick shielding kept all three women from being bathed in werewolf blood.
The other tendrils of lightning streaked towards the trees, and set them up blazing in flames, causing the other werewolves to leap off and seek shelter into the flickering shadows. The sudden force of destruction had gotten to their instincts. The predators knew they had become prey.
And Amelia Bones had just gotten started.
"CONFRINGO MAXIMA! DEFODIO HORRIBILIS! EXPULSO MAXIMA!"
Emmeline watched with a strange mix of fascination, horror and outright envy as Amelia Bones unleashed Hell upon the Death Eaters. Blasting curses that tore the ground apart, hurling the Death Eaters away. Banishing curses that used the aforementioned destroyed terrain as projectiles to crash against the attackers. Gouging curses that impaled through vital organs, and at times, literally decapitated the victim. These were deadly curses, amped up to the sheer destructive power of the Horribilis suffix, an addendum, she idly remembered, was forbidden for any DMLE personnel to use, unless the situation was absolutely a do-or-die situation.
Then again, it is a do-or-die situation, Emmeline mused. For the Death Eaters anyway.
Speaking of Death Eaters, her attackers were momentarily stunned into inaction at the DMLE Director's most vicious response. Amelia Bones had the reputation of a war-hardened veteran, but someone that believed in efficiency and self-preservation over flamboyance. An expert on runecraft and warding that utilised her magic to cast traps to weaken her opponents and neuter them before capturing them with the minimum resistance.
She wasn't supposed to be this insane, maniacal berserker rampaging the field leaving blood and chaos in her wake. She was —
"PROTEGO MAXIMA!" She yelled, her thoughts forgotten, quickly raising a bright silvery shield, as a plethora of spells splattered against it.
"SECTUMSEMPRA!" cried Hestia. The severing curse hit Amycus in his left shoulder, cutting the entire arm off.
"DELETRIUS," said Emmeline lazily. The eradication spell hit the amputated arm and instantly incinerated it to dust. Amycus looked up with vengeful eyes, and —
"AVADA—"
"FLAGRANTE!" said Hestia. "DEFODIO MAXIMA!" said Bones.
Amycus yelled as his wand burned his palm, only to walk right into Bones's gouging spell. His head rolled off into the forest floor, surprise vivid in his eyes.
"Good thinking," said Bones to Hestia. "You've got talent, girl. After all this is over, we should talk."
"I work for Harry," Hestia clarified.
"I know," said Amelia. "But Harry spends the majority of his time at Hogwarts, and I'll pay you better. I've already lost a lot of my men and I'm in need of a new assistant. Interested?"
Hestia blinked. "But… uh, I need to consult my employer before I can —"
"If Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore knew that you gave up the opportunity to become the direct assistant of the DMLE Director with the ability to relay everything you see and hear to them respectively, both will throw you out themselves. Pick and choose, and I don't like to be kept waiting."
"Are we really doing this now?" snapped Emmeline, raising a wall of Earth to shield against multiple exploding curses from Macnair and Alecto.
No time like the present," grinned Amelia, unleashing more forks of lightning at the werewolves that were unfortunate enough to come her way. And there were many, rushing at them like the jaws of a black dragon, a dozen fangs and claws lashing from the darkness that allowed them to attack faster than they normally could. Every single one of them was capable enough of ending a witch's life easily before crushing their body to sticky paste, assuming they didn't eat it afterwards. With the blood resonance in effect, they were a force capable of killing anyone on the planet.
Or so one would think from looking at them anyway.
Amelia Bones charged, ducking under the first werewolf, avoiding its claws that came to decapitate her from above, dragging her wand along its body, a brilliant blue light impaling through the werewolf's body and slicing it in half in a single smooth motion, black gore flooding out at each step. She leaped and spun in mid-air, her wand swirling around her, entrapping two more as the ground erupted, swallowing a leg from each. She spun with the grace of a ballerina, and a hurricane of severing spells erupted out of her wand, hacking and slashing the beasts apart into pieces. She twirled her wand in a flourish, casting a quick Packing charm that captured all the dead werewolf parts and dropped them in a nice heap.
The entire exchange had taken three seconds at best.
"INCENDIO!" She said, turning to Walden Macnair, she locked eyes and whistled. "I can see why you love your job, Macnair. There's something greatly therapeutic about this."
"Are you… enjoying this?" Emmeline couldn't help but ask.
Amelia blinked. "Are you not?"
"Madam Bones," said the man with a twisted grin. "I knew there was a dirty bitch behind that facade."
"You're right," said Bones conversationally. "But the credit for unleashing this bitch goes to someone else. It's really a shame, Macnair."
"Being on the mudbloods' side?" offered Macnair. "Someone of your skill should be on our side, Madam Bones. The Ministry has clipped your wings. The Dark Lord would set you free, to create a mountain of corpses behind you."
"A mountain of corpses…." Amelia mused. "Why does that idea turn me on?"
Her smile grew cold and vicious. Magic swirled around her and a wind began to howl, a sudden, strong gust that seemed to come from everywhere around her and yet, all it did was cocoon her while focussing the majority of its impact upon Macnair, who actually had to brace himself to avoid being pushed back.
"Vance! Jones! Can both of you deal with the riff raff while I deal with Macnair?"
"Madam Bones, this is hardly —" Emmeline began.
"Oh hush, Vance!" Bones chided. "Why don't you pull that stick lodged in your arse and indulge yourself a bit? All those Ministry decrees about limiting yourself to certain spells? Consider them waived off for the night."
"...this is the strangest conversation I've ever had with you," admitted Emmeline. "And please, stop smiling that much. It's disturbing."
Amelia's smile only widened at that. She whipped her wand, and an arc of lightning shot out at Alecto Carrow. The Death Eater screamed and rolled away further. The lightning grazed through the foliage, creating a line of fire, separating her from Macnair.
"Well Macnair? Why don't you let baby Alecto on her own and take on someone of your own size?"
"HA!" cackled Macnair, levelling his wand. "I knew there was more of where that lightning came from. Shall we play, DMLE Director?"
"But, Madam Bones —" Emmeline interjected.
"Don't worry, Vance," Bones gave her a twisted smirk. And when she spoke next, her tone was one of a judge pronouncing a final sentence.
"This game will be short."
Notes:
If you want to support me, find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Next Update is on 14th November.
Chapter 120: Nightmare At The World Cup Part 3
Notes:
I finally have a Discord server, and although it's still fresh around the corners, there's a lot of potential. Given the nature of the story, I went with the name Penthouse for the server. Let me know if you think it fits.
If you are interested in joining it, following for more updates and snippets, and discussing SED in general, just hop in on the link.
https://discord.gg/jvzqqvHhr7
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 3 - THE INCUBUS AND NECROMANCER
CHAPTER 120 - NIGHTMARE AT THE WORLD CUP PART 3
"This is really good tea," said Lucius smiling as he sampled the tea that the woman had served him. "You truly have excellent taste."
The woman let out a girlish laugh. "How you flatter me, Lord Malfoy! But yes, my late husband preferred the Eastern blends, but every now and then I managed to convince him to get something different."
Lucius decided not to comment about how there were rumours about the mysterious disappearance of her husband.
"I can taste a mix of eastern and western styles in this. It's always nice to see such unusual components working together so well." He meant it too. It kept things new and refreshing.
The woman took a sip of her own cup and matched Lucius's expression. "I must say, Lord Malfoy. Compared to some of your usual requests, this one was rather… explosive."
Lucius barked out a laugh. "Yes, explosive is one way of putting it."
The earpiece on his left ear vibrated, and Lucius tapped it twice. Instantly, the familiar voice of Edward Nott whispered into his ears.
"Targets 2,3 and 4 addressed."
"Target 1 under attack."
"Target 6 left for you as requested. Good hunting!"
Lucius smiled. The earpieces were a product of ingenuity. He had had Narcissa fashion them using a combination of charms that dealt with amplification and reception of auditory stimuli, switching charms, and convergence to create these earpieces, and redirect all information passing through them to a singular sink — himself. Quite naturally, anyone that had the temerity to point out the similarity between his devices and muggle earpieces would quite naturally be subjected to a liberal application of a number of Ministry-cleared dark curses that would make them wish for death several times over.
Lucius had initially been quite repulsed to the idea of demolishing the credibility of the current administration. A no-brainer, given how painstakingly he had developed his relationship with the current Minister over the better part of two decades. It was a bitter irony to destroy his own handiwork with his own hands, but at least he had the opportunity to topple everything in the way he thought best.
And so far, everything was going great. A three-pronged attack that would cripple wizarding Britain and make it ready to be served to the Dark Lord as a welcome gift for his resurrection. And Lucius, as his greatest and most faithful servant, would hold the honour of standing by his side while he conquered the entire wizarding world and reshaped it in his image.
The detonation at the stadium had already killed a significant population of aurors and hit-wizards, crippling the DMLE. They had doubly checked to make sure that Amelia Bones, the Director and backbone of the DMLE, would perish in the detonation.
Another group had been sent to capture Harry Potter and kill pretty much anyone that resisted. Given that the brat was staying with the Weasleys was quite serendipitous. In a single shot, the Dark Lord's enemy would be captured, and the blood-traitors would die horrific deaths to save him.
Of course, it was a high risk manoeuvre that promised great rewards if he succeeded. Obviously, Lucius had no desire to die for his cause, so he needed to find others stupid enough to die in his place. And from personal experience, Lucius knew it wasn't usually that hard.
All it took were some sums of gold thrown around to get hired wands to augment his forces. Lucius had also gotten access to certain highly illegal potions and ingredients that could make things easier for the werewolf packs, and some extra incentive for Greyback himself, and he had an entire army of werewolves, influenced under a modified Draught of Rage that also made them amenable to commands from anyone wearing a Death Eater mask.
It was the other 'Death-Eaters' that took some convincing. Fortunately, the Quidditch World Cup served as a melting point for nearly everyone of some significance in and around Britain. Given the chaos the attack would ensure, it allowed the 'participants' the cover to indulge in their rage, vengeance or just bigotry. Alecto Carrow in particular, was obsessed with killing Amelia Bones, while her brother Amycus had Kingsley Shacklebolt on his shit-list. The Carrows had an understanding with Corban Yaxley, a closely tied-in family member, ensuring that Corban would rise to become the next DMLE Director, which motivated him to join the group. In return, Corban would ensure that Amycus Carrow got the Head Obliviator's job, while Alecto was assured of a promotion to Head of the sub-Department of Wizengamot Administration Services. With the government in tatters, Lucius would rise to offer Cornelius his kind aid, in exchange for becoming the Advisor to the Ministry of Magic, officially an ad-hoc position but one that guaranteed substantial benefits in the long run.
Then there were others that were in for a vendetta. Arthur Weasley had recently conducted a raid on Nott Manor, confiscating a lot of dark artefacts that would have sold at hefty prices in the black market. Quite naturally, a man like Edward Nott believed that killing the Weasley children and leaving Arthur Weasley destitute would be an appropriate vengeance.
And finally there were people like Walden Macnair that were in just for the chance to kill without reservation.
"Is there a problem, Lord Malfoy?"
Lucius shook his head, taking yet another sip. "Cornelius is safe, as are the more important Wizengamot members and the visiting delegates. Of course, I have you to thank for that, Madame."
The woman gave a high-pitched, girlish laughter "Oh Lord Malfoy, how you flatter me! I merely did what I was tasked for." She took a deep breath. "And you know exactly what I wanted in return."
Her features took a darker shade.
"The veela and the blood-traitor that spawned her," spat the woman. "I want them dead. That was my price in exchange for betraying Cornelius like that. And yet, I noted that the eyesore and her father managed to leave the stadium before the explosives went off."
Ah, Sebastian Delacour. The Minister of External Affairs for Magical France, as well as the French Ambassador to the ICW. Sebastian Delacour was one of the most powerful individuals in the French government, and the strongest candidate for the next Ministerial elections due in four months. The worst part? The sitting Minister, Claudie Besson, was on excellent terms with the man, and publicly supported his nomination against Fabien Dumont, leader of the blood-purist faction in France. Unfortunately, blood purism had a far less stronghold in Wizarding France than Britain, which explained why a half-giantess managed to stay on as the Headmistress of its premier educational institution, Beauxbatons.
Really, Lucius had forgotten the sheer number of times Dupont, Montague and Almeideaux, the big names in the blood purist faction, had impotently spewed hate about how Sebastian Delacour was helping the half-breeds to stay in power, and nothing, not even slander, could bring the man down. It was them that had supplied Lucius with the illegal ingredients for the werewolves, in return for Lucius ensuring that the visit to the Quidditch World Cup would be the last thing that the Delacour family ever did.
The exact same thing that the woman sitting in front of him had demanded in return for helping place a magical explosive in the World Cup stadium with little help from Yaxley and Carrow.
Lucius smiled. He just loved when there was a brightside.
"It was… necessary," he said with a note of apology in his voice. "The Delacours were in the Top-Box. Holding them back while allowing the other delegates to pass, would not only attract suspicion, but also invite resistance. But do not worry, Madam Umbridge," said Lucius, standing up. "I will personally ensure that your requests are met."
"You will?" asked the woman, her eyes flashing with irrational hatred. "You will kill the filthy half-breed and her blood-traitor father?"
Lucius smiled. "My word is my bond."
Walden Macnair was no longer smiling.
Amelia Bones was known and feared as the Iron Lady for a reason. As the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, she had done all she could to make her organisation an oasis of competency and efficiency amidst the bureaucratic quagmire that was the British Ministry of Magic. Unlike Crouch who had used the platform to boost his own popularity, enough to land him the prestigious position of Head of Department of International Magical Cooperation, Amelia Bones had focussed on hiring good people, promoting skilled ones, and building a team spirit rarely seen in other divisions of the Ministry. The quiet competence of the Magical Law Enforcement squads restored the confidence of the people in the government, despite Lucius Malfoy's constant efforts to cut down the DMLE budget year after year. In fact, Amelia Bones made it a point to replenish the DMLE budget by donating from her own House revenues.
It was even Lucius threw backhanded praises about the way the woman handled her business. Even with Cornelius Fudge's administration allowing complacency and rot to fester within the system, Amelia Bones was the silent juggernaut, the pragmatic war veteran that maintained her purity, her dignity with honed precision and an iron-clad control.
None of which could be seen in the woman he was fighting.
His opponent thrashed like a beast, her wand stained black and purple from the dark energies it constantly spewed out, and rage driving her movements. The moment Amelia Bones had chosen to focus her undivided attention upon him, Macnair found, to his great irritation, on the defensive. Rather than seeking a hole in his defences, or indeed doing anything tactical, Amelia Bones simply struck him head-on with all the power she could force into one spell, and it was a lot. Macnair didn't fear pain, but one hit from that would leave him missing the top half of his body. And to make matters worse, Bones was, in a straight charge, fairly close to casting speed to him. Caught flat-footed, he had little choice but to hide behind shields and block.
Someone should have told Bones that she was supposed to be blocked.
"REDUCTO HORRIBILIS!"
The shield exploded, and with it, came a roar of primal fury, as the force of an armoured truck smashed into him. Half of his ribs shattered right upon impact, and blood gushed forth from his mouth and eyes, as Walden was sent sprawling. He tumbled, agony filling his thoughts and a lunatic madwoman after him to finish the job and pulp him to fine paste.
It was all he could do not to burst out in exuberant laughter.
"Not half bad!" He crowed, rolling back to his feet and charging wholeheartedly back into the foray. It didn't matter if he was bleeding. Hell, it didn't matter if he was not going to be for long on this earth. He finally had that one opponent that he would brazenly fight to the death. No holding back, no tactics, nothing. Instead, he went by his preferred style — half a dozen rapid-fire severing curses, each targeting a vital organ, while keeping his left hand free and near his pouch to summon his cursed axe at the right moment. He only needed one arm to wield it, and if only he could land… two of those curses, it would grant him enough window of opportunity to decapitate the DMLE Director in a single swing.
"BOMBARDA MAXIMA!"
A hurricane blow smashed through his guards, so fast that he barely saw it, and once again, it sent him sprawling. It was beyond obnoxious. The simple fact was that the physics of the situation were beyond him. Both of them were quite evenly matched in combat and reflexes, and he wasn't being vain by thinking he was perhaps a shade better than , the really damaging factor was that the Director had somehow amassed a magical strength so immense that just a single spell was tossing him around like a rag doll. It was less like fighting Bones herself and more like….
…Like the Dark Lord.
Just one mistake, and he'd be crushed to death.
"Finally! A battle worth fighting!" He said. "I must thank you, Director. I'd never get the chance to use this spell otherwise."
He lifted his wand at the sky, and yelled — "MORSMORDRE ANIMUS REVERSO!"
Further away, Emmeline Vance observed the two duelists attack each other like mad dogs in a frenzy. Bones had taken Macnair's fullest attention. With most of the Dark Lord's Inner Circle locked away in Azkaban, Walden Macnair was, by all means, the most dangerous fighter available in the Death Eater ranks.
And despite that, Amelia Bones was crushing him.
A little further away, Alecto Carrow lay still, impaled with silver javelins through her neck and chest, while her brother Amycus had been gouged through his neck by Amelia Bones. That left Warrington and Jugson, neither of them skilled to last against her, but having to deal with the werewolves at the same time was taking a toll on Emmeline's reserves, even if Hestia was somehow able to throw around curses as if she hadn't just suffered from magical exhaustion some time ago.
They were winning. By all accounts, they would definitely win.
Then Macnair thrust his wand up in the air.
"MORSMORDRE ANIMUS REVERSO!"
Emmeline frowned. As an Order agent, she was no stranger to seeing the Dark Mark from the last war, but this was the first time she was seeing it being cast in decades. Also, she had never quite seen the expanded version of the Dark Mark's incantation. All she knew was that one moment Macnair was on the verge of death and casting the Dark Mark, presumably to attract support from his fellow Death-Eaters and the next…
Macnair vanished, and the next moment, he was right behind Bones, hurling curses behind her back.. Bones raised her shield in time, but Macnair thrust his axe, the cursed blade impaling through her shield, shattering it, and piercing her stomach. A blasting curse later, Amelia Bones was hurled away by several feet, her face and arms bruising.
Emmeline didn't know how, but somehow, Macnair felt far more ominous than ever.
"First blood to you, second to me."
Still smiling, Macnair levelled his wand at Bones, as if nobody else in the world existed anymore. The manic smile on his face only widened. "You first. The rest are cattle, and will be butchered, but you are the one that dies first! Come on, Director! Get up! Show me your inner animal!"
"Exquisite," said Bones, slowly standing up. "That power… it came from nowhere." She looked up at the sky. "Another mystery regarding the Dark Mark, perhaps?"
The shark-like smile on Macnair's face was so wide that it looked like his face would split open, but somehow it got wider still.
"I've always wanted to cast that spell!"
"Interesting," said Bones, and Emmeline noted how the wounds on her body were slowly beginning to close by themselves, a powerful healing spell in effect. Had she cast it when she was down?
"I'll have to make sure to keep your body in one piece after I kill you. I bet there are all sorts of wondrous properties I can learn from the Dark Mark from that."
"Good, very good," said the madman, his wand trained at the Director. "CRUCIO!"
"DEPRIMO MAXIMA!"
The sickly red cruciatus curse met the amplified shattering charm in full vigour, the two spells crackling and frothing as their casters attempted to overpower each other with sheer willpower and magical might.
"Come, Director Bones," spat Macnair. "Let's see which of us is the better killer!"
Half a mile away, Lucius almost buckled down in pain. If not for his Occlumency, he would have already been screaming his guts out. For a moment, he feared someone had cast the cruciatus at him from behind.
But then a searing pain up his left sleeve taught him better.
He looked up.
And up.
At the moonlit sky, where the Dark Mark was floating in all its glory for everyone to see.
That was not the shocking bit, not even remotely so. Lucius himself had planned to cast the Dark Mark after the deed was done, preferably above the stadium. Unfortunately, that bit hadn't gone according to plan because of the chaotic mob fleeing in terror, and Lucius had to spend precious minutes finding his own son and Broderick's family and ushering them to safety while chaos broke out everywhere else. Then he had to be seen escorting Minister Fudge out as an alibi, only to entertain Madam Umbridge's untimely request for tea.
No, the real issue was that some fool had cast the Forbidden Spell, one that was crafted by the Dark Lord, and geared towards draining power from the bearers of the Dark Mark into the Caster. It was the ultimate form of submission, offering one's magical reserves, and even one's Family Magic, to the Dark Lord for his use. So long as the spell was in effect, the bearers of the Dark Mark would serve as living magical batteries, empowering the caster with everything they had. And in the middle of such an important event, something like this would only be a disaster.
"Malfoy," came Nott's voice right that moment. "Why by Merlin's —"
"It wasn't me, you fool!" Lucius snarled into the earpiece. "Must be that fop Androcles! Or Carrow!"
"Carrow's responder went off," said Nott from the other side. "Both of them. Androcles is with me. That leaves —"
"MACNAIR!" Both of them hissed vehemently at the same time. Walden Macnair was a bloodthirsty psychopath, but he was also one of the better duelists among the Inner Circle. As much as Lucius hated it, Walden was a superior battler than himself, and the only way Lucius could defeat him would be to use his family's proprietary magic. Built on the foundations of traps, illusions and draining of power, it was the perfect counter to Macnair's berserk attitude.
The bigger question was, what kind of opponent did Walden Macnair face that resulted in him casting the Forbidden Spell?
"Lucius, if —"
"Silence!" Lucius hissed, and closed his eyes, focussing on the magic flowing out of his body into the Dark Mark above. As an accomplished magical sensor, it was rather easy to follow the path of its trajectory, with all of it being drained into a single sink. Using a bit of pin-pointed, focussed Legilimency, Lucius followed the path all the way to the Dark Mark and through it to the spell that was draining their power.
Then he felt it.
Felt the twisted power of the Cruciatus, attempting to overpower the charm cast by…
Amelia Bones? Bones was… alive?
That Amelia Bones was alive was shocking.
That Walden Macnair needed to channel the combined power of the remaining Inner Circle to fight her was infuriating.
That Amelia Bones was meeting the combined might of the Death Eaters was terrifying.
Lucius could almost feel the monstrous hatred she held for Macnair lapping in her mind and magic like waves, a loathing so unadulterated that it was almost beautiful. He could sense her vengeful rage at being killed… killed? — blasting out of her consciousness in one concentrated aura. He could taste her animalistic fury at the way it has been treated, emanating from its mind like some dark miasma.
A consciousness that was simpler, purer, deadlier. There was no sense of logic to it. No reason or sense of judgement. Her conscience, no, not her — Lucius corrected himself, their, for there were many, but also her —
It didn't make sense, and yet that made it all the more thrilling. There was no right or wrong, no good or evil, no sanctimonious beliefs nor self-righteous fury. There was just a jumble of thoughts and vague emotions, all of which were tied together in a single lance of hatred and fury.
Compared to that thing that was Amelia Bones, Lucius's own hatred and bigotry felt petty and inconsequential.
"Nott," said Lucius at last, his whole body shaking from the experience. "Listen to me, very carefully.
Send every single werewolf we have for Macnair's aid."
"What?" exclaimed a flustered Nott. "Why? We have —"
"Because," said Lucius, cutting him off. "We might have bitten off more than we can chew."
A single clash of spells. And they separated.
Two seconds later, another clash. Another disengagement.
Cruciatus meant blasting curses.
Dark stunners met bone-breakers.
Two seconds.
One second.
Half.
One.
Rapid skirmishes that repeated as fast as they ended. Travelling through the dark canopy of the forest as Amelia engaged with Macnair in what looked less like spell combat and more like a war with two participants. Apparation was not possible, but point-to-point translocation was indeed a possibility. Both opponents vanished from one point after casting their spells, only to reappear at the next to cast another. Back and forth. Scattering sparks along the dark forest like small geysers of fireflies in the night.
"EXPELLIARMUS!" yelled Macnair.
"OSSIS DISFRINGO!" sent Amelia.
Amelia's wand shot out of her wand, as she instantly jumped back by several steps to avoid being sliced apart by the accursed axe. Her bone-shattering curse had hit him in the right hand, making it impossible to cast spells without healing it, but did nothing to keep him from coming at her with his axe. Amelia wandlessly summoned her wand back in her hand, and transfigured the roots of a tree to grab and incapacitate him, but the blasted man cut through them with his axe without a side thought. Nevertheless it did give her the opportunity to aim for his head. She missed, but did send him flying with a banishing charm.
Another failed attempt at each other's life. But it was far from the last.
Both kept moving, tuning with the momentum they gathered. Magic surged more into them. Their bodies were quickly healed. Reinforced. Eyes narrowed.
This was how she had fought with him from the very beginning. A never ending series of lethal jabs and passes that had them with one foot in the grave at every moment.
Macnair was an expert on the dark arts and offensive curses with a footwork worth the envy of the best duellists all over the world. But that paled before the fact that the Dark Mark floating above was constantly empowering him, healing him, strengthening his spells, enhancing his reflexes, making him a horrifically dangerous opponent to match.
How was it that Amelia was still able to keep up with him?
"Hah! Ugh!" She breathed, her lungs on fire, desperate to supply oxygen to her body as she pulled more and more magic out of herself than should be possible. She was an expert in transfiguration and wide-area curses and charms, but she was still one person.
Her body was constantly being hit by dark curses, but her magic was perpetually healing her.
But that wasn't enough.
It shouldn't have been enough.
So how was she able to keep up?
Just a little faster….
She transfigured multiple traps employing the forest to do her bidding, her innate skill at organic transfiguration proving its worth not for the first time, as she set the entire forest alive to destroy her enemy. The resurrection — Merlin, it felt weird to even think about it, had granted her an enhanced seṭ of reserves, but it wasn't enough. Her senses were screaming that there were others around, probably werewolves — and they were coming from all sides to attack her.
"FULMINATA! FULMINATA MAXIMA!"
Streaks of lightning arced out of her wand at seemingly empty places in the forest and set it ablaze. She heard the growls and yelps as the beasts leapt from branch to branch, coming at her in every direction. Amelia kept throwing lightning in a radial arc, when a severing curse came through and slashed her through the abdomen, making her cough out blood and fall to her knees, whimpering in agony.
The werewolves were inching closer. She could make out their silhouettes in the darkness. There were Death Eaters around her too, ready to see her degradation and death. Watch her be torn and despoiled and feasted upon by these monsters.
"Damn… damn it!" She growled under her breath. The rage and shame that ran through her burned and chilled all at once, stripping away years of professional training with Occlumency to maintain her aloofness to expose the frightened and angry woman underneath. The thought of such weakness, the lack of restraint, only filled her with greater fury, redoubling her efforts yet again.
"Give up," said Macnair, stalking her from in front. You know it's pointless."
Amelia answered with a bone-breaker. It was swatted away with a flick of his wand.
That didn't stop her. Digging into her reservoirs of power, she let the fury and pain and shame drive her even if it killed her. There were spells out there that could help even the odds, and even kill the enemy, kill every single thing in the vicinity. But casting them would render her unable to escape, and die with the enemy.
Truth be told, the enemy contingent didn't even compare to her skill or her power. And she had both in spades. Her only problem was that the Dark Mark up there was allowing Macnair to counter her perfectly, leaving her open to attack by the others through sheer quantity.
She grit her teeth.
No, I refuse. I need more. It cannot end like this. Not after I've been given this second chance.
I refuse.
I refuse.
I will absolutely not let it end this way.
I will not bow.
And though she couldn't see it, her eyes closed tight in absolute concentration and her mind flooded with cold shame and burning rage, a few runes began to glow all over her body.
I will not break.
Macnair's eyes widened in disbelief. He didn't expect her to be this defiant again. He, alongside the other Death Eaters, raised their wands. A hit from all directions, perhaps Protego Maxima would work, so long as there weren't any Unforgivables. A pitiful hope, but a hope nonetheless. She could use a physical barrier, but that would further entrap her and give the werewolves free reign.
Either way, it would end with her death.
Power.
Please, I need more.
And Power answered.
"You are thinking too small, Amelia."
If Amelia were Hermione Granger, then she'd have wondered why she was able to hear someone speak to her in her mind. If Amelia were Hermione Granger, she'd have thought it foolish to even entertain a notion that someone would bypass her legendary Occlumency defences like they weren't even present. Finally, if Amelia were Hermione Granger, she'd have been surprised to realise that it was Harry Potter's voice she heard in her head.
But Amelia wasn't Hermione Granger, so she didn't do any of those things. Instead she asked —
And what do you suggest?
"Haven't you heard?" came Harry's amused voice. "When quality doesn't work, use quantity. You aren't a Hit-wizard or an Auror. You are the DMLE Director. Leader of your forces. Call for them."
But — they are gone. Dead.
"So had you."
Amelia had no answer to that.
"Their spirits might have been sundered, their bodies might have been burnt to ash, but their emotions, their presence, their cries for vengeance still remain."
Amelia stayed silent.
"They are your true followers. Like the oak forests, they have shielded and bled for you. Your treasure among treasures, you have raised every single one of them to being the warriors they are. Call for them, summon your true might!"
Amelia closed her eyes. What Harry had said was impossible, and yet….
It was true, wasn't it?
During her entire time as DMLE Director and before, she had focused on hiring good people, promoting skilled ones, and building a team spirit rarely seen in other divisions of the Ministry. Cornelius Fudge and previous unqualified ministers like him were the rot. Complacency and the resistance to change within the wizarding population were the diseases causing the rot. And despite the entire body system rotting and failing, the single arm that was the DMLE was holding everything together with its silent strength and quiet competence. One could even claim that the hit-wizards answered to her, and shared her dreams, pledged their allegiance to her, and not the British Ministry of Magic.
It was only natural that even in death, they would answer her call, for just like in life, she was leading the charge, despite being dead, for however little time.
Closing her eyes, she felt the stirrings, felt their emotions, their leftover shades….
A small smile formed on her lips.
Thank you, Harry Potter.
The DMLE Director opened her eyes, and stood up. "Walden Macnair," she said sternly. "For crimes of sedition against the Ministry, breaking of Ministerial oaths and sacred protocol, and multiple castings of Unforgivable curses and open display of your allegiance to the terrorist group known as the Death Eaters, I am deploying Martial Law, and sentencing you to death. The sentence will be carried out at once. Hit-wizards, take positions."
Blank silence rang at her statement.
Then Walden Macnair laughed. "Bitch's lost it. She escaped death once, but has lost it now." He sneered. "All this time, I wanted to kill you in battle. A fitting end for a fighter. Now? I'll put you down as an act of mercy."
He raised his wand, and yelled —
"AVADA KEDA—"
"STUPEFY!" rang a multitude of voices, as streaks of crimson came out of nowhere. Several of them smashed head-on into Macnair, the collective string of spells, amplified by the sheer emotion channelled by the casters. Macnair was physically picked up and hurled by a hundred feet, spinning into the air. He crashed against a large tree trunk, and slid down, groaning.
"Yes," said Amelia, grinning. "That will do."
Notes:
If you want to support me, find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Next Update is on 19th November.
Chapter 121: Walking By Twilight
Notes:
I finally have a Discord server, and although it's still fresh around the corners, there's a lot of potential. Given the nature of the story, I went with the name Penthouse for the server. If you are interested in joining it, following for more updates and snippets, and discussing SED in general, just hop in on the link.
https://discord.gg/jvzqqvHhr7
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 3 - THE INCUBUS AND NECROMANCER
CHAPTER 121 - WALKING BY TWILIGHT
Alone inside the depths of the burning stadium, I smiled as I sat in meditation.
I smiled, and in my eyes, the whole forest was reflected as my gaze kept growing. A world burning. A world silenced. At the same time, I saw the entire site and each separate part of it as its own component, the burning timbers as part of the spectral trees, the destruction as part of the magic being cast by negative emotions channeled by the attackers, the broken branches and charred bones on the floor forming spectral shades of the werewolves that had been scorched to ashes by Hestia's spell. I could feel the heat from the flames, and the cold from the sundered spirits that had to depart from the earthly plain before they could even recognize what was happening. I saw the forest wreathed in ghostly flames that were endlessly morphing into a myriad of shapes, and knew that those were part of its possible future, that those flames were laying down several of the many, many paths of possibility that lay ahead in the next hour.
The zone beneath the massive Dark Mark floating above in the night sky was a place of power. Dark emotions — greed, lust, hatred, all hung around it as visible things, molds and slimes that were strewn over it like moss with malevolent eyes. Ghostly things, restless spirits, moving around the place, drawn to the sense of fear, despair, and anger that hung around it like a thick mist, mindless shades that were always to be found in such places like rats in granaries.
The other thing that I saw was a grinning, empty skill. Skulls were everywhere, wherever I looked, just at the edge of my vision, silent and still and bleached white, as solid and real as though a fetishist had scattered them around in anticipation of some bizarre holiday. Death. Death lay in the zone, tangible, solid, unavoidable. Past. Present. Future.
Maybe even mine.
I shuddered and shoved the feeling away. No matter how strong the vision, how powerful the image gained through such spectral insight, the future was always mutable, always something that could be changed.
My blackened creations from the World of the Dead were out and rampaging. I wondered if Amelia had worked them out. To an observer, it might look like inferi, raised through the darkest forms of fleshcraft and necromancy and made to dance like puppets. That they were not real, just flesh masks worn by a sad product of a twisted recreation of the living, brought in to deliver a psychological blow in the hearts of the Death Eaters.
Fools!
The spirits were sundered. The people were dead. They were not coming back. But the emotions, the pain, the suffering… it was still infused in this zone. Deep down. Seeping into the very pores of the soil. Waiting. Whispering.
All I was doing was giving them an opportunity to scream, a roar for blood, for vengeance, for retribution, that was both silent and deafening.
Voldemort and his followers called themselves the Death Eaters. It would be interesting to see them being eaten by Death.
Many, many people were going to die tonight. A lot many already had died in the explosion, and now the dead would consume the living. And it would all be because of me, and yet, I observed it all with just a passing interest.
It was like a significant amount of my zeal, my passion was muted. Dulled. Even in my own head, I sounded… different. I couldn't tell if this was the situation, or the necromancy affecting me in more ways than I had expected.
Was this how Voldemort felt all the time? Detached? Was that why he would exist as a wraith for thirteen years without losing his mind? The man had practically lived close to six decades before the inevitable night of Halloween 1981, and had seen it all, and done it all, and maybe even written a textbook on the Dark Arts for all I knew. Truly, nothing around me seemed to really irritate, or annoy or anger, or even fascinate me. It was like I was growing apathetic to everything.
So I turned towards the only thing that held my attention.
Something intangible, something I couldn't name, was calling out to me. Beckoning. Here was power, power that I had thrust aside to become the Incubus Lord, choosing to embrace life and manipulate emotions, the fresh source of all magic, ignoring all the festering darkness that could be mine for the taking. This was the sort of strength that could reach out and change the world to my will, bend it and shape it to my desires. A strength that could cut through all the petty trivialities of law and civilization and impose order where there was none, guarantee my security, my position, my future.
Albus Dumbledore had defeated Gellert Grindelwald, and Harry Potter had vanquished Lord Voldemort through myriad twists of Fate and Destiny as a mere baby. And what did the wizarding world give them in return? They gave Dumbledore a neutral seat of little significance, awarding him with a great prestige with all bark and no bite. And behind doors, they called him a dotty old man and an ancient defect, and he was content to ape the part of the crazy fool. And Harry Potter was glorified one week, and vilified the next, depending upon what suited the public perception.
The world called them heroes.
I called them glorified slaves.
And I had no wish to become one.
I could use this opportunity to kill Lucius Malfoy, now, right now. I could call down fury and flame, summon the relentless spirits that I had used Amelia to summon, and use them to wreak havoc upon the living. The Death Eaters wanted to use this World Cup to demonstrate their might. I could use it to destroy them for good, render the British Ministry impotent, and use the chaos to imperius the right people and rule the world from the shadows. I could reach out and embrace the dark energy festering around, draw it and use it for whatever I wanted, the consequences be damned.
Why not do that now? With the air so rich with necromantic energy, the entire area was within my sight. I could sense Barty Crouch Junior, trudging through the paths, seeking his prey, courtesy of Hestia's Imperius. The Incubus needed such props, but the Necromancer did not. Just a tinge of power into the shadows, and I could craft Shadowmen to rise from the darkness and impale Lucius Malfoy between the eyes. All it would take would be the sacrifice of some more innocents, faceless people that would not even matter in the long run.
It would be for the Greater Good.
With most of the Death Eaters gone and the rest stuck in Azkaban, it would be short work to find the baby Dark Lord and snuff him in his cradle. It would be cathartic grabbing that little head, looking into those shocked eyes as I gave the soft neck a hard twist. He would perish, and I would rise up in this world as the new World power. The Greatest world power. Necrolord Primus Lord Voldemort —
The moment the thought formed inside my head, my focus evaporated. Lord Voldemort? I wasn't Voldemort, I was Harry Potter. I was a wizard. An incubus. I was in control of my own power. I was not going to let it control me. I would not let the horcrux control me and turn me into a twisted facsimile of Voldemort.
The anger, the greed, the lust for darkness, all of it evaporated instantly. The burning hate subsided, leaving my head clear enough to think again. I opened my eyes, and looked around, feeling weirdly small and alone.
I blew out a breath. "Well, Harry, that's just going to have to be enough. You are Harry Potter, not Lord Voldemort."
"But are you?"
I stilled. That voice….
I looked around. Nothing. Wait, nothing? Gone was the burning stadium. Gone was the Quidditch World Cup site around me, the clutter of dead bodies painted with blood and gore. Instead I was in…
Wait. Where was I?
"This is, as they say, Your Party."
I spun around, and screamed, stepping back in sheer horror. The figure that stood before me… it was a face that had haunted me in my darkest nightmares. Whiter than a skull, with wide, livid, scarlet eyes, and a nose that was flat as a snake's with slits for nostrils. His whole body was pale, without a single strand of hair anywhere, and oozed a strange energy that somehow made his presence feel more, as if it strained gravity and bent space, making it impossible to look anywhere but at him.
"You… You can't be real," I blurted out.
"Yes," Voldemort responded simply, twirling his wand in his fingers. I fumbled around for my own wand, and found it missing. Then I remembered that it was in my holster, attached to my physical form, and this place was anything but physical.
"Of course it's all in your head, Harry Potter, but why on earth should that mean it is not real?" He shook his head in amusement. "Isn't that what Albus Dumbledore tells the real Harry Potter when he perishes in the Forbidden Forest after being struck by Lord Voldemort's killing curse?"
I paled.
The crimson eyes shone malevolently. It was like staring in the eyes of a rabid wolf.
Or a snake.
"You… you are the horcrux."
Ah, good, good," said Voldemort. Or the horcrux-Voldemort, I supposed. "At least we don't have to play the game where you attempt to play the part of the oblivious fool and pretend to be the Gryffindorish Harry Potter. I must say, it has been quite interesting, and illuminating, at the same time. I always knew that the forbidden art of the Horcrux had unforeseen results, but then I had never expected to be stuck to the soul of my prophesied nemesis, either. Quite ironic, isn't it? My own horcrux, my tether to immortality, granting my nemesis my power of Parseltongue, and unwittingly anchoring him to the living by protecting him from my own killing curse. Serendipitous, one might say."
I clenched his fists. I had planned for many things, but never in my wildest dreams had I ever imagined that the horcrux would gain access to my true memories. Recognize me as a being that was beyond the Harry Potter universe, one for whom it was nothing but a fictional story to be read and devoured as a snack for the mind.
I didn't know what my face looked like right now, but it definitely made the horcrux smile.
"Yes, Outlander, I know you. Or at least, I know enough to know that you are an imposter. A cruel twist played on Fate and Destiny by a hand so mysterious that even I cannot fathom it."
"How?" I demanded, clenching my fists. "When did you — that night, when I had the dream… when the horcrux activated, showing me Voldemort…."
The rest of my words died as Voldemort let out a high-pitched, cold laughter that sent a chill down my spine.
"For a moment there, I almost thought you were clever," said Voldemort, smiling sardonically. "No Outlander, no, it wasn't the dream that manifested Me. I was always there, lodged as a spiritual embolus to young Harry Potter's soul. Me, Necromancer of the Thirty-Third Degree, immortal, Dark Lord Voldemort, could not penetrate the barriers that protected the innocent Harry Potter's soul. Not even the slight corruption in the form of Parseltongue could thin the barrier for me to penetrate into his psyche. With the other Me awakening and gaining a physical form, I saw a chance and took it. I opened a way for the insidious Incubus Magic," his lips curled in distaste, "to flood through my metaphysical form and affect the Other Me. Surely, you have seen and felt the effects from the nightmare?"
I noted the wand in his hand. It wasn't the white yew wand, but a tall, tapering creation with beads encircling all the way to the tip.
The Elder Wand.
"How are you… like this?" I asked. I mean, I was obviously in a disadvantageous position, with the horcrux holding the cards. Or at least, it held enough cards to afford being this chatty. I might as well figure out what it was that it had over me.
"Finally, an interesting question," said the serpentine man. "This wand, I recognize Albus Dumbledore wielding it, but I don't remember arresting it from him at any point. Clearly, such a thing happens in your future, or in those… books," his lips twisted in distaste. Clearly he found the idea that there existed a world, a reality where he was a fictional character written by an author for the entertainment of children and adults alike quite abhorrent.
"Still," he said, "this form of mine is quite interesting. Serpentine, powerful. I think I like it. Same goes for this wand."
"It isn't real," I said.
"So is this world," said Voldemort, snapping a little. "And yet here you are, living in it, twisting the destinies of everyone around you like a puppeteer. I have been watching you, Outlander. Ever since you reached into my power and began absorbing my affinities, you accepted this form of my awareness within you. I am… an imprint. And yet, I am Him."
I swallowed. "So I'm going to be stuck with having you in my head now?"
"Not quite. But with your soul drowning with the potent dark energies, and the zone you have created for yourself, the boundaries between my consciousness and yours have been…. Lessened, shall we say, for the time being. Especially with you choosing to employ that which I have gifted you."
"Gifted nothing," I said in a no-nonsense tone. "I absorbed the affinities from the Horcrux perk."
"Semantics," said the Dark Lord. "Regardless, you made the conscious choice to welcome me in. In fact I have been looking forward to meeting you. You are a great deal more interesting than most. The games you have been playing all this summer, a rather aggressive style. I like it."
"And you seem to play a very relaxed game," I said softly, crossing my arms. "One might even think you aren't trying to win. I'd have expected you to whisper my little secrets into the Other-you."
"Regrettably," said Voldemort with a long-suffering sigh. "That is one of the few limitations of the Horcrux. "When you sunder your soul, the very act creates a disparity between the two parts. I cannot, should not, will not, ever bond with the Other Me to become Whole again."
And wasn't that interesting?
"And yet, my incubus magic could affect the real Voldemort."
Yes, I am aware of the irony of calling someone else fake.
Red eyes shone malevolently, and prepared for a possibility of being attacked. I didn't know what options were available to me should the horcrux attack me, but then again, what was real and what imaginary in this place?
"Yes," he said at last. "I have to ask, Outlander. What are you? To be able to transcend into another universe, past the boundaries of Reality… to be able to walk the Path of Twilight, where light and darkness both mix, Necromancy and Incubus Magic, not to mention the ability to alter Fate itself…. It is almost like you were given this destiny to throw this Reality into chaos. Such power…. It terrifies me."
That wasn't something that I'd have ever anticipated hearing from the Dark Lord Voldemort. I mulled over the revelation silently.
"Harry Potter walks, or perhaps, would walk the Path of the Incubus, while I walk the path of Necromancy. Life versus Death. Emotion versus puppetry. Love versus Hate. It's an eternal struggle. But your presence can tilt the balance. I am curious, Outlander. You are no light child, so why stay as Harry Potter?"
"What do you mean stay as….." I began, only to trail off, as it hit me.
"You are not Harry Potter," said the Dark Lord. "Then why do you restrain yourself to be him? The Twilight-Walker can choose which path to travel at a mere whim. You have, on multiple occasions. With my affinities, with my knowledge, with my instincts, you could very well ascend to Necrolord Primus, become what I once aspired to, but ignored in my mad desire to escape Death. Why be Harry Potter when you could be —"
"Lord Voldemort?" I echoed his unfinished statement.
The eyes glinted.
Twilight-Walker, that was what Voldemort had called me. Something told me it had something to do with the title of The Road Not Taken — a power that would allow me to elevate myself in both directions. Back in Bones Manor, I had used the upgrade available to move up from Incubus to Incubus Lord. Had I chosen the Necromancer route, it would definitely have elevated me to Necrolord Primus.
But one question remained. Well, two actually.
"Thanks for the offer, but no thanks" I said after a moment's thought. "You are not one to share power, Lord Voldemort. You'd use your powers to twist me into becoming a slave to your whims the first chance I get."
Voldemort let out a cold, cruel laugh. "If only. Unfortunately, a horcrux is only meant to be an anchor. A concept I'm certain you are quite familiar with. Your unique powers allow you to dip into my origin, not the other way around. I am certain the more you devote yourself to Necromancy, the more you become attuned to all I am and all that I have been. My memories, my knowledge, my experiences, everything that made me who I am, all of it, will become a part of you. All of it will become, in essence, you."
I blinked. "You don't sound too pissed off about that!"
"Why must I be?" asked Voldemort, shrugging. "A living container should never become a horcrux. Doing so will make it mortal. If Harry Potter gets hit by the killing curse, I die. If Harry Potter falls off the stairs, hits his head and dies, I die. If some Death Eater cuts Harry Potter's head off, I die. Every way, I suffer an insignificant demise."
But you would still be gone, absorbed."
Into me, I didn't say.
"No," Voldemort corrected. "I will become You. A reincarnation, as it is. I have watched you, Outlander. Despite your power, you are young, and you are without experience. Join me, accept me, and let me become You."
Yeah.
This couldn't be good.
I tried to keep my voice steady and calm. For all my recent performance, I couldn't forget that everything I had done was by drawing on the horcrux's knowledge. Whether that was because the horcrux itself was willing to lend me its support, or it was forced by the Tether System, was anybody's guess.
"You can take my legacy forward. Already you have your first Necro-beast and your first Lyctor. You can become the Necrolord Primus. All you need to do is choose."
A decent person would have rejected the offer out of hand.
I'm not always one of those.
I could offer excuses, if you like. I could claim that I grew up with psychological and physical abuse that ended with me getting twistier than a spaghetti while growing up. I could also go the other route and claim that I was just as bad, just as evil, and wanted to play God. That I didn't care for these fictional characters that I had read from a story. For God's sake, I was still lying to them about my entire 'future Harry Potter' story, and for all I knew, I was going to further embellish things along that route. That after having the women throw themselves at me, and with the government almost in ruins, and the Death Eaters suffering a serious setback, I could take the opportunity to betray both sides and transform into the Dark Lord that would rule this world.
With my power, my increased affinity and Voldemort's skill and knowledge, not to mention Meta-Luck, I was fairly certain I could even defeat Albus Dumbledore, assuming I couldn't kill him off by deception and treachery. That I was already willing to walk the path of Necrolord Primus except I wanted to take the safer and far more difficult way of activating the title of the Road Not Taken.
All I needed to do was say yes.
"No, Voldemort," I told him. "I don't want this. I don't want to become you."
He studied my face with calm eyes. "Liar," he said. "You want it. I can see it in your eyes. I have felt it in your ambition. You have tasted the true might of Necromancy. A magic far greater than anything else. Why twist the minds of others and play puppeteer, when you could rule over life and death itself?"
I gritted my teeth. "You see what you want to see. And what I want is to travel my own path. If I can become the Necrolord Primus by myself, I will. I do not need to accept your aid."
"Fool!" hissed Voldemort. "You have been taking my help from the moment you activated the Horcrux and assimilated my affinities into yourself. Who do you think helped you save the werewolf from becoming a necrotic mass of spasming flesh? Who do you think gave the knowledge of the primordial runes for you to attempt a resurrection? How else do you think you could raise that woman as a Lyctor if not for me? Everything you have done this night, everything you have achieved, it was me, Outlander. My skill, my knowledge, my instinct, you just happened to be the tool that used it."
"Yes, too bad, I know, but you don't exactly have the honest salesman vibe, either. Those crimson eyes are way too creepy for establishing trust and rapport, you know."
Voldemort studied me. "Your derision will not unmake the truth. Accept the Horcrux, embrace its power completely, and you could Ascend to something far greater than mortal."
"And with that, I would gain a power too great and terrible. And over me, you would gain a power still greater and more deadly. I know how it works, Voldemort. The first taste is free. The price goes up down the line."
He watched me with that iridescent crimson stare.
"Now, if you are done, I'd like to leave. Some of us actually have to do things for a living."
"Fascinating," said Voldemort. "A word of warning, Outlander. The longer you stay at the crossroads, the longer will the Other Me absorb your own gained skills, just as you have been gaining from him. The longer you stay undecided, the more power he gains. And the longer you dawdle, the greater the surety of his eventual victory. Be very sure you understand what you have chosen. It could very well change everything in the future."
And then he was gone.
And then in the darkness, the Screen pinged up again.
Switching Paths…
Activating Path INCUBUS LORD
Registering Affinities…
Binding….
Welcome, Incubus Lord!
If you have been paying attention, then surely it must not surprise you that what came next was Pain.
A lot of it.
I tried to take a breath in the darkness, and a searing burst of agony radiated out from my chest. I held it off on the next breath for as long as I could, but eventually I couldn't put it off anymore, and again, fire spread across my chest.
I repeated that cycle for several moments, my entire reality consumed by the simple struggle to breathe and to avoid the pain. I was on the losing side of things and if the pain didn't exactly lesson, it did, eventually. Become more bearable.
"Well, well, look what we have here," came a familiar voice in the darkness, one that I couldn't recognize but one that irritated me even without that. "Looks like Saint Potter fainted at the sight of a little death."
Ah, I recognized. Him.
Slowly, agonizingly, I opened my eyes, and stared up at the looming presence of Draco Malfoy, his two goons standing behind him, and further behind, stood Pansy Parkinson and…. Daphne Greengrass.
"Ugh, why are you here?" I asked, feeling frailer by the moment, as my body tried its best to recover from the use of potent necromancy for so long.
"I was feeling a bit peckish. And it was about time. So I decided to pay you a little visit," said Draco Malfoy.
"Uh, what are you —" I began, attempting to get up.
Draco stopped me midway, digging his wand into my chest.
"They say vengeance is best served cold, Potter," said Malfoy. "I think they're onto something there."
Notes:
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Next Update is on 24th November.
Chapter 122: Fragile
Notes:
I finally have a Discord server, and although it's still fresh around the corners, there's a lot of potential. Given the nature of the story, I went with the name Penthouse for the server. If you are interested in joining it, following for more updates and snippets, and discussing SED in general, just hop in on the link.
https://discord.gg/jvzqqvHhr7
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 3 - THE INCUBUS AND NECROMANCER
CHAPTER 122 - FRAGILE
As the Greengrass heiress and a notable descendant of House Selwyn, Daphne never had a lack of public attention. But if you asked people privately what they thought of her, they would describe her in ways that most people wouldn't approve. Perhaps it went without saying that Daphne didn't put a lot of stock in approval. She was talented, and smart, but above that — at least according to everyone that looked at her — she was beautiful, and being gifted approval for something that had been handed to her by some fortuitous arrangement of her ancestry, instead of earned by her two hands wasn't something she felt necessary to idolise or condemn. She didn't rail against her looks, but didn't give thanks for them either. She simply used them like any other tool, like a hammer or a shovel or whatever else was necessary to complete the requisite task. Besides, disapproval was nothing worth thinking about. Whatever others wanted to call her, at least Daphne was authentic. She was real, even if her greatest hobby was playing with other's falsities.
Really, there was nothing more dangerous than a woman that knew her own worth.
Unsurprisingly, she was very accustomed to getting what she wanted. She had a magical speciality so effective that if she kept it to herself, which she generally did, she would get top marks in every class at Hogwarts without effort. Her aunt Emmeline described her nature as an Empath, a devourer of emotions, an incomplete statement at best. For most people, thoughts tended to follow the path of their emotions, and while Occlumency could suppress one's reaction to one's emotions, it did nothing to keep those emotions from forming in the first place. For Daphne, who was a connoisseur of the entire emotional spectrum, it made things easy. If people weren't on their guard at all times, she could talk them into anything. Too easy? Sometimes, yes.
That didn't mean Daphne didn't like a challenge.
It was boring, though, convincing people of things they already believed. Those in the know believed her powers were similar to Legilimency, but Daphne knew better. She was smart to begin with, which meant convincing people to do precisely as she wanted had to be considerably challenging for her to break a sweat. Quite naturally, she was also eternally in search of entertainment, and therefore, Draco had to say very little to convince her to go with his harebrained idea of going after Potter while taking advantage of the chaos and discord all around.
"You're joining me then?" Draco had asked her.
"Presumptions are dangerous," she had said, feeling Draco's interests. Draco was very similar to her father in many respects — both had tunnel vision in regards to everything they considered important, and ignored the nicer subtleties of life. She doubted Lucius Malfoy would have cared to tell his son about what was about to happen, but given his false bravado, it was equally likely that Draco knew he wouldn't be touched. Operating from the faith of being Lucius Malfoy's son as a default setting was oddly interesting.
"I thought you wanted revenge on Potter," Draco had said, befuddled at her words. "Come with me. We'll teach Potter a lesson he'll never forget."
Poor fool. For Draco Malfoy, it was probably a game. But what he didn't understand was that more interesting than the game were the players. More accurately, the game was different depending on the players.
Still, she had followed him. A smart girl was a curious creature, and wanting to see what Potter would do was always good enough to engage her.
"This way," she had said to Draco, walking in the direction of the burning stadium.
She hadn't even bothered answering him how she knew Potter would be inside. Draco wouldn't understand. Daphne could always tell whenever Harry Potter was nearby. For one thing, there would be huge amounts of magic around him, knots of it, tangled, and they seemed to arise in bursts, like flames. For another, his emotions were less guarded when he was relaxed and busy with his own schemes.
Penetrating his heart, on the other hand, was always difficult. His power did little to hide his emotions, but there was always this… tangibility about them, kind of like the difference between water and oil. But the same couldn't be said about the women he interacted with, especially when half of their thoughts were dominated by the sheer need to jump his bones.
There were times she had imagined just playing into Harry Potter's games and letting him fuck her. A tad boring for her tastes, but she'd have done it. His lust had risen at least once upon seeing her, and Daphne was certain he would have made a direct attempt if he had assumed it was necessary. From watching him work his fingers into Aunt Emmeline's snatch, Daphne had no doubt he knew how to work his hands. She'd probably even have offered him a fuck or two, but what good would that be? An orgasm, surely, but what good was that? An orgasm she could get on her own without being a conquest to the famous Boy-Who-Lived. If she was going to spread her legs and give up her virginity, it needed to be for power or entertainment.
Besides, Harry Potter was far more interesting than Daphne's usual meals.
It was why she had followed him around ever since she spotted him at the World Cup. Her invisibility cloak, a damned useful gift that her aunt Adriana had gifted her on her thirteenth birthday, was proving quite useful in that regard. And Potter, she had to say, had been quite the busy bee since his arrival.
Leaving the Weasleys. Meeting the DMLE Director and her little niece. Meeting Mother and Father. And then that curious performance by the Bulgarian veela was any clue, Potter was on his way to become something interesting. She had followed him right after, carefully ensuring that the veela princess never so much as sensed her presence as she followed her after Potter. Feeling her emotions as Potter fucked Narcissa Malfoy of all people was exhilarating. Narcissa Malfoy was a risky target, but there in the throes of ecstasy, her mental defences had all but vanished, enough for Daphne to pull out a single, relevant emotion.
Freedom.
Something was about to happen. Something terribly significant. And both Narcissa Malfoy and Harry Potter were in it together.
Delicious!
Harry Potter had no way of knowing it, but his methods actually made things easy for Daphne to follow, what with all the sex he was having. Sex was so easily uncomplicated and primal. A straightforward return on baser instincts. Because thoughts, however malformed or misshapen they might be because of the act, could not be readily protected during something so chemical, and they always, always went hand in hand with emotions. Good sex was never mindless, or at least, that was the impression Daphne got from feeding upon others; it merely meant concentration was elsewhere, not gone. Daphne knew her craft well enough to know that, and thus, she knew she had succeeded the first time she had been in his room when he was fucking Aunt Emmeline, slipping something in the latch of his emotions so that she'd always be invited in.
She had kept her distance afterwards, an excruciatingly difficult task to be sure. She had definitely missed that time when Mother had been alone with him, discussing his little deal with Father. Just the direction of the halfblood secretary's emotions told her that Harry Potter was playing an intricate game with his parents, and that Mother was just as much a vital piece in the picture as Father.
She had seen him do something impossible. Potter had nursed her mother's desire for her, making her crave him like an addict. One drop and she would go too far. She gave in readily, easily, perilously, like madness. Daphne was certain that had Broderick Greengrass said no to his wife, there was a big chance that Anastasia would have murdered him in cold blood. Her mother had been hungry, ravenous, desperate. Potter had played her with an ease that spoke of an eternity of practice. His magic of sex, the animation, emotions becoming tangible and alive at his touch, it mesmerised her. She was already addicted to it, and she knew it.
And then at night, the things Potter had done with her father's emotions….
The remembrance nearly gave her a shiver, or would have, if she were less responsible with her own control.
She had stepped in, followed by Pansy, Draco, and his pet goons.
Stepping into the burned remains of the Quidditch World Cup stadium, Daphne had been forced through one of the worst sensations she had ever experienced. Emotions were her food, and something, or someone inside the burning stadium had twisted those emotions into becoming something else. Daphne didn't know what it was, but attempting to feed on the supernatural vestiges of the dead made her feel like someone was making her choke on her own vomit.
And then she sensed him.
Potter! She turned to her left, and found him fallen to the ground. His power was still blazing, but there was something else there, something that was tainting him. Daphne tasted agony in his soul, and it tasted of bitter gourd. Whatever had transpired here, it had affected Potter deeply.
"Well, well, well," said Draco, crouching down. "Look what we have here. Looks like Saint Potter fainted at the sight of a little death."
For a moment, Daphne feared if she had been a little too hasty with her little game.
"Ugh, why are you here?" asked Potter. His eyes grasped her presence, and suspicion radiating out of him, warping irreparably in the air between them.
"I was feeling a bit peckish. And it was about time. So, I decided to pay you a little visit." Draco ignored whatever Potter was about to tell him, and instead dug his wand at his chest, forcing him to stay down. Potter tried to grab for his wand, but Draco pinned it down with his boot.
"They say vengeance is best served cold, Potter. I think they're onto something there."
Daphne took a closer look at Potter's eyes. The look in them….
It was not the sort of look that a person gave another person that they despised.
It was not the look of a person that was being rushed into making a terrible decision.
It was not a gleeful grin of an unstable murderer either.
Instead, it was the look of a person merely pressed for time. One that knew that he had to make a decision soon. The sort of look that one gave to an annoying pest that had gotten in his way.
It excited her, in ways she didn't know she could be.
"Draco," said Pansy suddenly. "I really think we should leave."
The sudden reaction from Parkinson caught Daphne by surprise. Pansy had long since stopped using her brain, and preferred to let Draco make her life's decisions for her,
"Leave?" asked Draco, surprised. "Have you gotten barmy?"
"But Draco," Pansy stressed, looking distinctly uncomfortable. "Look at the bodies around! Surely Aurors will come in. And if they find us like this then…."
'Stop being such a pansy!" Draco mocked, and laughed, much to the girl's embarrassment. Daphne narrowed her eyes,
Unknown to Malfoy, she followed Potter's gaze, and found it centred, not on the fool, not on her, not even on Crabbe and Goyle. Instead, he seemed to lock his gaze somewhere around Pansy's temples. Pansy was no Occlumens, so it was child's play to tap into her emotions and translate them into thoughts.
Only they barely felt like her own.
They'll come any moment! I need to leave! Draco's already been arrested once and he only got away because his mother dealt with Potter. And now look at him! Tangling with Potter yet again!
Daphne almost, almost had a mental orgasm. She had long since accepted the fact that the human brain could always, always trace an idea's origins, because true inspiration was impossible to fake. And the moment the mind recognized that it was feeling something from a foreign stimuli, it reacted back violently, often in widely irrational ways that destroyed the entire subtlety involved in the legilimency. Just attempting to plant the simplest idea into a victim's mind via thought inception was so terrifyingly difficult that it was considered impossible.
Daphne circumvented the issue by reading others' emotions. As an Empath, she knew perfectly well what the emotion tasted like. Just a little nudge in the right direction, and it was child's play to make a person think in the way she wanted.
But even her way was limited to her understanding of the person, their body language, and her victim's skill at Occlumency. And even so, she could only give a nudge to existing emotions.
Potter? He was creating new ones.
It wasn't the Imperius curse, dominating over her will.
It wasn't any form of spiritual possession either.
Potter raised no wand, he cast no spell. Yet, what he did was something far simpler, deeper, deadlier.
What did I expect? Him to understand? I need to escape! I need to escape! They promised me the Ladyship of Malfoy, and instead… What am I? A pawn. A plaything.
Daphne shuddered at the way the new emotions… no, new sensations were forming in Pansy's mind.
Erosion.
Fatigue.
Depletion.
All those were slowly manifesting upon her features. Her hands were shaking, a tick forming above her left eye. Her pupils were constantly shifting around, and her lips were dry. Pansy had this habit of chewing her fingernails whenever anything remotely worrisome bothered her. But with Draco Malfoy present, she couldn't even do that.
"Draco…." Pansy breathed heavily, perspiration clouding her features. "I don't like this! I don't like this at all! I don't want to get caught by the DMLE and get arrested! Let's just get out of here!"
"Oh shut up!" said Draco. "Nothing is going to happen!"
What was I thinking? Even with the betrothal, I have got no say in my own life.
Potter's magic now took a sharper form, almost akin to a sharp blade. No, not a blade. A bladed chain that was slowly entwining around Pansy's mind and heart. Daphne had no doubt Aunt Emmeline had informed Potter of what she was. And if despite that he was being so very blatant, it could only mean that he didn't even care if Daphne was seeing what he was doing. That he wasn't bothering to conceal it could only mean that he had no intention of hiding his thoughts, in which case, he was choosing to draw a line.
Which was too bad, not only for the obvious reasons, but also because it meant Daphne was mistaken. She had taken him to be the sort of man who admired when a girl took control of a situation instead of deferring to him to do the work. Emmeline Vance, Narcissa Malfoy, Hestia Jones, and unless she was dreadfully mistaken, even Amelia Bones, not to mention her own mother — all ladies holding various positions of power in various strata of British society.
Surely he wouldn't mind her having a little fun and testing his mettle a little?
Meanwhile, Pansy grew restless by the second.
If the DMLE finds out, they'll chase me, hunt me, follow me to the ends of the world. I know this. I know it all. They'll send me to Azkaban. They'll administer the Dementor's kiss on me. They'll —
"You know what?" Pansy snapped. "I'm leaving! You can do whatever you want! Keep me out of this!"
—destroy my life! It'll be over. Finished. And Draco would just get a new bitch to play with.
Pansy turned around to leave, only for Draco to grab her arm and pull her back. She cursed herself for being so weak before her own heart. She could never say no to Draco when he asked nicely and —
SLAP!
Pansy fell down on the ground, reeling from the slap on her right cheek. She tasted a coppery tinge inside her mouth and on her lips.
"Stay in your limits, Parkinson!" snapped Malfoy. "I'm not letting you make me look bad in front of Potter, of all people. Now shut your trap and let me deal with this filthy half-blood."
Daphne turned around and looked down at Potter, who wasn't even looking at Pansy any longer. Did his technique not require eye contact? Even the most basics of Legilimency required eye-contact, and Potter was operating on a far deeper level.
"What's the matter, Potter?" asked Draco. "No big words this time? Last time you got lucky, that's all. Not so lucky this time. This time, all of us will hear you scream."
He lifted his wand.
Potter still did nothing. For a moment, Daphne almost decided to intervene, but her curiosity stayed with her wand. She wanted to, no, she needed to see where this would go. Just how far could Potter push Pansy before she bent to his will? Would she bend, or would her twisted loyalty to Draco and her sense of self-preservation win? Or would she break like a china doll?
"Draco!" Pansy snapped. "Have you gone crazy?" She pushed herself up. "You already got into all that trouble for casting the Unforgivable once. And now you want to do it again?"
For a second, Draco hesitated. But the game had been played too far for it to end prematurely now. While it was absolutely abhorrent for a playwright to be part of her own play, exceptions had to be made.
Like now.
"Draco," Daphne purred. "I'm getting bored now. Do what you came for."
That challenged his ego, burning him further. The sensation tasted like absinthe, a strange and arousing flavour. Being admired was golden, maple-sweet. Being despised was a woody, sulphuric aroma, smoke in one's nostrils, something to choke on, when done properly.
Sort of like the aroma oozing out from Pansy right then.
Really, people were such fragile playthings.
But I can stop this. Prevent it from happening.
Ah. Self-righteousness. Daphne would've called this droll if it was a Gryffindor doing this. But from a cowardly little bitch like Parkinson, it tasted almost exotic.
I can turn the scales.
Throw in a little ego boost.
All I need to do is… raise my wand.
Blood and madness were coursing inside the Parkinson girl. The smell of fire. Ah, rage. Vindication. Anxiety. What a delicious mix!
Raise my wand.
Her arm shook. Her fingers clenched tighter. The wand moved up.
Cast the spell.
Unforgivable, perhaps? Give Draco a taste of his own medicine? A tad cliche perhaps, but it would do.
Raise my wand.
Pansy was one the last verges of hesitation. She watched as Draco Malfoy idly held his wand and pointed it at Potter's face. Daphne wondered if the oaf realised how differently things could've gone had he just hit Potter with a blasting hex in the face instead of bragging like an idiot. Silently, Daphne rubbed her heir ring, activating a localised notice-me-not, and stepped to one side.
Potter hadn't even lifted a finger. He had barely even drawn breath. He just tugged at her emotions and twisted her to act according to his wishes.
What kind of devilish power was that?
Cast the spell.
"REDUCTO!"
The blasting hex hit Draco,Crabbe and Goyle from the back, bodily hurling them into the air. All three boys hit a pillar straight ahead, and dropped down to the floor, unmoving.
A second passed by.
Then two.
Three.
Pansy just stood there, her wand raised, the freshly cast spell's effects in front of her own eyes.
Then it hit her.
"Dr— draco!" She croaked. "Dra— draco!"
She looked at the fallen, bloodied form of her fiance and his goons, then at her own wand, still clenched between her shaking fingers. She looked at Draco again, and then at Potter, who was still lying down, not even having spoken a word since the start of this fiasco.
Then her eyes met Daphne's own.
"Run," she suggested.
"I — I —" she tried, still unable to move. "I — I didn't —"
"Run!" Daphne snapped, tugging at her anxiety which had already crossed all limits of irrationality. Pansy obeyed, running into a wall to her right. She hit her head, and was thrown back, but it did nothing to lessen her panic. Flailing, she rushed up and left the stadium, before Daphne heard her footfalls escape in the field outside.
She closed her eyes, sighing as she did, and raised her wand. That Potter stiffened for a moment almost made her smile. Instead, she calmly crossed over to Malfoy's fallen form, and cast the basic healing charm on them, before stunning them for good.
"That," she said at last. "Was a monumental waste of time. Potter, kindly get up! Stop pretending to be a weakling. It's downright embarrassing!"
"Tch!" At her prodding, Potter pushed himself up on the floor. The next moment, his power instantly flared up for a second, before he cloaked it away. "And here I thought you were having the time of your life, Greengrass."
"I was," she admitted. Potter was being facetious, of course, merely proving a point and not genuinely asking, which was a pity, as the answer would have been decently silencing. For starters, he could have made things so much better. Perhaps by making Draco actually cast the spell, only for Pansy to attack him right after. Or if he wanted, he could've just made her kill Draco and then commit suicide.
Potter stiffened.
It made her smile.
"Yet again, you surprise me, Potter," said Daphne, walking towards Potter. "All these years, I thought you weren't the power-seeking type, and now, look at you."
The assertion was so accurate as to be unremarkable; Potter was the reacting type, and never one to take initiative, at least until his Gryffindor buttons were pressed. That kind of attitude did not lend itself to the hypermale braggadocio of businessmen, which he was currently playing at.
Not for the first time, Daphne wondered if the person in front of him was truly Harry Potter.
"Miss Greengrass," said Harry Potter, standing up now. With a flick of his fingers, his robes turned clean and well-pressed, like he had just stepped out wearing them, and not standing in the middle of a burning stadium. "I cannot imagine I seem like much at all, given this is the first time we're even talking. Now, if you'll allow me, I need to leave."
Leave? Did he not care that she was privy to his secret arsenal? That she knew what he had just done and could do? If Daphne hadn't already been aware of how little men cared for evidence of female frustration, she might have grimaced. His indifference, especially in light of the previous demonstration, felt oddly unhelpful.
"I have questions," she said at last. It felt like losing. Almost.
"So do I," said Harry Potter. "Most pressing of which would be your presence. You are aware of my ongoing deal with your father, no? Seems like a foolish thing to join Draco's little entourage just to have a bit of… what shall we call it, harmless fun?"
A shiver ran down her spine. Harmless, only because he had willed it so. She was certain it could have ended in a bloodbath, and something told her that Potter wouldn't even have batted an eye had things turned differently.
"What can I say?" she shrugged. "Draco can be incredibly persuasive."
"Even in the middle of… all this?" Potter gestured at the burning building all around them.
"A big event, which will likely have all sorts of reactions," said Daphne, nodding her head. "But ultimately, it will be overshadowed by another big event, I'm certain. Happens all the time. All these people dead, all those people fighting all around. Fires in the middle of the forest. No doubt many, many things will happen tonight. Things far more relevant than a burning stadium."
Daphne felt a surge of impatience rising from him. He was jittery. In a hurry. He had a reason to keep her alive, and keep her in the know, and yet at arm's length. More mysteries, yum. Maybe he believed he had already given away too much, or simply wanted her to believe he had. Whether that was intentional or otherwise was still unclear.
"You wanted me to know, Harry Potter," she said, trying a direct approach for once. Maybe it would favour a reaction from the Gryffindor he was supposed to be. "I don't think you are careless or brazen enough to tangle with the Greengrass family, or deal with your associates without keeping an eye on things. You want me to know, but not to act. Why? What are you truly after?"
There was no panic, no frenzied concern on his face.
Potter's features gained a wistful expression. "Honestly, I'm not sure. Maybe I'm just like a dog chasing cars. I wouldn't know what to do with one if I caught it."
"Don't lie, Potter," she said slowly. "You're skilled, talented even. But you're swimming with sharks. This lazy, pretentious game you've got on, it's like you aren't even trying to win. And you won't, if you don't up your game."
A lazy smile formed on Potter's face. "I'll keep that in mind. But either way, I really must go. It's been quite interesting, meeting you in these circumstances, Miss Greengrass. Perhaps you could take care of loose ends, you know, as an apology for participating in that little harmless fun? Preferably before someone from the DMLE comes in and sees you here."
That's it? That's all he was asking? No way. There had to be more. There always was.
"Well then, good night," said Potter. "Oh, you'd better learn the disillusionment charm soon. Invisibility cloaks don't tend to last very long, you know."
And then he left.
Daphne watched him go, resisting the urge to swear. Whatever plans Potter had with Auntie Cissa, they were no doubt derailed by the stadium detonating like that. She had estimated that after months of careful planning, after carefully ensuring that Broderick was in his pocket, thanks to whatever strings he was pulling at the DMLE, he would be utterly devastated to see his plans go up in fumes because of this surprise detonation. Hell, if rumours were correct, even Amelia Bones, the DMLE Director, was inside when the stadium had gone up in flames.
And now with everything else in chaos, and the Death Eaters attacking and striking terror and fighting whatever remained of the DMLE….
Daphne just stared blankly at the space left vacant by Potter's absence, a disbelieving frown on her lips.
"It… can't be."
She remembered how he had described things. A dog chasing cars. From a neutral point of view, it looked quite similar to that. Spending vast amounts of family fortune on Sleekeazy. Agreeing to his father's subpar deal. Twisting Malfoy's emotions to make him cast an Unforgivable in public. Potter's connection to the Black family. His under-the-table deals with Aunt Narcissa.
She remembered what she had called him. Lazy.
Of course he wasn't trying to win.
He had already won.
Daphne hadn't seen it. She had been focussed on playing checkers, while he had been playing chess all this time. It didn't matter if Draco stayed out of prison. It didn't matter that the DMLE was crippled. It didn't matter if the explosion took place.
It didn't change the outcome.
He was being lazy, because he could afford to be lazy.
"... fucking Potter!" She whispered. Exhaling, she turned around, ready to memory-charm her fellow associates, when his last words came to mind. Almost instantly, she drew her hand next to her pouch and summoned her invisibility cloak and —
—nothing answered.
She tried again.
Still nothing.
"POTTER, YOU FRIGGIN' PRICK!"
Notes:
If you want to support me, find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Next Update is on 29th November.
Chapter 123: Retribution Part 1
Notes:
I finally have a Discord server, and although it's still fresh around the corners, there's a lot of potential. Given the nature of the story, I went with the name Penthouse for the server. If you are interested in joining it, following for more updates and snippets, and discussing SED in general, just hop in on the link.
https://discord.gg/jvzqqvHhr7
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 3 - THE INCUBUS AND NECROMANCER
CHAPTER 123 - RETRIBUTION PART 1
Amelia Bones had always been a pragmatic woman, choosing efficiency over flamboyance, specificity over mystery, science, logic and law over abstract concepts such as faith and trust. In her mind, it was easier to follow the law, even if the law was poorly legislated, mandated or executed, because it provided a framework, a line between right and wrong, even if it was in the legal sense of the term. Her traumatic experience that began with the Potter's demise only bolstered the idea that rules, no matter how archaic, were better than no rules.
And then she met Harry Potter.
And then she perished in a cataclysmic explosion that took it with a major chunk of the DMLE.
And then she was resurrected.
Honestly speaking, Amelia still had issues with that. A person dying, she could understand. A person coming back from the dead, that she had a problem with.
Even if the person was herself.
But none of the above helped her fight against Walden Macnair and his nigh invincible army.
And then Harry Potter did the unbelievable. Again.
As she closed her eyes, she felt the stirrings, felt the leftover shades that were still indubitably connected to her, their emotions throbbing and pulsating like a headache at the back of her head. It took her a couple of seconds to re-orientate her senses, and steady her vision. She knew what it was, and suspended her disbelief, choosing to trust her senses and believe in the person that had brought her back from the claws of death. Compartmentalised everything deep inside her until it was but an afterthought.
Battle first. Questions could come later.
"Walden Macnair," she said with the tone of an unrelenting judge sentencing the guilty. "For crimes of sedition against the Ministry, breaking of Ministerial oaths and sacred protocol, and multiple castings of Unforgivable curses and open display of your allegiance to the terrorist group known as the Death Eaters, I am deploying Martial Law, and sentencing you to death."
She raised her wand.
"The sentence will be carried out at once. Hit-wizards, take positions."
Blank silence rang at her statement.
Then the guilty laughed.
"Bitch's lost it. She escaped death once, but has lost it now." He sneered. "All this time, I wanted to kill you in battle. A fitting end for a fighter. Now? I'll put you down as an act of mercy."
He raised his wand, and yelled —
"AVADA KEDAVRA!"
A lot many things happened that moment.
The unforgivable streak of green crossed the distance between them, clashing head-on with an opposing streak of purple mid-path, only to be deflected by several degrees. It hit a werewolf about two feet away, dropping him on the spot. The victorious yowling of the werewolves was quelled by the collective shouts of 'STUPEFY', as streaks of crimson light erupted out from the shadows from behind Macnair, smashing into him. The Ministry Executioner turned Death Eater was bodily picked up and hurled into the air. He sailed by at least a hundred feet, spinning through the air and crashed against a large tree trunk, possibly breaking his spine, and slid down, groaning.
"Yes," said Amelia. "That will do."
"Who's attacking us?" yelled a masked Death Eater.
Amelia smiled. "Judgement."
She raised her wand like a baton. "Squads!" she yelled. "FALL IN!"
The world itself seemed to hold its breath, the forest went still, as if Reality itself recognized the gravity of the moment. A chilling fog rolled in, obscuring the landscape and muffling all sound. The temperature plunged, leaving an unnatural stillness that could be cut with a knife, broken only by the faint rustle of spectral forms materialising from the mist.
She saw their leader step forward, out of its spectral heart, walking out to the front. A towering man in life, a towering man in death, cloaked in shadows, with eyes that burned with twin stars. He wielded his yew wand that felt like it was forged from the essence of the night itself, its shaft seemingly absorbing all light around it.
"Rufus…" whispered Amelia, looking at the spectral form of the now former Head-Auror.
The man did not speak, but merely held her gaze.
"The Death Eaters think they have won," she said. "They think that they have crippled the DMLE. They think that they can piss on our efforts to keep Britain safe, that this night is a grand statement before the entire world, heralding the fall of our nation."
She met the spectral army's gaze. Kingsley Shacklebolt, bald and towering with his head cracked open stood, his characteristic relaxed grin plastered on his dead face; Savage, young and proud, and oh so diligent; Proudfoot, Connelly, Minchum, McDonald, Turnipseed, Milliphutt, Gambol — every single one of them stared back at her.
The werewolves, the terrorists behind the pale white masks and dark, billowing cloaks just stared at her, their features a varying mix of apprehension, fear and downright confusion. Ghosts they could understand, but ghosts casting spells? Wraiths possessing physical bodies they had known, but wraiths existing in tangible, corporeal forms…
Inconceivable.
Amelia didn't care. She didn't fear their attack any more than she feared this spectral army that had answered their call. Even her attackers knew that their game of numbers had been inverted upon themselves.
The predator had become the prey.
"These bastards think they can do what they want, without repercussions," she declared, glaring at her enemies. The ones that were responsible for the countless dead tonight.
"Let us correct their ignorance."
She levelled her wand at the groaning form of Walden Macnair.
"DEPRIMO."
The light purple curse was originally crafted to be used in civil construction, for the explicit purpose of drilling holes on the floor without affecting the strength of the entire structure. When it hit Walden Macnair's head, it obliterated it with the same efficiency, leaving the rest of the body, from the tip of the neck to the bottom, utterly undamaged.
Raising her wand high up in the heavens, she pointed it at the Dark Mark floating in the sky.
"DELETRIUS!"
The Dark Mark dissipated, as hoots and yells from the spectral army silenced the despairing howls from the Death Eater crowd. And Amelia Bones, like a primal dictator, raised her wand and let out a victorious war cry.
"KILL THEM ALL!"
And all around her, the Death Eaters began to die.
The first to attack were the wraiths, their forms shimmering like heat waves, yet cold as the grave. They flew soundlessly over the ground, their hollow eyes burning with an inner light that flickered like a candle in the wind. The werewolves, ordinarily too fast for an average mortal, found themselves on the defensive as the wraiths grabbed them, possessed them, twisted and burned their insides, and used their bodies to kill their own kind.
Behind them came the poltergeists, more defined but no less eerie. Dressed in the spectral remains of their mortal garb, their faces pale and translucent, features twisted in expressions of eternal sorrow, unfulfilled rage, or perhaps both. They marched in unison, their footsteps leaving no trace, their presence heralded by a low, mournful wail that seems to emanate from the very earth. Clad in tattered remnants of long-forgotten armour, they carried their wands in one hand, while spectral shields arising out of the rings they wore on their other hand, glowing with a ghostly blue fire. An army of Death Eaters came rushing at them, and found their spells passing through them harmlessly. But when the poltergeists cast, the spells tore through the Death Eater ranks.
Hovering high above the ground, jumping from tree to tree, were the banshees, their keening cries piercing the stillness and chilling the soul. Their hair flowed down like dark smoke, and their eyes looked like pools of infinite despair. Their lamentations were a sorrowful anthem of vengeance, making their prey fall to their knees, grabbing their heads and screaming while they pounced upon them, tearing them apart with their bare claws.
"They say civilization is a thin veneer over barbarism," said Amelia, as she casually met, encountering a shellshocked Emmeline Vance, and an equally perplexed Hestia Jones. "I hope Malfoy and his ilk like this tearing sound."
"But…." trailed off Emmeline. "This is… I mean, this is wrong. Necromancy is supposed to be evil. An abomination. Perhaps a necessary one tonight, but hideous all the same. And yet, look at it. It's amazing."
"Pretty good at werewolf-crushing too," quipped Hestia.
"Indeed," said Amelia. "Harry and I had a deal. Lucius Malfoy is his. Everything else is fair game."
She took careful note of the way Hestia stiffened at that.
"But… this, so many… I mean, this isn't supposed to be possible. And Harry — Harry did this?"
"It probably has something to do with so much death," said Hestia, attracting both witches' attention. The young woman fidgeted a bit at their stares. "Harry once told me that magic, especially powerful magic, leaves traces. And dying, especially in such a manner, leaves a lot of lingering emotions, curses and residual magic behind, which is what raises ghosts in time. I think what Harry did was… accelerate the process, using necromancy."
Emmeline arched an eyebrow. "And the poltergeists casting spells?
Hestia shrugged. "Gotta ask the man."
"Speaking of, where is he?"
Breathing was difficult.
Walking was difficult.
Doing both, amidst the chaos all around, with the sheer stench of death and darkness, while walking around, blindly searching for her father, was almost impossible.
Papa… Papa… her mind cried out, and reeled in growing horror when she couldn't sense him. She was alone. Unable to find her father. Unable to portkey out safely because of the anti-apparition and anti-portkey wards. She could only hope that her father was safe out there, probably looking for her with his bodyguards. She didn't want to entertain the possibility of him remaining inside the stadium when it exploded.
Her mind went back to Potter's smug smirk, and humiliation warred with fear for the prime emotion in Fleur's mind as she trudged through the forests, her disillusionment charm constantly flickering in and out, no thanks to her current state. She knew that she had taken a risk by running after the mystery that was Harry Potter, entranced and repulsed by his contradictory powers. However his magic worked, Fleur did not know, but experiencing a hundred orgasms all at once was something she had never expected to experience, definitely not inside a filthy loo of all places. Her body still shook, while craving his touch, wanting to scream and run away, and also curse him with every spell she had ever known, all at once, while being at the brink of throwing up, unable to stand the dark, intense, lingering emotions of death, destruction, sheer horror, and the countless screams that pervaded into the night.
Speaking of Potter, he must have something to do with this. He had been planning something with Narcissa Malfoy of all people, and even Fleur had heard of the bigotry of that family. If something happened to her father because of this, if he….
She didn't finish the thought.
Yes, Porter would die for this. Horribly, and in the worst agony that Fleur could conceive. She didn't know when or how, but Potter would die. To feel this… this lost wasn't something she could accept. She had thought that she'd….
Something stirred in the corner of her vision. A shadow moving where there was nothing to move about, no moonlight or raging flame to cast it.
Clenching her teeth, she levelled her wand and hurled a bolt of raw magic directly at it. It wasn't really a spell, for Fleur wasn't really a witch. She was a veela, a being of emotion and magic, and unlike witches, magic flowed through her veins, permeating her every cell. When she chose to, she could direct it outward in a brutal, destructive bolt of energy that could pierce through a steel armour. And when she was too enraged or threatened, she could transform into an avian form and hurl fireballs of the hottest, bluish flames, capable of scorching even stone. She didn't know who it was that was sneaking up to her, and she did not care, for if they meant well, they wouldn't be sneaking up on her cloaked under some disillusionment charm. She struck to kill.
It didn't do much good.
The barely visible shimmering in the air grew and twisted, easily dodging her bolt of magic, which got choked in the darkness. Fleur clenched her wand tighter, as a bodiless foot appeared before her. She cast again, a blasting hex, only for it to vanish into a pinprick of light.
Fleur shuddered, as the flickers became more concrete, before the invisibility cloak was lifted away, revealing a hunched figure that gave her the impression of an overgrown school kid, or perhaps a little boy trapped in the body of a much, much older man. His clothes were neat and evenly pressed, his hair combed back and his face cleaned and well-presented. But one look at his eyes, and another shudder went down her spine.
Those eyes burnt. Within them was shining brilliance, fevered activity and searing madness. They were the eyes of a fanatic, of a man who was completely and totally devoted to one thing and one thing only. His lips moved constantly, muttering one single sentence over and over like a mantra.
"Kill, kill, kill. Kill Lucius Malfoy."
"Who — who are you?" asked Fleur, her accent coming out despite her efforts. Her allure was flaring dangerously, responding to the fear coursing through her as well as the ambient emotion around.
"Kill," repeated the man. "KILL LUCIUS! KILL LUCIUS! KILL! LUCIUS! MALFOY!"
He was frothing by the end of it.
"Oh-kay," said Fleur, slowly taking a backstep. "I'm not Lucius Malfoy. "E's… e's gone… zat way!" She pointed in an arbitrary direction. "S'il te plaît, let me go!"
"Nononono," the man said in a singsong voice, shaking his head like a rabid dog. "So many to kill! Can't let a single leave! Honestly, it's like I'm spoiled for choices," he said, cupping his chin, as if lost in thought. "All those mudbloods need to die! Die die die! So much fire, so many screams, it's just wonderful! But father won't like it. No Barty no, you must not let yourself be seen! You must not let yourself be seen! LACERO!"
Fleur instantly raised a shield, letting the spell splash against it. She sent a jolt of allure at him, hoping to confuse him if not make him leave. Instead he just gazed at her wolfishly, a hungry gleam in his eyes.
Fleur instinctively took a step back. Just her luck to fall prey to a crazed madman. Stupid Brits and their stupid insurgents! "I'm not Lucius Malfoy! Go kill 'im instead! Leave me! Let me go!"
"Nononono," said Barty in that same singsong tone. "Father is clear on this. I must not be seen! Barty came here, and you saw Barty! That means Barty gets to kill you so that nobody sees Barty! And then, I will kill Lucius Malfoy. Now, die."
The madman began hurling hexes and curses, while also being creative with the environment, transfiguring it into traps and weapons, a dozen at a time, and using it all to attack Fleur from all directions. The boar he had transfigured from a vine was charred to death with a single fireball, and her wide-area vanishing charm took care of mad swarm of mosquitoes that was buzzing around her, before casting twin blasting hexes at the two roots he had enlivened to attack her. But the man was almost unstoppable. He was barely spending time to voice incantations, chaining spells constantly, while raving on and on about how he would kill Lucius Malfoy. No flashes, no dramatics, just constant spell furies and intelligent use of the environment against his opponent. Fleur quickly realised she would need to transform into her avian form and escape if she wanted to live.
Where was the DMLE? She glanced in the direction of the still burning building, and at the forest that had recently gone up in teal-coloured flames of all things. She had heard werewolves howling, and sounds of spellfire, while she constantly searched for her father amidst the chaos.
Meanwhile the man kept on chattering.
"I saw Gawain Robards on the way. Bastard captured me when that betrayer Karkaroff sold me out. I can kill him. And Karkaroff's hiding I know not where, but I can kill him too. So many to kill. So many options. But first I'm gonna kill Lucius Malfoy!"
Insane. Utterly, definitively insane. Just her luck to attract a crazy, murdering psychopathic Death Eater.
She glanced at the massive floating sigil in the sky, the Dark Mark, she recognized from the history books. Recent British history always found its place in the minds of French historians while they were preparing history books for Beauxbatons undergrads. Someone had died, someone important.
Her anxiety tripled. "BOMBARDA MAXIMA!"
The powerful exploding curse hit the ground between them, which erupted in a cloud of dust and rock, and Fleur spun around, and began running as quickly as her legs could take her. Not a very good prospect, since her legs were still feeling like jelly from the orgasmic high Harry Potter had affected her with. She cast a quick ascending charm on herself, lifting herself by twenty feet into the air, feathers exploding over her body and her mouth arching and expanding into a beak, before something grabbed her right leg and yanked her down. Shocked, her wand fell off her hand, and Fleur shrieked in that half-human, half-bird form, as she was slammed down against the ground with a herculean force. Screaming, she shut her eyes and waited for the inevitable.
The pain never came.
Fleur blinked, confused. She had sorta been expecting to be dead at this point. And if not, badly injured with her skull fractured and her face distorted, possibly in ways beyond the capacity of healers to recover. Instead she found herself just inches above the ground, floating in mid-air.
"Oooof!" She grunted, as she dropped unceremoniously on the floor.
"Not dead?" She heard the psychopath mutter in surprise. "Not dead, not dead! I told you. Father said, 'Barty, you must not be seen!' Don't you get it? Imustnotletmyselfbeseen! Imustnotletmyselfbeseen! Imustnotletmyselfbe—"
He rushed at her, jumping at her form, ready to straddle her from above —
—And then an invisible force slammed into him with the force of a freight train and sent him flying by several dozen feet. His body hit a tree trunk and dropped down with a thud. He didn't move after that.
"Now, now, that's not the way you treat a French delegate. And then you wonder why the French think poorly of us."
Fleur looked up at her unexpected saviour, and found herself meeting the gaze of the source of her problems.
Harry fucking Potter.
She tried to push herself back on her feet, but a sprain on her abdomen kept her down.
'Just take it easy," he said. "You might've got a sprain from that midair yanking. Nothing a quick Episkey would fix. What were you doing being alone by yourself at this time? And how did you come across that guy?"
She ignored him and attempted getting up a second time and succeeded. Lifting her wand, she cast a quick healing spell, and stood back up on her feet. "I zot zat walking outside ze stadium feeling a mixture of rage, pity and self-disgust would be ze worst experience in my life." She eyed him. "I've never felt zat way before."
"Well, experiences shape a man, or woman, I suppose."
She gave him a baleful look. "I was looking for my papa. 'Ave you seen him?"
Potter shook his head. "I can help you look for him."
"And why?" she questioned, narrowing her eyes. "What are you even doing 'ere?"
"Enjoying the weather?" Potter shrugged. "Oh, and keeping arseholes from ruining our stellar reputation in front of our French friends, I suppose. Look, I was searching for my own friends, when I saw the spellfire and intervened."
"So you were guided by latent chivalry, ze tool of ze patriarchy, to extract my undying gratitude?"
"Mm-hmm. Most people would just say thank you."
"I didn't want to be rescued."
"So, I should've just let him smash your cute face to mush?"
"I would rather 'ave saved myself," she said, casting cleansing charms on herself. "Better zan take 'elp from ze one responsible for all zis."
"Hang on! Me? Responsible?"
"Zon't lie, 'Arry Potter!" She warned, her accent in full force. Nearly transforming into her avian form, and failing to do that, only to be saved by her last man she wanted to see would do that to anyone. "I saw you. I 'eard you. Plotting with Madame Malfoi."
"Oh? You did, didn't you? Was that before or after you saw me planting bombs all over the stadium to cripple my country's defence forces and kill half of the spectators?"
"Zat does not matter!" She fumed. "You were planning something wiz 'er!"
"Clearly. You saw me doing something with Narcissa Malfoy. And someone set the entire stadium ablaze and murdered over a thousand people. And since the world cannot possibly maintain more than one conspiracy at a time, I'm clearly the one that detonated the stadium!"
"Bordel de merde!" She cursed. "If not for you, I would've been with Papa."
"Yes, because I asked you to leave your father and his security and come after me, didn't I? No, you wanted to eavesdrop on me so badly because the little girl couldn't hold her curiosity back."
Fleur had never had any use for the word 'incensed' before, but it was now the only conceivable way to describe the sensation of being near Harry Potter. Her body began to heat up.
"Listen you —"
"AVADA KEDAVRA!"
Before Fleur could react, Potter grabbed her by her waist and pulled her to the right, evading the curse by mere inches.
She expected him to cast something offensive, instead he just lazily cast a confounding hex on him, followed by a Nebulus charm, clouding the entire zone in dense, black fog.
"Let's go," he said.
"What? Just like zat? 'E just cast ze killing curse at you! Wait, you are immune to zat curse, are you? What are you going to do? Cast something obscure? Or offensive like zat blasting curse?"
Potter deadpanned as her imagination ran wild with each passing second. "Despite what the whole world thinks, Dumbledore isn't training me in secret. I only know as much as the average third year passout, Miss Delacour."
Liar. His casual casting all but yelled that his training in spellcraft and combat was anything but normal.
"And even if I knew, that's a homicidal maniac right there. What do you expect me to do? Fight him and win because I'm supposed to be a hotheaded Gryffindor?"
Fleur opened her mouth to speak, but then shut it. She tried it again and again but to no results. She had expected him to fight him and satisfy his male bravado. From the raw power she had tasted, and his casual mannerisms, she was almost certain he could hold his own, at least against this madman. At the same time, it was obvious he wasn't telling her the absolute truth. He could have easily stunned the man or worse.
Instead he was just letting him go.
Damnit. Nothing about Harry Potter made sense.
"Fine!" she said. "Let's go find my father."
Notes:
If you want to support me, find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Next Update is on 4th December.
Chapter 124: Retribution Part 2
Notes:
We have a discord server by the name PentHouse. If you are interested in joining it, following for more updates and snippets, and discussing SED in general, just hop in on the link.
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(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 3 - THE INCUBUS AND NECROMANCER
CHAPTER 124 - RETRIBUTION PART 2
Somewhere in the darkness of the forest, Lucius Malfoy looked at all the chaos his plans had unfolded that night and scowled.
He had his Death Eater mask on. Misdirection was key, and should the DMLE, or whatever remained of it, ever learn of his involvement, his life was forfeit. No amount of gold could convince Cornelius to keep him alive, if the people of Wizarding Britain united against him. It would be inconvenient, until the Dark Lord's plans progressed a bit further. No, this time he stayed under his disillusionment charm, observing Sebastian Delacour fighting off the mercenaries Lucius had paid to capture the man.
But more important than that, it was the way things were unfolding that pissed Lucius, and he had no idea what to make of it.
He had seen the Dark Mark dissipate and feel Walden Macnair's presence vanish. That meant he was dead, a loss that was neither unexpected nor mourned. The Executioner was a powerful fighter, but a tad too berserk for Lucius's tastes, who preferred subtler methods to achieve what he aimed for. This was a war, and wars demanded sacrifice. Macnair was, like anyone else, cannon fodder.
But the means of his demise was… troublesome at the very least. Ominously so. Empowered by the Dark Mark, Macnair was a flawless instrument of Death that should have killed the DMLE Director several times over. Instead, the woman stayed miraculously alive, empowered by a power too strange and terrible for Lucius to make any heads or tails of. It was very intriguing. Twisted, chaotic, bizarre, familiar….
His hand clenched the tiny little object he held inside his pocket. The Black Fang of Tiamat — an enchanted dagger that was so steeped in necromancy that Lucius had to tie it up in multiple layers of silk just to keep it from destroying the enchantments in his robes and killing himself by mistake. It was given to him by the Dark Lord for a singular purpose — to collect the residual negative energies in the aftermath of the explosion — the agony from the pain, the fear of dying, the resentment the victims felt for the perpetrator of the explosion, as they drew their last breaths… so much energy, so much emotion. The ground would no doubt turn cursed, and hundreds of ghosts and malevolent spirits would arise out of its dust to haunt the living until they were successfully exorcised, their remains consecrated, and the land rejuvenated by druidic rituals over and over until it was good to be used again.
But someone else had gotten in the way.
At first, Lucius hadn't quite believed it. But hearing enough mentions about an army of the dead, shades of the DMLE staff, aurors and hit-wizards alike, followed by poltergeists, ghosts, wraiths and banshees, attacking the werewolves and tearing them apart, taking the forest by storm had destroyed nearly every single plan that Lucius had prepared for the night.
In less than half an hour, this unexpected resistance had obliterated nearly three-quarters of his assembled Death-Eater forces. The only reason the one-fourth was still alive, was because they had successfully evaded while their compatriots were busy getting murdered by the hands of the dead.
The irony of Death-Eaters being butchered by the dead was not lost on him.
The worst part? This somebody, who could only be a necromancer, had channelled all the residual energy that Lucius was supposed to gather into creating this resistance force, and handed the reins to the DMLE Director, who was unleashing her rage with extreme prejudice. The power that the Dark Lord would have used to empower himself had been used against his own forces.
The Dark Lord wouldn't be happy about this. Not at all.
If he had to get back into HIs good books, something big was needed. Something that would make the Dark Lord ignore his faults.
And right then, that 'something' arrived into the scene.
The 'veela' daughter of the Frenchman.
Lucius didn't know why, but the Dark Lord had been obsessed with the veela race as of recently. Things had gotten to the degree that Lucius had asked his good friend Almeideuax to kidnap young veela women from the French covens, an outrageously difficult task given the strict security Sebastian Delacour had offered them. Lucius had heard tales about Sebastian's wife Apolline descending from veela royalty, and having their daughter would no doubt please the Dark Lord quite well.
He watched as she charged into the crowd without preparation, casting blasting hexes and stunners to force their way to her injured father. The elder Delacour was already hurt by a dark hex on his left arm, and two of his bodyguards were dead. The girl's sudden arrival caught the remaining bodyguard by surprise who was hit by a blood-boiling curse in the chest, before a severing charm relieved him off his head.
The father and the daughter exchanged words in rapid-fire French, before she held her wand out, daring anyone to attack her father.
Lucius smiled. He always admired a speck of defiance in his prey. It made things interesting.
"Mademoiselle Delacour," he said, walking out of the shadows, his mask altering his voice as per usual. It would not do to have anyone recognize his voice. "We have been searching for you."
The girl answered his words with a flaming curse that missed Lucius and set the tree behind him on fire. The sudden surprise caught him, and his Death Eater mask was snapped off his face and landed near her feet.
"Malfoy," breathed Sebastian Delacour. "I should've known."
"Let us go," the girl spoke in heavily accented French. Between her allure and that accent, it only made things so much more enjoyable. Oh he would not kill her, not even harm her permanently, but he would play with her. He lazily deflected whatever spells the girl cast at him, before a weak banishing hex made her land on the ground with a thud.
The mercenaries laughed.
And then the girl hurled a small pouch from her pocket and everything went pitch dark.
Instantly everyone went on high alert. It was like the entire area was engulfed in darkness. As if night itself had swallowed every inch of the forest cover, making it impossible for him to see further. It took liberal application of lighting charms, general counterspells and finally after a burst of insight, a gravity charm to dissipate the Peruvian Instant-darkness powder, and by then, both father and daughter had vanished.
"Find them," Lucius ordered the mercenaries and the werewolves. "Kill the father if you must, but bring the girl alive back to me."
"This place is… wrong," said Sebastian Delacour. "It's like the air is screaming."
"Ze air is filled with souls, Papa," said Fleur, stopping to breathe after running as fast as possible. "Zere is a resonance here. It will try to drag your soul out of your body to join it if you let it. Be strong, Papa."
The curse on her father's left arm was beyond her ability to counter, so she had instead put his entire left arm on a stasis charm, as they sprinted through the darkness of the forest. The sudden darkness that had inundated the area had helped her escape. Not a perfect plan, but it had far.
"Fleur, listen to me," said her father. "You must leave. I'm — this curse is affecting me. I can't go on further. Those terrorists, I — they are Death Eaters, followers of the Dark Lord in the last war. You cannot outrun the werewolves like this. Leave me. I'll hold them back, and you can transform and fly away. That's the —"
"Non!" snapped Fleur, pulling her father while doing her best to ignore the growing unease in her gut. Between her surreal experience in the loo, followed by the crazed loony bastard in the forest and everything else, her limbs were feeling heavy. If not for her nature as a being of magic, she'd have fallen apart far earlier. "And… And I'm not alone! 'Arry Potter is 'elping me."
"The Boy-Who-Lived?"
"Oui," she said, panting as she ran through the forest. "'E helped me take you and escape."
She found herself wondering, offhandedly, what Potter really wanted, which naturally led into a reminder that for all his chivalry, he had let her rush into the spellfight by herself, without revealing himself. But as cowardly as it was, she could recognize the pragmatism in it. They were strangers after all, and he had entrusted her with two very useful things to hide themselves from their attackers. At the same time, he had also let that lunatic go despite having the chance to stun him for good. Add that with the stench of his magic from the first time, and his plans with the Malfoy woman….
Wait. The Lady Malfoy was plotting something with Potter while her husband was after Fleur's father. In which case….
No. That wasn't a train of thought worth going down, Fleur decided, despite the shiver that ran down her spine. Harry Potter was helping her out of the danger, he was not the dangerous one. She believed that. The alternative was simply too terrifying to contemplate.
Her father suddenly yanked her to the right, cutting her mental reveries off, and pulled her aside to hide behind an oak tree trunk. He looked around anxiously.
"They're coming. The werewolves. Around us."
Fleur had little experience with werewolves in the past. But she had read Wandering with werewolves by Gilderoy Lockhart, and had some idea of just how dangerous the beasts could be, especially on a full moon night. The author, an honorary member of the Dark Force Defence League, had mentioned something about blood resonance, a phenomenon that made werewolves stronger if more of their kin were present there.
It was a good thing she had come prepared.
If nothing else works, use this, Potter had said, handing her over his invisibility cloak. Fleur pulled it out of her pouch and pulled it over them, doing her best not to puke at the stench of darkness emanating out of the Cloak. Whatever act of magic Potter had used with this cloak, it had definitely not been nice.
Father and daughter watched with bated breaths as they heard the sounds of rustling in the darkness, with the occasional howls and lighting charms and sparks against the thick tree trunks, unsure of what to do next. Her father had been right. It would be impossible to run from these beasts. Werewolves were way faster than humans, and she doubted she could even hit one before they killed both of them.
Unconsciously, she took a backstep, stepping on a tendril that snapped audibly.
Merde!
Fleur cursed herself in three different tongues, as the werewolf closest to them paused and took note. Her father gripped her hands tightly while aiming his wand at the beast as it drew near. In her haste, she had forgotten to pull her own wand that was currently inside her pocket, and trying to move again would give them away.
"Accio Cloak."
Before Fleur could even register it, the Cloak was ripped away from over her. The shimmering fabric flew past the trees and landed in Lucius Malfoy's hands. Fleur grit her teeth, not really sure what she could do. Even if she managed to curse some of the beasts or hold up a shield, the Death Eaters would shatter it with one of their spells. And the worst part? She wasn't facing one of those beasts, but at least a dozen of them. Even if she had two wands, she'd barely be able to do anything before those venomous fangs would sink into her body from all angles.
Okay, okay, calm down, she told herself. This doesn't look good, but panicking won't help. I've to save Papa.
She looked around. The werewolves were encircling them from all sides, though the canopy above them was quite dark. If she could catch them off guard, she could use an illusion spell or something, and transform. Perhaps she could grab her father and pull him up through the canopy, and hopefully the Death Eaters wouldn't know how to do a gravity charm unlike the madman from before and…. and…
All right, she conceded. It might be time to panic.
Apparently bad things came in trios.
The first bad thing was that the army of shades that I had raised just sometime ago had dissipated or at least, were close to doing so, given how the taste of magic in the air was slowly changing back to normal. That meant that there was nothing to shield away the magical spike that was about to follow.
The second bad thing was that Lucius wasn't alone. Fighting one big bad Death Eater was one thing, but fighting multiple ones at the same time? That was a different ball game. And while I had faith in my extreme reflexes, I couldn't say the same about my experience fighting them.
The third was, well, that Fleur and her father were still there. Which meant I couldn't use the Serratura with them within it.
Finally, there was Barty Crouch Junior to consider. If I employed the Serratura, Barty would remain outside it. And I doubted I had the ability to take on so many of them — Death Eaters and werewolves, all at once.
Or could I?
A quick glance through the status window showed me the list of all my current perks. And out of them, there was one that stood out head and shoulders in terms of damage potential. And given its nature, it would even fit in perfectly with the Black Family Magic.
No, come to think of it, its power and nature would actually be amplified by the Black Family Magic.
Only problem was that I had never used it before.
Oh well, there's a first time for everything.
Putting on the cilice belt, I prepared myself for what was to follow. The dark artefact dug into my skin and greedily sucked my blood, pouring its intoxicants and curses down my bloodstream like it always did. Closing my eyes, I began the chant that Walburga Black had taught me all those months ago, a chant that had become second nature to me by now.
"I'm the child of the Coyote. I bind and I eat, I curse and I kill,
On this accursed night, I call upon those waiting in Ni' Hodithil."
The Black Family were supposedly descended from the Coyote. It was said that the Navajo Holy Ones cursed our ancestors, forcing them to live in Ni' Hodithil, the First Dark World, where their powers mutated to become shapeshifters. They called them Yenaldooshi, dark sorcerers with twisted abilities. It is this curse that lies at the root of the Black Family Magic. It is the power of this curse that manifests through this pelt you wear and detest, and it is this curse that allows an ordinary scion to transform into the Black Lord.
That would be me.
From the moment of my initiation till the time of enacting the ritual, I had meticulously let the Pelt drink my blood and quench its thirst, and use my power to prepare its curse.
A curse in which lay the foundation of the Black Family Magic.
"To the First of the Dark, I offer every soul sundered through my claws,
On this night, I become your wrath,
Bless me, feed me, own me, drench me,
With your howls, and your curses, enlighten me of the path."
Trembling in anticipation, I activated the final step, one that would allow me to channel those curses perfectly and effectively counter the Death Eaters.
Activating Perk - Malevolent Release
To call it a mismatch would be a horrible understatement.
On one side was Fleur and her father. Granted, her father had been a skilled warwizard of the French forces before becoming a full-time politician, and she was no slouch either, they were still demographically on the lower side. Plus, her father had been cursed in one hand, and she was already on the verge of physical exhaustion.
On the other side were an entire group of bloodthirsty werewolves, the scent of blood and fear filling the air just from their presence. They seemed part of the darkness, and absolutely deadly opponents to face, even without the current disadvantages. Lucius Malfoy and three masked Death Eaters stood before them.
Fleur was beginning to wonder if maybe this entire Quidditch World Cup had been a bad plan.
"Don't worry, little girl," said one of the masked Death Eaters, his voice that of a kindly, caring, old uncle lecturing his favourite niece. "Your death won't come just yet. You are a useful bargaining chip."
"Or we'll just kill you horribly before your father's eyes," said another, this one a woman. "He will pay for trying to bolster the half-breeds in France."
The rage was literally rolling off the person in waves, as though being in her presence was enough to get her to start burning something.
"You will not harm a hair on my Fleur's head, you bitch," snarled her father. 'I'll kill you myself before that."
The masked Death Eater retorted with an unforgivable.
"CRUCIO!"
"REDUCTO!"
The streak of jagged crimson clashed against Sebastian Delacour's quick response, the silvery torrent of the blasting curse hitting it head-on, causing the epicentre of the clash to erupt into a furnace of melting gold, with thick globules of raw magic boiling and erupting out around, as the two fought for dominance. Meanwhile, Fleur was doing her best trying to defend from the constant barrage of curses the other Death Eaters threw their way with varying degrees of success.
"PROTEGO!" she yelled, while their father cast a blasting hex at another death eater.
"CONFRINGO!"
"PETRIFICUS TOTALUS!"
Exploding curses and restraining spells met the raw power of bone-exploding curses and blasting hexes. One of the werewolves circling them had climbed a tree to leap at her father from behind, only for Fleur to grab its hindlimb with the flaming rope charm and smash it down to the ground, just like that madman had done to her earlier.
Her father looked at the fallen werewolf, before glancing at her blazing expression, before he fell to a quick petrifying spell from Malfoy, only for a werewolf to dash at him hungrily. Fleur transfigured a pair of silver daggers and impaled the werewolf, making it scream and turn around, its wild eyes glaring at Fleur with rage. Howling, it brought its massive paw down at her and Fleur shut her eyes and waited for the inevitable.
The pain never came.
Instead, the sound of something soft and heavy dropping on the ground attracted her attention.
Fleur opened her eyes, surprised. She had sort of, well, expected to have been dead at this point.
And then she felt it.
Death.
That was the only sensation she could determine was emanating from the being before her. Her father, the werewolves, the Death Eaters, everyone and everything fell insignificant compared to this… whatever it was. It was like the world itself had frozen.
An aura descended upon the area, an all-consuming feeling of rage and bloodlust backed by a power as unyielding as a mountain. A sensation so dangerous and primal, that it pervaded everyone's sensations, including the werewolves themselves. Like they were about to be ripped apart by an angry wolf.
No, the irony was not lost on her.
The Death Eater closest to her stepped back instantly and raised a shield, barely in time to keep himself from being sliced into two, as something dark and horrible stepped into his place, separating Fleur and her father from the rest of the crowd.
Fleur looked up at his saviour.
And up.
And up.
It was a…. Beast. That much was certain. But that was akin to calling an abraxan a horse, and a grim a black dog. Easily eight feet tall, the humanoid beast had muscles so massive and corded that they bordered on the grotesque, but more than anything physical, it was horrifying because the aura it exuded was of sheer, mindless, carnage. Like nothing Fleur had ever dreamed of in his worst nightmares.
It bellowed like some kind of human monstrous hybrid at a volume that all but shattered Fleur's eardrums. The sound was loud — an inept description. Fleur was already on the ground, so she just screamed when her eyes and ears and nose started bleeding, her heart threatening to explode, while her hands shook as pinpricks ran along her skin.
Right then and there, Fleur knew that she stood no chance in hell against this monster. If she fought, she'd die. If she stood there, she'd die. If she tried to run, she'd still die.
Something told her, yelled at her, that she should run. But her muscles didn't obey her command. Her legs spasmed as she tried and failed repeatedly to stand on her feet. None of it seemed normal, and her mind nearly slipped away in fear. Even the other werewolves, seeming so deadly mere moments ago, were rooted to the spot in fear. It was like they understood that if they attacked, they would be crushed in a single stroke. Even if they decided to attack all together, the best case scenario would be the beast would kill most of them before getting injured, in which case the remaining could flee.
So why did such a thing save her life?
The monster turned around, and Fleur met its eyes. They were a vibrant green, almost like looking at an oncoming killing curse. Really, the only person or thing with eyes like that was —
"You had the right general idea," the monster turned towards the Death Eaters, speaking in a rugged, thick, caveman voice. "But you didn't think all the way through."
His claws extended out. They were shining like silver.
"None of you gets out alive tonight."
Notes:
If you want to support me, find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Next Update is on 9th December.
Chapter 125: Retribution Part 3
Notes:
I finally have a Discord server, and although it's still fresh around the corners, there's a lot of potential. Given the nature of the story, I went with the name Penthouse for the server. If you are interested in joining it, following for more updates and snippets, and discussing SED in general, just hop in on the link.
https://discord.gg/jvzqqvHhr7
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 3 - THE INCUBUS AND NECROMANCER
CHAPTER 125 - RETRIBUTION PART 3
What's the first thing you do when you're about to transform into a malevolent demon and tear people left, right and centre? Especially when said transformation would only be heightened by the effect of a twisted Family Magic you have been feeding your blood and magic since the last couple of months?
Yep. That's right. Carefully unbutton your shirt and pants, put them in a pouch along with other wearables, and stick it nice and safe on the largest tree you could find.
That accomplished, I wore the cilice belt, the artefact baring its fangs and sinking into my skin. But unlike before, it would not drain me dry. Well, it would, albeit in an entirely different way. Confident that I had finally gotten things at hand, I quickly chanted my mantra.
"I'm the child of the Coyote. I bind and I eat, I curse and I kill,
On this accursed night, I call upon those waiting in Ni'Hodithil."
The Blacks were descendants of the Coyote, the accursed shapeshifters that were initially the messengers of the Navajo Holy Ones before they descended to the Greater Realms, leaving them in charge. Drunk in their power, they sunk into the darker aspects of their craft, becoming capable sorcerers with extraordinary transformation abilities. The yenaldooshi. They created an entire legion to conquer this realm, before the Holy Ones punished them for their deeds, and banished them to Ni'Hodithil, also known as the First Dark World.
And it was through them that their descendants gained the Black Family Magic. Walburga had claimed that the yenaldooshi were still waiting in the darkness, their collective twisted energies arising in the form of the borderline sapient Black Family Magic, awaiting a vessel to manifest them upon the human realm once more.
The Black Family Charter had stringent rules, and it would not allow me to get past Draco Malfoy, the next heir in line after Sirius Black.
The yenaldooshi needed my help. And I wanted theirs. But to do that, I'd have to take it on a whole new level.
Sometimes your whole life boils down to one insane move.
This was it for me.
"To the First of the Dark, I offer every soul sundered through my claws,"
As soon as I finished uttering those words, an alien sensation gripped me. The whole world turned from colour to grayscale. My senses felt different. Perception felt heightened in certain places and dulled to the point of non-existence in others. And with it came a whole new approach to being…me.
A feral cunning rose to the forefront of my mind, a shrewd, bestial wit that was primaeval and at the same time, co-existing with my rationality. The juxtaposition was more than mildly disconcerting.
Thump!
My heart began beating furiously, its sounds heralding what was to come.
"On this night, I become your wrath,"
A primal hunger took over.
No questions about right or wrong. No quibbles. No compunctions. No liabilities. No alternative motivations. No doubts. The very feeling serene in its throb. The lingering pain of starvation burning away everything inconsequential. Making it all seem simple.
It was all I could think of. Meanwhile —
Thump! Thump! Thump!
Activating Malevolent Release
I didn't even have to do it myself. The Black Family Magic twisted its vessel into a terrifying figure of darkness. It was only natural that Malevolent Release would resonate powerfully with it.
"Bless me, feed me, own me, drench me.
With your howls, and your curses, enlighten me of the path."
I fell down to my knees. My back arched, and two ashen wings, made entirely out of sharp, hard bone, erupted out of my back, looming above my head. My body was lengthening, as were my arms and legs. Bulky muscles formed, hardened to form plates above raw tissue, with rapidly growing dark fur covering it from the world. My fingers extended, forming jagged, sharp, silvery claws. A thick, bony tail erupted out of my rear. The last thing to transform was my head, the nose extending to a small snout, the nostrils into slits, and my jaws protruding outward into a canine form.
Thump!
Thump!
Thump! Thump! Thump!
It was a good thing I had conjured a privacy ward around me, or else the roar that escaped my throat would've deafened anyone by sheer volume.
I looked around at the darkness of the forest around me, smelt the fear amongst the living in the air, and knew that tonight was mine to hunt.
It felt right. I was a killer, and had no other purpose. I could protect in a way, I supposed, by killing everything that stood in the way of that which I shielded. But why would I do such a thing?
Killing indiscriminately was easier. Killing was better. Killing was joyful.
I hungered to kill.
The scent of prey flared against my nostrils, and I roared. Slamming down one foot down on the ground, raising a mini gale just through that, I launched toward the closest beast, a werewolf that was about to attack the pretty girl that felt familiar but whose name I couldn't quite remember. I somersaulted over a thick branch and came down upon the beast, hacking his head off with a single strike.
The head lolled off and dropped down to the floor with a thud. Useless trash! What good were these animals if they were so easily killed?
And then the decapitated body began to thrash around, as blood erupted out of its dead form in great spouts and soared at me. It stabbed me right where the cilice was, vanishing into my fur. Blood was potent. Blood was powerful. It made for some of the best catalysts in alchemy and rituals. And right now, blood from these beasts was flowing into the cilice, and through it, into me, twisting me, making me more.
Every single being in the vicinity stared at me in shock. Thrusting my chest forward, I let out a loud howl.
I turned around and looked at the girl — prey — behind me. There was recognition in those eyes, but it was really the beauty that struck me like a knife. I would have her, take her from behind as I locked my fist in her hair and forced myself on her.
The other human right next to him — injured, defiant, his body language screamed that he would protect her. Even at the cost of his own life. Good, that made him a comrade. Perhaps? One I could rely on in the hunt? So long as he stayed out of my way, he could have a share in the prey. And if he fought me, I'd kill him.
The others, they were competition. Hyenas wanting part of the lion's share. They sought the same prey I did — the girl.
They would be slain first.
"You had the right general idea," I growled. "But you didn't think all the way through."
I unsheathed my claws. They glowed a sinister silver in the dark.
"None of you gets out alive tonight."
One man answered.
"CRUCIO!"
Too slow. In less than a second, I had already crossed the distance between us, and in another fraction of the same interval, my gnarled limbs came down and squashed another werewolf's head to the ground.
Poor thing wanted to ream into me from the side. Now its face was smashed into thick paste.
The rest of its body dropped to the floor, like a stringless marionette.
"AVADA KEDAVRA!" yelled a man with long, golden hair that shone in the darkness. I jumped, narrowly avoiding the sickly green light as it hit the ground. Fast, I thought. I'd have to be careful of that one. I didn't remember what it did, but my instincts screamed that getting hit by it would be a bad, bad idea.
That moment of distraction cost me, as a volley of streaking lights struck me from all directions as agony consumed me.
My chest exploded. Ribs shattered. Lungs punctured. Blood erupted out of my mouth and eyes. Muscles tore. Left arm shattered, leaving a stump attached to the shoulder. One of them tore a significant piece away from my left calf too. Between screaming my lungs out in absolute agony, I grabbed the dead body next to me, and thrust my clawed right arm into its chest, tearing its heart out.
Snap. Gulp.
Every single creature in the vicinity paused at that.
Residual magical reserves added to Host
Regenerating…
Ribs reformed. Muscles sewed back. Organs reknit. Bones pushed back into place. The left calf, though, remained unattended.
That was surprising. I didn't know I could do that. I ignored the magical screen flashing before my eyes, and concentrated on the power whirling through me like a hurricane.
"MORE!" I bellowed. "GIVE ME MOREEE!"
I put a single foot forward. The new prey instantly backstepped, raising silvery shields and casting more lights. I let out a single whoop of joy, batting away all lingering rationality like a tidal wave and rushed towards them. The others made funny little gasps and yells as they tried to stop me. Some slipped and bruised. They were terrified.
Terrified opponents made mistakes. Errors in judgement. Anxiety prevailing over instinct.
And rightly so.
Of all the monsters in this forest, the most dangerous one was after them.
Fifty feet away, I landed in a loud crash, claws striking claws as I grabbed a third werewolf by its shoulders, pulled over like a sack of potatoes and smashed head-first into the ground, before a kick shattered its spine. One torsioned yank later, it fell on the ground, unmoving. I yanked out one of its legs and —
"CONFRINGO MAXIMA!"
— hurled it in the face of the onspeeding streak of violet light.
The leg exploded into smithereens.
That light had hurt a lot earlier. Best if I avoided getting hit by that one again.
With one thrust, I pulled out its dead heart and —
Residual magical reserves added to Host
Regenerating…
The injuries on my left calf healed completely.
The next second, I was right behind the caster, grabbing his legs and bodily raising him, I spun twice, and smashed him — face and all — into a tree trunk.
Part of his broken skull hit me in the nose. The tissue lining within dug into my eyes. I tore its heart out and —
"DEPRIMO!"
An invisible missile smashed into the heart, taking a few of my fingers with it. Another spell hammered me from the back, and sent me tumbling. Damn it. They had destroyed my food.
"It's eating their hearts," said the golden-haired man. "That's what helps it heal."
Growling, I pulled myself up and jumped up the closest tree.
"FULMINATA!" "INCENDIO!" cried several of them all at once. With all the blood spurting out of the dead bodies in spiralling harpoons set on entering me like homing missiles, it was way easy for my opponents to locate me. The tree erupted into flames and I jumped down to the ground, and dashed right, then left, then right and on and on in random directions, as buckshots of offensive spellfire rained down from behind.
Then something odd happened.
Absorption Complete
Evocation Complete
Assimilation denied because of transformation
WHAT —
"FERVOR SANGUINEM!"
I slid to the right, and grabbed a masked man into the path of the streaking ray of purple light, and his body began to flail. Grabbing him by the legs, Hearing another familiar yell, I spun around and held him before me, letting it take the hit for that nasty green spell, and the body went rigid for a moment, before dropping lifeless.
Instantly, a shower of spellfire rained down on me.
"BOMBARDA!"
"OSSIO FRAGMEN!"
"CONFRINGO!"
And on and on. Within the span of the next five seconds, I escaped thirteen constant buckshots of curses, rushing towards the golden-haired man casting the green curses. Four werewolves attacked me from all sides, two of which I on the ground head-first, with enough concussive force as to smash their heads inside out, leaving brain-matter and blood in its wake. One of the werewolves bit me in the hand, and I clawed the beast's head off with my sharp, silvery claws. The last one was simply pushed to one side by my sheer momentum, as I dashed at the man —
—And bounced back as I collided with a silvery barrier.
I charged at the shield again, hammering it with my fists, not even considering the idea of going around it. I would smash it like everything else. The impact of the unstoppable force and the unmovable object was deafening, as the resulting shockwaves raised gales on either side.
The golden-haired man was down on his knees.
Just a little more and —
A torrent of flame came at me from one of the remaining opponents, and I sidestepped. I spun and leapt through the trees, and yanked the man by his head.
Snap. Gulp.
I tried to grab the body to eat its heart out but the tree turned alive, and came for me. Chopping through a branch in one go, I rushed back to the golden-haired man, aiming a strike from above and —
"OSSIO DISSFRINGO!"
—I lost my balance and fell to the ground, groaning as I regarded my shattered left appendage. Regeneration activated again. Bones expanded. Blood oozed out. Muscles reknit. Again, as good as new. But then something worse happened.
Assimilation denied by transformation
Altering assimilation conditions…
Malevolent Release Deactivating…
WHAT? NO—
The sudden notification cut through the bestial mind and reaching the very pit of my consciousness, warning me of what was about to happen. I lurched backward in growing horror, feeling my mind and body diminishing with every passing moment. Blindly, I attacked the men in black cloaks with claws and fangs, tearing through them, jumping, leaping, biting, clawing in a frenzy as I rained a constant shower of attacks upon them — killing at least three werewolves and two men, before throwing my arm ahead to claw the golden-haired man's face off —
—Only for the claws on my left hand to regress into normal fingers.
The golden-haired man looked perplexed if only for a moment, before snapping his wand, and casting lights — blasting hexes, I remembered — at me. I leapt and evaded through the constant stream of curses, my speed decreasing with every passing second. Already my right leg was shrinking, and I used my tail to grab a branch and somersault through the trees to reach for a second strike, but two massive branches rose against me, and grabbed me by the waist. I smashed my thick right fist against it, shattering through half of the wood, before two more branches grabbed me by the neck and chest, trapping my hands. Several more came from the ground itself, chaining my legs, spinning me upside down and holding me spreadagled.
The golden-haired man — Lucius Malfoy — approached me, wand twirling in his hand, surprise in his eyes, as I began morphing back to human form. The furs receded, the thick plates of muscle thinned before merging into my skin, my snout regressing back to human-like proportions. Three seconds later, I lay there, hanging upside down and spreadeagled.
Naked and unable to move.
Unable to break out.
And at the complete mercy of Lucius Malfoy.
"Harry Potter," breathed Lucius Malfoy, his eyes narrowed to slits. "What an astounding surprise! None of the reports said anything about you contracting lycanthropy. Guess the mudblood wasn't the only one to get bitten that night. The old fool must have been hiding the news all this time. The Boy-Who-Lived, a twisted half-breed that just massacred so many of my people!"
"You know me," I told him. "It's hard not to be an overachiever."
Snikt!
A thin gash ran across my right cheek, before a thin line of crimson formed on it. Blood began to ooze out of it.
He spotted the cilice and slowly touched it, and hissed, taking a backstep. It had drawn blood at the point of contact.
Malfoy blood.
I stared at Lucius's injured finger. The more I looked at it, the more I became certain that it held value, though I really didn't know why. It was just blood, like any of the others I had absorbed and…
And…
"Ah. That's right. How stupid," I asked, chuckling dryly in amusement despite the pain.
Yes. I could use this. Options that I hadn't seen before were now available. I could work with this. Narcissa wouldn't really like what I had planned, but it wasn't like she could do anything.
Besides, it wasn't like I had a better idea.
"A cilice belt," noted Lucius. "Blood magic. What sort of insidious ritual were you planning, Potter? What would dear Dumbledore say, seeing the Gryffindor Golden Boy turn to the Dark like this? Still… This does present a rather welcome opportunity. I remember promising you the same sticky end as your parents, didn't I? Thank you for giving me the chance to keep my word."
"Gosh! You're going to make me blush at this rate."
"CRUCIO!"
Despite myself, I threw my head back and screamed. There wasn't a part of my body that didn't hurt, as the feeling of knives, nice and larger and heated to burning temperatures tore into my body. My face burned, my eyes burned, my hands and legs feeling like they had just been through a tenderiser. My ribs and lungs screamed with each breath, and my arms felt like absolute lead as the tendrils gripped me tighter.
"The Dark Lord has plans for you, so you must be kept alive. However, alive is rather a loosely defined term, isn't it?"
"Oh? what plans?"
Lucius smirked. "I take it that this is the portion of the conversation where I reveal all my plans to you?"
"What have you got to lose?"
"And apparently you expect me to tell you any vulnerabilities I might have as well. I am wounded by the lack of respect this implies."
"Chicken," I ground out. "And no, tradition implies you've got to tell me about your plans, Lucius."
"... Tradition?"
"Oh yes," I managed with a tight grin. "Whenever the hero… gets captured by the bad guy… the bad guy always tells him about how nobody would be able to stop him…. So that the good guy can find a way out and kill him."
Lucius stared at me, and I waited for whatever pain he would choose to afflict. Knowing him, it would be a cruciatus. Instead, Lucius let out a bark of amusement, and traced my scar with his wand. Now that I realised it, it was oozing blood. An effect of the horcrux talking to me? Or perhaps the perk had unknowingly interacted with the horcrux? There were too many variables to be sure of anything.
"It's enough for you to know that two things will happen. Wizarding Britain is already crippled, and your friends, the mudbloods and the blood traitors will soon join the fate of those that perished in the stadium. And you will stay alive, until the Dark Lord rises again and kills you himself."
"Yeah, not a fan of that one."
Lucius chuckled, and the wooden chains entwined around my body tighter.
It was getting increasingly difficult to breathe with every passing second. Any more and I'd choke to death.
"Oh? And why is that?"
"Because for one, I'm Harry Potter, and luck is always on my side," I told him with a defiant grin. "And for another, you forgot about the veela."
Lucius barely had a moment to register my words, before a torrent of hot crimson came raining down from the heavens., making him roll over and raise a shield. There, flying above, was a feathered feminine with large wings and twin spheres of superheated flame on either hand. She let out an undulating screech and threw a spiralling harpoon of flame at Lucius with one hand, forcing him to drop his shield and hide behind the trees. With another hand, she threw well-aimed fireballs at the tendrils, incinerating them completely as I dropped unceremoniously to the ground.
Lucius levelled his wand and a dozen thick roots came at me like spears. My shield could hold against them, but even I had limits. I couldn't just defend myself from all directions, especially with my waning magical output.
But I wasn't hanging spreadeagled any more. I was on the ground, and thus, had options.
"NEBULUS!" I hissed.
Between the sudden use of Parseltongue, and the near-impenetrable mist manifesting out of nowhere, I got enough of a distraction to seek shelter behind a thick tree trunk. My magic reserves were quite low, but at least I hadn't damaged my core like that time at Bones Manor. No Meta-Luck to unfuck things this time around.
I still had my rings, which were excellent conduits. But a battle of attrition would only work against me. I had to admit, Fleur's veela transformation couldn't have come at a better time.
Summoning my pouch, I began to get started.
Fleur, I noted, was not terribly skilled at combat, and was prone to breaking down or misbehaving when things didn't turn out her way. That meant she tended not to be a significant threat, when one thing got wrong, other things would go wrong, leaving her trapped beneath a mountain of mistakes. The issue was getting her to make a mistake in the first place, something Lucius Malfoy was finding rather difficult to do, especially with her being twenty feet in the air and raining fire on him.
Like now.
"BURN!" She half-screamed, half-screeched in French, and sent a dozen orbs of bright blue flames dashing down at the ground, the orbs shifting their paths midway as if homing on Lucius. The sheer amount of control over the fire element, not to mention the ability to connect with every single one of those orbs and operate them independent of the other suggested a mastery over flame, or incredible degree of parallel processing.
And right when things were looking bright, a fiery whip lashed out of nowhere and grabbed Fleur by her leg and slammed her down on the ground. All I could do was arrest her downward fall or else the blow would have fractured her skull.
"Shouldn't be seen! Shouldn't be seen! I should not be seen," came the maniacal mutter of Barty Crouch Junior. "I must not be seen! Father made it very clear! I. Must. Not. Be. Seen! AVADA KEDAVRA!"
I flicked my wand. A large twig rose from the ground, and intercepted the killing curse.
Lucius looked at the sudden intruder in surprise, but only for a moment. Then again, he wouldn't be Lucius Malfoy by noticing other people. Instead, he focussed on me, levelling his wand, and cast a stunner.
"Seriously?" I snapped, batting the curse away with a flick of my wand. A stunner? Despite my transformation earlier, he really didn't think me worth the time of day, did he? Well, let's see what he thinks about what follows. Gathering magic in my legs, I dodged the next three spells as I leapt sidewards at inhuman speeds. A facet of being an Incubus was that magic could be used to amplify physical activities, and right now, post the cruciatus, I needed every advantage I could get.
In less than two seconds, I was standing right next to Fleur.
"Take your father and walk away. I'll hold them back."
"If it's going to be you saving me, I'd rather 'ave my chances with zem."
Ouch! What's with the sudden burn? Really, it's impossible to please this girl. Then I glanced at Barty Crouch Jr. and remembered that the bastard was only here because I let that happen.
"Fine," I told her. "Then how about you wait exacting retribution against whatever slight I've committed, and work together to get out of this alive?"
"Fine," Fleur snarled, getting up, and raising her wand. "You'll get a sneak preview of what I'm going to do when zat finally happens. But Malfoi tried to kill my Papa. 'E's mine. You can 'ave ze madman."
There was no hint of negotiation in her tone.
I grinned. "Deal."
And just like that, the final war of the night began.
Notes:
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Next Update is on 19th December.
Chapter 126: Endgame
Notes:
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(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 3 - THE INCUBUS AND NECROMANCER
CHAPTER 126 - ENDGAME
Lucius Malfoy didn't believe in karma. But if he did, he'd claim that karmic jokes came in trios.
The spectral army, arising out of the dead and gone, raised by an unknown necromancer, had slaughtered his people.
Those that survived the spectral apocalypse were finding themselves facing the wands of the remnants of the crippled DMLE.
And Potter's bestial form had utterly destroyed his personal army that was supposed to kill Sebastian Delacour and his half-breed daughter.
There was a fourth thing though, and that was him having to fight for his life against the surprisingly hard to kill Harry Potter, coupled with that feisty half-breed veela daughter of Sebastian Delacour, with the man himself throwing a curse or shield whenever the dark curse on his arm was letting him the opportunity.
However, four wasn't a significant number in Arithmancy. It was probably why life had thrown him a wildcard as a sudden ally that couldn't possibly be the most-certainly dead Barty Crouch Junior, bringing the total number of negatives down to three.
That knowledge did little to lessen his frustration at being forced to defend against the wrath of a schoolboy and a half-breed a third his age.
He gnashed his teeth as blood trickled down his nose, the effects of a sonic spell Potter had just cast in their general direction, followed by transfiguring a fallen tree trunk into a magnificent boa python. A quick duplication spell later, there were four twenty-foot boa pythons slithering at both of them from all four sides.
What amazed him more was that the boy didn't even show the slightest shred of apprehension at facing two adult Death Eaters. If anything, he was exuding a fierce joy at having to face a perilous foe.
Inorganic to organic transformation followed by elevated transfiguration, he identified the phenomenon as Potter hissed something that made the snakes attack him with greater aggression than before. Not to mention the Dark Lord's ability with Parseltongue. Is this why the Dark Lord is so wary of him? Could he really be —
He shook his head, throwing that ridiculous notion aside. Lucius himself was a Charms Master and a prodigy at Earth Magic and the Dark Arts, and had access to an infinitely more esoteric arsenal for them to match him.
"I know what your problem is," said Potter casually, as if reading his mind. "You're the great Lucius Malfoy. Left Hand of the Dark Lord, accomplished Charms-Master and all-around megalomaniac. Why is some boy from yesteryear giving you and this madman such a hard time? Right?" He casually deflected the two blasting curses that Barty shot his way, and said. "Well, the truth is that I got lucky you made two mistakes."
Lucius opened his mouth to reply, but right then the veela thrust her wand and yelled —
"MALLEUS IGNIS!"
Lucius hastily raised shield spiked an alarming shade of red as a torrent of flames smashed against it like a warmaul. The protego held against it, but did nothing against the searing heat, blistering his right hand.
"The first mistake you made," said Potter, his tone conversational as if discussing the weather, "was assuming that this battle was one against one. Sadly, it's two on my side."
"Your side?" hissed the veela.
"Apologies," said Potter, twisting his wand and transfiguring Barty's clothes into binding him before transfiguring them into steel chains. "I meant, her side."
And with that, Potter hissed something out loud, and gooseflesh erupted all over Lucius's body all at once, and a tidal wave of disorientation flickered through his brain, utterly dislodging every rational thought from his head.
"Good ole' Parseltongue," said Potter chattily. "No wonder Voldemort preferred it for his intimidation tactics."
He barely had the time to register his silvery shield glow an alarming shade of red, as it shattered, smashing the flames into him, hurling him back with bone-crushing force. He hastily raised several slabs of rock in front of him, preventing any further flaming buckshots from hitting him. His mind was red with pain and fury, the burns all over his body stinging far less than his wounded pride.
Snarling, Lucius hissed something, and slashed his wand like a blade, and a wave of black energy roared out of it. It hit against an incoming fireball, neutering it midway. The sudden motion sent a flare of agony through his back, likely because of a broken bone, but Lucius was no stranger to pain and he needed to concentrate.
"INCINÉRER!" screeched the girl from above. She had erupted wings from her back and soared into the heavens. Thrusting both hands down, she rained flame, a storm of red and gold, tearing deep into the earth, which Lucius returned with a powerful freezing spell straight out of Scandinavian Ice Lore. The collision threw the entire area into a dense mist, granting him enough time to disillusion himself and —
YANK!
—was bodily pulled into the air by unseen hands and swung like a toy at the end of a ribbon, crashing and dragging him against the ground, bruising him all over. Between the shock and pain, his focus flickered and the disillusionment charm faded.
"Ah-ah-ah," said Harry Potter, wagging his finger. "Naughty naughty! Running away like a coward from a fight, Lucius? Your Dark Lord will hear about this."
Lucius answered that provocation with the killing curse.
Potter casually lifted a branch off the floor to intercept it. Infuriated, Lucius threw every single dark spell in his arsenal at the boy that just refused to die. It wasn't a bombing of aggressive spellfire so much as rain, each bolt of twisted curse streaking through the air at the brat. Even to Lucius's eyes, there was no visible means of escape.
So it was somewhat shocking, when Potter escaped.
If Lucius was a storm, then Potter was like a single mote of dust in the wind, tiny in comparison to the raging light, but fluid and untouchable. He dove between spaces that looked like it wouldn't fit a fly, weaving sinuously through the explosions and bombardment. It wasn't the direct, piercing speed of Bellatrix Lestrange, nor the systematic, precise hits of Amelia Bones, or the hurricane of the Dark Lord's charge. Potter's movements were fast as any of them, faster even.
The entire place lay soaked in curses and explosions, and yet Potter stood in it, untouched by the destruction around him.
Lucius gazed at him in open shock. Potter flicked his wand, and transfigured a fallen branch into a floating javelin. Another quick movement, and there were six of them, floating in mid-air. Eyes widening, Lucius raised a quick shield, as all six javelins smashed against his silvery barrier. The barrier held, but Potter seemed intent on attempting to push through it.
"Your second mistake," said Potter, slowly striding in his direction, "was assuming that this was a fight between a Death Eater and school children. You were so confident in your superiority that you made a very big mistake, one that your master is quite familiar with."
His green eyes glinted with malevolence.
"You failed to take me seriously right from the very start."
He flicked his wand and —
BOOOM!
The javelins exploded, generating intense amounts of heat with it in one magnificent detonation. Lucius, his left hand all but burnt, as bodily hurled away by several feet.
"Thermite powder," said Potter, his shark-like smile in sharp contrast to Lucius's panicked scowl. "Just one tiny transformation on the outside and it becomes a bomb. Wonderful thing, muggle chemistry, is it not?"
Lucius grit his teeth. This… this was impossible. How was he losing to Potter of all people? Potter was a third-year pass out and he was —
"You think you can defeat me with those tricks, Potter?" He snarled, thrusting his wand on the ground, casting powerful Earth Magic. "Let me correct your ignorance."
A gravity spell took effect, intensifying the earth's downward pull by at least a magnitude, dropping every single one to their knees, including Potter himself. The veela flapped her wings hastily, doing her best to remain airborne.
"Taking the fight to the air," Lucius announced, "was a mistake, girl. AVADA KEDAVRA!"
I'll give you this. Fleur Delacour is good. As in, far more than anything, JKR portrayed her in the books. Whether it be in her ability with her wand, her incredible affinity to pyrotechnics, or her skill at fighting battles while remaining airborne. Instead of this weird mix of woman and bird throwing fireballs from above, she looked more like a warrior angel descended to punish the profane.
More interestingly, the energy behind her spells, it was easily twice, no, thrice more than the firestorm spell. I was no stranger to the idea of emotions reacting aggressively to produce spectacular effects of magic during dire circumstances. But even so, there were limits. A man could lift several times his own weight under emotional turmoil, but try as he may, he wouldn't make a goods train move backwards.
So what was this? Were veela just that blessed at pyrotechnics, or was this girl just extraordinarily powerful and skilled? Or was something else at work? I didn't know, but it only made me want to get her under me even more.
Writhing, twisting, screaming my name as I fucked her goddamn brains out.
But for that to happen, she needed to stay alive first. Necromancer I might be, but sex with corpses isn't exactly high on my to-do list.
So when Lucius took me by surprise and hurled a killing curse at the airborne veela, I knew I had to act.
My first choice was a stunner. No, I certainly did not believe that the stunning spell, the crowd-favourite of the Order of the Phoenix, was able to match the killing curse power for power and win. In fact, the killing curse was so magically 'heavy', that hitting it with a stunner had less chances of success than, say, trying to stop a truck by swinging a cricket bat in the face.
But. what the stunner could do was travel faster than the killing curse. In fact, the stunning spell was one of the fastest combat-spells out there, which was why having a non-verbal grasp on the stunner was an absolute requirement if you wanted an Outstanding in your DADA NEWTs. Another one, of course, was the ability to cast a Patronus, though it increased your chances for getting recruited in the Hit-wizard army than the Auror squad. Or, if you were seriously unlucky, you could even get posted in Azkaban of all places as part of the anti-dementor squad.
The stunner raced ahead of the killing curse and struck Fleur midair, instantly paralysing her. Even from this distance, my sharp eyes noted the apprehension, fear and outright shock as my stunner snapped her consciousness away, dropping her like a stone, missing the killing curse by a few inches.
Another anti-velocity spell later, she was resting on the floor, next to her father who had already succumbed to unconsciousness from the curse from earlier. I quickly cast a shield around them, followed by a privacy ward, hiding them from the senses.
"When facing a hostage situation, always shoot the hostage. That's basic conflict resolution."
Lucius grit his teeth, standing up. "Wordless elevated transfiguration and NEWT-level charms work. Some would say you were hiding your talents all this while, Potter."
"Those people would be correct," I told him, and smiled to see his eyes widening, the whites clearly visible from a distance.
"That may be, but now you are down to one, Potter. While I," Lucius glanced at Barty who had gotten free from his restraint, "have two on my side. Who's smiling now, you little bastard?"
From the way he was constantly shaking his head, Barty was still suffering from the aftereffects of my confounding spell, but Lucius didn't need to know that.
A dark smile formed on my face. "I am. Come, Lucius Malfoy. Let's find out who's the better killer."
Lucius charged first this time, throwing a banisher which I dodged and cast Levicorpus, yanking him up by an ankle. For a man that seemingly did politicking for a living, Lucius was one quick bastard. Even with all the bruising and burns from earlier, the man had insane reflexes. And just as talented. Lucius cast a quick ascending charm and lifted himself further up to undo the effects of my hex, but a quick gravity spell dropped him to the ground. He halted his fall just inches before he hit the ground, but it was slow enough for me to hit his shirt with a transfiguration, turning them into aggressive ants.
Lucius's screams echoed as he experienced bites in his really sensitive places all at once. He unleashed a wave of power, freeing himself, but also stumbling directly into the trajectory of my cutting curse that severed a portion of his left thigh.
I had to applaud the man. Even in such a state, he spun around and cauterised his wound, uncaring of his half-nakedness.
"I'm Lucius Malfoy!" he said out loud, glaring daggers at me. "Do you think this would hold me back?"
I shrugged and said, "Yes, yes, learn to fight naked, and you'll never be disarmed. I mean, I mostly agree with that sentiment, so long as there aren't mosquitoes around. Or wasps for that matter."
I flicked my wand.
"Vespidae Oppugno!"
And countless motes of dust all around him instantly transfigured into tiny wasps and attacked him viciously.
And then I heard it.
"AVADA KEDAVRA!" yelled Barty.
"Seriously? It's like you choose the worst time for everything!" I snapped. I didn't attempt to conjure something this time. Instead I just levelled my wand at Lucius.
Weave your intent into your magic. Walburga had taught me. Give your desire a form.
I gave it one.
"Expecto Patronum."
One moment the malevolent streak of green was shooting at me. The next, an orb of light popped in at my wand tip. It expanded in every direction, forming large wings on either side, with hooves and a tail extending downwards, while a proud head raised itself, staring at the incoming curse in defiance. My patronus, the mighty hippogriff, took the killing curse head on, magic colliding with magic, the power of sundering matching the power of protection, the desire to kill facing off the desire to save. If what I had learnt about the rules that governed magic, intent was everything.
If my intent to survive, to protect myself or someone else was greater than another's intent to kill them, then my spell could counter theirs.
Think I'm being foolish? Think again.
The killing curse crashed against my patronus, and Barty found himself forced to pour in more energy into his curse to counter the layer of pure magical protection, one that had its roots in just as deep esoterism as the killing curse.
Unfortunately for him, I had no such limitations.
"Confundo Reverso!" I hissed.
I only had a moment to see the effects of my spell settling in, disabling the tiny disorientation that made him temporarily forget his objective that Hestia had commanded him to perform through the Imperius curse. I leaped to my right, dodging Lucius's entrails-expelling curse, and smashed Lucius with a blasting curse, one enough to raise a gale around him from the shock. The man grit his teeth, digging his feet in, and releasing a reflection barrier to hold back my charge. Finally with a last burst of strength, he swatted the blow aside, but that made him off-balance…
…and fell directly into the ground that had been transfigured into quicksand. He raised his wand and —
"CONFRINGO HORRIBILIS!" said Barty, and Lucius's right hand exploded into gore. His wand too suffered the same fate. Despite the agony, the man whirled at Barty in growing apprehension and horror before he turned to me, and I saw the emotion turn to dread.
I answered his growing confusion with a dry, empty laugh. "I'm afraid I told you a small lie, Lucius. You see, Barty won't attack me right now, because he has something far higher on his to-do list at the moment. You see," I smirked. "You made a third mistake, and that was in trusting my words. This battle was three against one from the very start."
"Kill. Lucius. Malfoy," said Barty, every single word escaping his throat like dragging a rusted metal pipe over concrete. He raised his wand and levelled it at Lucius's face.
"AVADA —"
"Stupefy."
Before the green light could leave Barty's wand, my stunner raced through the distance between us and hit him in the face, dropping him unconscious. Lucius went from gaping at me to gaping at Barty. Seeing his face go white at the sight of my wand now aimed at him was a treat to watch.
"Why?" He asked, his voice filled with a surprising resignation. "Why are you doing this?"
I smiled. "You don't need to know my reasons. Now, Stupefy!"
When I woke Fleur up, the first thing she did after taking control of her senses was try to kick me in the balls. It helped that I was faster than her, or else it would be a very bad end to an otherwise awesome fight. Then I pulled out my wand and —
—found her wand levelled between my eyes. Her expression was stony, daring me to do anything.
"I understand you're antsy about whatever happened, and you can grill me all about it later, but first, I need to heal him."
Preferably before he dies or the Black Family Magic begins its assault on me, I left unsaid. Narcissa had said that I had roughly an hour before the ritual would begin showing its effects. I didn't know what it would be like, but I certainly didn't want a half-naked angry veela and her politician and diplomat of a father to be present when it happened.
"How?"
"By diagnosing him further? And casting healing magic?"
"You are a third year passout."
"Tell that to them," I gestured at the littered parts of dead bodies on the floor around us. Then I realised how at home I was with the entire thing.
The wand did not waver.
"Unless," I added, "you have a better idea?"
Fleur put her wand away and I began my work. If Fleur noted that my charms were on the level of professional medi wizards, she chose not to comment. Confirmed with my analysis, I pulled out several vials from my pouch and placed them next to us.
"Blood-replenishing potions and restorative draughts," I said, handing her a pair of each.
"And the other one?" She indicated a red and gold potion.
"Ah that one, it's a special brew."
Without further dialogue, I made a slight incision on his left wrist, before proceeding to do the same at five other parts of the body. Within seconds, the poisoned blood began to flow out of his skin, trickling through the air as it was magically guided into a flask.
"Anything I can do?" Fleur asked.
"Just stay there and look pretty for a change," I said, though the scowl on her face said that she didn't find my words humorous. Tough luck. "When I drain his blood, he might go into spasms from the sudden blood and magic loss. You have to make sure his nervous system does not stop working."
"And how do I do zat?"
"Hit him with lightning," I quipped. At her shocked face, I laughed. "Use your allure on him. It has a similar effect as a pepper-up potion. Don't worry about me. I'm immune to it, but you already knew that."
Fleur scowled again, but followed my advice. The next moment, her prettiness became a tangible thing, and an overwhelming magical pressure saturated all around us. If not for Harry's indomitable will and my own powers as an Incubus Lord, I would have probably attempted to force myself upon her.
Instead I calmly cast a cutting hex, forming incisions on several key points on the body, and drained his poisoned blood out, magically collecting it into a conjured flask. Fleur attempted to push the blood replenishing potion into her father's mouth, but I stopped her.
"What?" she demanded. "It's a blood replenishing potion. 'E has lost a lot of blood."
"And this," I said with a resigned sigh. "Is why the theory behind potion making is also important. Tell me, Miss NEWT student. Just what does that potion do?"
"It replenishes blood to the body."
"By conjuring it?"
This time, she had no answer, and I knew the reason why. Conjurations were impermanent, unless you were breaching past the lines of true Transmutation that Alchemists worked on. Otherwise, even the most potent piece of transfiguration was a temporary alteration of something into something else at the expense of the fuel called Magic.
"We need the body to start producing blood by itself, and that means making sure the biological processes that create blood do so at a much higher rate than usual. And right now, his body has already lost a great deal of magic in trying to fight the curse, and even more, through this blood loss. You pushing a blood-replenishing potion would literally choke the organs and cause multiple organ failure. Might as well just choke him to death right away."
That shut her up.
I pulled up the third vial, and handed it to her.
"Potent Exstimulo potion," I clarified. "Boosts the magical reserves within a person. Normally it's used to empower a spell beyond your level. But in this case…."
I held his mouth open, and Fleur, after a moment of hesitation, poured it down his lips. The diagnostic charm that was still at work showed signs of magical stimulation within a few seconds as the potion took effect.
"Now what?"
"Now," I said with another sigh. "We wait until his body begins to counter the blood loss by enhancing the blood replishment. We magicals are special that way. So long as the head, the heart and the soul is intact, our magic will make our bodies do everything it can to make sure we stay alive."
"How do you know all that?"
I gave her a wry grin. "Just some light reading during school breaks."
I didn't need to be a Legilimencer to know that she didn't believe me.
That was fine. She didn't need to trust me to work with me. And certainly not in this particular case.
When her father started showing signs of self-healing, I made him drink another vial of the same potion and pointed my wand at his frail form, and hissed out in Parseltongue.
"Vulnera Sanentur! Vulnera Sanentur! Vulnera Sanentur!"
Sebastian Delacour's entire body spasmed, but Fleur held him in a strong grip, amplifying her allure, and the spasming lowered down to acceptable levels, until all that remained was an occasional twitch. Vulnera Sanentur was perhaps one of the most complex and powerful healing charms, capable of healing even the most dangerous dark-spell induced injuries. But that came at an equally grave cost. Unlike other healing spells that were empowered by the caster, Vulnera Sanentur took its toll upon the patient's own reserves. And if the victim was already magically exhausted… Well, casting Vulnera Sanentur on someone like that directly would be like cutting off an arm and eating it to add the body tissue to replace a cut-off leg.
It didn't do the intended quite right, and was a nightmare and a half to reverse. Doubly so, without the patient perishing in the process.
How did I know this stuff? What did you think I was learning from Walburga apart from cutting myself up and literally hanging out to dry? Blood magic was an extremely potent part of the Black witchcraft, and dabbing with that particular art needed a working knowledge in the healing arts as a mandatory prerequisite.
And you learnt to pay attention to healing lessons when it was your body and your life on the line. Trust me.
As soon as the spasming stopped completely, I poured in two vials of blood-replenishing potion followed by a single vial of restorative draught into his lips. The unconscious man drank them all, and the colour was slowly returning to his face and body. It was easy to see that he was going to be fine soon.
"Well now, it's a waiting game. I imagine you'll have to sit here for another twenty or so minutes. After that, you can either levitate him and walk until you are out of the no-portkey zone, or unless some Auror finds you out."
"And what about you?" Fleur asked.
"Gotta go home," I said with a sigh, putting my pouch back where it was. I didn't need to tell Fleur that I was carrying two Death Eaters inside that pouch, pumped with Draught of Living Death until their innate magic was so low that it was impossible to classify them as 'alive'.
Somehow, the mokeskin pouch simply refused to accept a human body otherwise. Go figure.
"And Malfoi? What happened to 'im? And ze ozzer?"
"Ran away, I suppose," I lied. "I think I got hit by something and lost consciousness before that happened."
"Liar. Zey would 'ave killed you if zat had happened."
I held her gaze. "Then what do you think I did, Miss Delacour?"
"You killed zem. You killed zem both."
"Me? Kill? I'm just a third-year passout," I said with a sardonic laugh.
Fleur was not amused.
Notes:
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Next Update is on 19th December.
Chapter 127: Endgame Part 2
Notes:
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(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 3 - THE INCUBUS AND NECROMANCER
CHAPTER 127 - ENDGAME PART 2
"Expecto Patronum," Harry Potter intoned, and a dazzling, bright hippogriff patronus erupted out of his wand. "Go to Amelia Bones. Tell her that the French delegate Sebastian Delacour and his daughter Fleur are here. They need help immediately."
He paused for a moment, and conjured a little vial. Wordless transfiguration, without the proper wand movements too. Fleur couldn't help but wonder why this… what Harry Potter was doing as a third-year in school when he was casting spells like a NEWT student.
And then there was that transformation earlier. His skill as a war-wizard. Most importantly, the way he had treated her father and cured him from a dark curse. That sort of effortless ease only came from real-world experience.
Experience that definitely didn't fall into the undergraduate category.
He was weird, but the good kind of weird. He definitely didn't fall into the heroic archetype that those Boy-Who-Lived story books painted him to be. Besides, not only had he helped her multiple times, he had actually saved both her and her father's lives from these insurgents. There were many amongst the race of veela that considered such acts as beneath notice, since it was difficult to say if the person was acting by their choice or simply reacting to their allure.
Fleur was not one among them. A debt was to be repaid in full to the last knut, and an enemy was to be destroyed to their last of kin. That was the philosophy that Fleur Delacour had grown up with.
He was chivalrous, but he was no knight. Fleur had no qualms believing that he had come solely for her and her father's safety. He had a bone to pick with the elder Malfoy and something told her that the other madman had something to do with his plans. But even so, he didn't have to save her multiple times nor face powerful, adult dark wizards as well as all those werewolves in open combat to protect them as well.
And then there was his power. His skill. His amazing prowess at combat. His ability to get on her nerves…
Unconsciously, she pulled the hair falling all over face and pushed them behind her ear.
Perhaps a reward….
Then he poured a little of her father's cursed blood into the vial and all those thoughts flew out of the window.
"What will you do with that?" She asked, her apprehension shooting up to near hostility levels.
Potter didn't answer. Instead he just held the now sealed vial in front of the patronus, the spectral hippogriff holding it softly in its peak.
"Now go."
The spectral creature let out a loud squawk, flapped its wings brightly and turned around, taking flight, its energies whisking away into non-being within seconds.
Fleur went from gawking at him to the creature and back.
"...?"
"Zat… zat was a corporeal patronus."
"It is."
"'Ow can you cast it?"
He grinned devilishly. "Have been since the end of last term. The dementors had no respect for my privacy and kept rushing in to kiss me. I mean I get they're all fans of the Boy-Who-Lived, but they were getting all pushy."
Fleur was stuck between mocking him for his ludicrous take and gawking at the surrealist he had just conjured.
"But… but it's a patronus."
Potter tilted his head slightly, observing her. "You seem confused."
"It's a patronus," she repeated yet again. "Un… it's a spectral entity. It cannot 'old anything."
A sudden realisation followed by a deep amusement filled his features, like he had just gotten the meaning of a hilarious joke after a long time.
"...what?"
"Technically, it's a guardian, called into effect by a desire to protect. It can be as tangible or intangible as is required."
Fleur digested that. Her father could produce a patronus, but Sebastian Delacour was one of the best duellers she had met in her life. The Hogwarts Charms Professor Filius Flitwick, was another. The chief of Britain's law enforcement, Amelia Bones, was a contemporary of her father and supposedly a skilled dueller too.
That Harry Potter, supposedly third year passout at Hogwarts, was able to not just combat, but utterly demolish the opponents that had taken her father down spoke volumes.
"My Papa says that it takes ze shape of whatever creature form zat best describes us when casting it, based on ze memory you use when casting it."
His eyes flashed in recognition again, as if her words had struck a chord in him.
"My Papa's patronus iz a falcon. Your's is a hippogriff. Magical patroni are supposed to be rare. I theenk hippogriffs stand for…"
"Unique, self-assured, ambitious, vain, volatile, powerful…. Choose your pick."
"So modest."
He laughed. And unlike before, it was a carefree sound.
Fleur liked it.
"Why did you send her ze blood?"
"Aside from using it to track you down?" He asked, as if obvious. "I told you. I have to leave. Speaking of…"
He paused and raised his wand. That she didn't instantly raise hers out of precaution was telling.
He waved in complex movements, and a privacy ward took effect. While she could still see him, his actions were blurred, as if seeing him through a dewy wet mirror.
Elevated transfiguration, and wordless, complex charmcasting. Can he do everything?
After what seemed like eternity but was barely half a minute, he dropped the ward. "My friends are fine, but I'm afraid I must leave now. The Aurors should be coming at any moment."
"Oh," said Fleur, wondering where the sudden pang of disappointment came from. "Potter…" she said, reluctance filling her voice. "I… zank you."
"That sounded painful to say."
She glared at him.
He laughed. "Kidding. Well, your gratitude is welcome, but could I just cash it for not mentioning my name in… you know, all of this?"
He gestured at the destruction and carnage all around them.
Fleur squinted her eyes. "But, why? You saved my life. You saved my Papa from zose… zose… monsters. Even 'e would want to zank you personally. Zis is a matter of my family's honour. I.. we owe you our life," she finished haltingly.
Potter sighed. "Do we really have to go through all that?"
"Oui."
Another sigh. "Look, I really don't need the media attention on me. Britain is terrible at forgiving people that attack upstanding pureblood members of our Wizengamot. Even if they show up in Death Eater regalia and go about throwing killing curses and murdering people. But… if you really want to thank me, I'd like to request a second favour."
Fleur blinked. "Un favour?"
He held his hand out, and an amputated hand rose up from the forest floor and fell at his feet. Fleur noted there was a wand firmly clenched in its dead grasp.
"That's Lucius Malfoy's arm. You can even see the Dark Mark active on it. I've cast a stasis charm on the hand, so it'll survive for some time now. Maybe your father could…"
"Use zis as evidence to arrest Malfoi?" Fleur finished for him. "But 'e is dead, no?"
Potter shrugged. "That's for the Aurors to decide. I think his status as a fugitive is a far more favourable circumstance than him being dead."
Fleur narrowed her eyes. "You set zis up. You wanted to get rid of Malfoi."
"Get rid of him, yes. Set him up? That's too diabolical, even for me. I just used whatever little plan he had in mind and turned it on itself."
"And me and my father… we're what? Tools?"
He laughed. "Nope. Him coming after your father and you was… how do I put it? Serendipitous? Either way, I really must go. So, can I count on you to do that?"
"I… I 'ave to consult my papa."
"Good enough. Well then, bonne nuit."
And with a flick of his wand, he went unseen.
Fleur stayed like that for a long second, before she exhaled. She had expected little from this Quidditch World Cup, but it turned out to be something very memorable instead. She glanced at her father, still unconscious except the occasional coughing. She cast a couple of diagnostic charms she had known from her healing classes, and found his condition rapidly improving with every passing second. Potter, whatever he had done, had worked.
She glanced at the emptiness of the forest grounds before her, and knew that he was already gone, somewhere where he would go ahead with the rest of whatever byzantine plan he had cooked up. She had expected very little of Britain's Boy-Who-Lived, but instead found him to be quite the riveting character, one she would like to meet again soon.
Memories of her father mentioning this Triwizard Tournament that Hogwarts was supposedly hosting this year came to mind. While originally she'd have cared little about this event, preferring to instead focus on her future in Enchanting and get an internship with the Les Departmente de Mysteres, not wanting to deal with the obnoxious British weather and the lustful stares of the weak-minded British cochons, but now she found herself thinking otherwise. It would be exciting if she could become a participant, and represent her school and put her talents against him.
It would also give her more time to figure out his secret, about how he was able to generate such tremendous incubus allure, yet also bear such a pungent magical aura alternately.
Yes, Harry Potter had proven himself to be more than adequate a subject to hold her curiosity for the foreseeable future. If nothing else, she would not be bored at Hogwarts.
Fleur smiled. "Bonne nuit, 'Arry Potter. I'll see you soon."
With a pop, I appeared on the outskirts of the Black townhouse. I still hadn't perfected the art of apparition down pat, but I had Narcissa fashion myself a portkey for that exact purpose. The moment I was out of the ward line, the device, a tiny button sewn on my trousers, took me to the front of the old, foliage-covered front of 12, Grimmauld Place.
Really, the next time I saw Gornuk, I'd have him commission an agent for renovating the entire mansion, make it bright as new, while keeping true to the otherwise Black outlook.
I could do with a less dreary design though.
Narcissa welcomed me at the atrium, and I sagged almost instantly, the boost I had gotten from the Potent Exstimulo potion I had ingested right before waking Fleur up now completely used up to keep me on my feet and not keeling over already. Narcissa helped me walk up the stairs and take me to the ritual room, one that had been exquisitely prepared for this night.
"Did you do it?" she asked.
I gave her a tired grin. 'Better than that. Are we ready?"
"Come."
Walburga had taught me about how the universe possessed all possible qualities and attributes, and every single being, living or otherwise, possessed a limited number of qualities and attributes. What we called personality was the self-identification of the ego with a set of attributes. All beings possessed egos and as such, all beings possessed personalities. The cosmos herself possessed the ultimate personality, the supreme expression of the totality of manifested existence, the one that was known in different religions by different names — the Akashic Records of Buddhist doctrines, Adya of Hinduism, or the mysterious Ein Sof of the Holy Kabbalah.
Using such ritual circles, it was possible for one to absorb a secondary personality, one that was less sophisticated but more primal, say, an animal into one's own personality, which formed the crux of what was known in modern days as the Animagus ritual. Alternatively, it was also possible to absorb a personality far greater than oneself, and use it to ascend to a greater state formed by a fusion of the self with the greater personality. However, if one failed to conduct it properly, it could lead to complete domination of the host personality by the invoked intruder, a case similar to a spiritual possession.
There in the centre of the ritual room floor, was a majestic ritual circle engraved using mercury, with rune arrays painstakingly drawn on it.
"Why Mercury though?" I asked.
"Because," said Walburga's wraith, floating into the room through the walls. "It is the sole metal that can be brought to life."
I noted that she carefully stayed away from the circle, floating all across the periphery instead of levitating above the ritual circle.
"Brought to life? You mean animated?"
The wraith shook her head. "It's one of the components of Alchemy, boy. I had Narcissa perform repeated spiritual treatments upon the mercury to awaken it."
She indicated the tiny crystals — wardstones — placed at specific points in the entire circle that drew power from the main wardstone empowering the building, and in turn, would flood the circle and activate it.
"To commence the ritual, you will perform a final sacrifice. Narcissa has gotten a mudblood girl from Diagon Alley and prepared her for the final sacrifice."
Narcissa flicked her wand, and the naked form of Tracey Davis appeared on the floor, gagged, and restrained in metal chains.
"..Tracey?" I erupted, flabbergasted.
The girl recognized me and instantly attempted to free herself from the chains, but to no avail.
"What is she doing here?" I demanded.
Narcissa waved her hand. "It worked out that way. I needed someone of a certain metaphysical mass. She saw me entering that loo with you, and I don't prefer keeping loose ends. She was convenient, and fit the recipe well too. Never met a mudblood with such natural proficiency for Necromancy."
"She's also my employee, and someone that's part of my long term plans."
"Oh please Harry," said Narcissa, rolling her eyes. "Don't bluff me. You might be willing to get your hands dirty, but saving these filthy mudbloods hits some right versus wrong button in that head of yours. Don't think I haven't seen the assemblage you have gathered over the summer."
She raised her hand, and an antiquated dagger arose.
"Ever since Aunt Walburga discussed this ritual with me, I have been searching for the proper tool to conduct the final sacrifice. And finally this is what I ended up with."
Her eyes glittered with pride. "The athame of Princess Medea of Colchis. History says she used it to butcher her own kin at the altar of the goddess Hecate. You will use it to slit the mudblood's throat."
"But —"
"You were warned that you might have to do things to get the power you seek, Harry," said Narcissa. "Don't tell me that after all what you have achieved, slitting the neck of some no-name mudblood makes you falter."
"Once the ritual reaches a proper nexus," said Walburga, unaware of my inner turmoil. "You will place the cilice belt in the centre of the ritual, and have the mercury feed upon the sacrifices stored in that belt, and develop its own personality. Then, upon chanting the words that I have taught you, you will invoke the spirits of our ancestors that lie waiting in Ni' Hodithil. Just like before, you shall allow the spirit of the yenaldooshi to possess you, and exchange the mercury's personality for the spirit."
"And the Circle will then assimilate the trapped spirit into me, blessing and cursing me with the magic of the yenaldooshi, the Black Family Magic."
Walburga smiled, and it was a cruel thing.
"Yes."
I digested all that. Had I been better, I'd have perhaps thought of something else to challenge both of them, but time was of the essence. I had to conduct the ritual quickly, and dilly dallying things wasn't worth it.
Not even for Tracey Davis.
Luckily for her, I had an excellent alternative in place. One that I hadn't quite thought of earlier, but in the new scheme of things, it fitted the bill perfectly.
I could only hope that Narcissa would appreciate the irony of the situation.
"I'm not going to sacrifice Tracey Davis," I said calmly. "Like I said, she's part of my long-term plans." I looked at Tracey and hoped that I could prevail upon Narcissa to obliviate her nice and proper at the end of all this. "That taint of necromancy you found in her blood? That's from her lineage. That no-name mudblood girl you thought was convenient for our plans, is Androcles Selwyn's daughter. And after the events of tonight, she might as well be the next heir of the Selwyn fortune."
Narcissa stared at me, flabbergasted. "You… you can't be serious."
"No," I said with a straight face. "Sirius was my godfather."
Walburga groaned.
Narcissa grunted noncommittally. "Well, that's a problem. Time is of the essence and we need an appropriate sacrifice. I was so looking forward to watching her expression while you slit her throat Harry. Just like you to ruin my fun."
"Oh not necessarily," I said, and began to divest myself of my clothes. I picked up my pouch, and held the mouth open.
"Accio Lucius Malfoy's body."
And the life-sized, straightjacketed body of Lucius Malfoy erupted out of the tiny pouch, sliding into the floor.
Both Walburga and Narcissa jumped at that.
"Is he….?" Narcissa began.
"Not quite," I said, "but close. I dosed him with the Draught of Living Death. Three drops. Had to make him 'dead enough' to put him inside this pouch."
"You let him stay alive?" Narcissa all but shrieked. "Harry, he — he — just kill him right now! End him before he wakes up and kills us all! Just —"
"Enough!" I barked, and Narcissa went quiet. "You said I need a sacrifice at the altar, didn't you? Your husband would do just as well for that."
Narcissa went white. "You — you can't. To sacrifice him, you have to wake him up, and if he wakes up —"
"He will do nothing," I said firmly. "Because he can do nothing." With a flick of my wand, the straightjacket dissipated, leaving behind a body bereft of hands. Another flick, and I tied his legs with ropes. With a third flick, I summoned a pair of manacles.
"That's —" Narcissa began.
"The shackles of Malchance," I said, smirking. "Yes, I got them from Borgin & Burkes. It was funny when I discovered the Lomfay Enterprises logo engraved on them."
"Lucius smuggled cursed goods into the continent through that enterprise," said Narcissa slowly. "But… how did you —"
"You are not the only one that did their digging on others this summer, Narcissa. From the moment I knew I wanted Lucius out of the picture, I had people looking into him. His investments, good, bad and ugly. Everything."
"Then your deal with Broderick Greengrass…." Narcissa said breathily. "You… you have been playing them, playing me. You set Draco up, pushed his chance at the Black Lordship by several years, took control of this place, and… and…"
The pieces finally began to fall in place in her mind. "You were already planning to kill Lucius even before I entered the picture. And when I offered my allegiance in exchange for killing Lucius…."
"You were asking me to do something I planned on doing eventually anyway."
She didn't know when or how, but I had navigated both sides over the tiny period of a month to fall directly into my hands. All while claiming to serve as tools for her and Broderick and even seemingly supporting both sides a few times. And had ended up with House Greengrass in his pocket, and Lucius down on the floor all prepped up for sacrifice.
She had given me an inch, and I had taken an entire marathon.
Narcissa was impressed and pissed as hell.
And the proverbial cherry on top was that she had arranged everything herself, and now with time being of the essence, her hands were now tied.
"Harry… we… we can't kill Lucius at this altar."
"Why not?" I asked.
"Because this ritual goes way beyond just killing someone," she admitted. "It kills the person, kills their parents, their children… every single person they have descended from, or descends from them. This spell, it's not just murder, it's…
"Genocide," I whispered. "You wanted me to commit genocide. And that's why you chose a mudblood, isn't it? Because even if an entire family vanished, they'd be muggles or some muggleborn or halfblood family that died overnight. Not any of your precious purebloods. And now look at it. Look. When Lucius dies at this altar, his entire line will vanish too. His parents and cousins are dead, which leaves…"
"Draco," Narcissa whispered. "No Harry, you will not kill my son. You will not kill my son. You have to promise me. Draco cannot die. If you don't then I will — I will —"
She raised her wand shakily.
"Narcissa," I said coldly. "Do not forget where you stand. This is Number 12, Grimmauld Place, and I own it. As the Acting Lord Black, the wardstones answer to my command. I summoned the yenaldooshi spirit in me, which means the Black Family Magic runs strongly in my blood right now. Do you truly intend to be hostile to me, in this room, knowing what protections I enjoy?"
The wand stayed aimed at me, but the hand shook, as did her expression. She looked like she wanted to curse me, strangle me, weep at my feet and pray to me at the same time. Never had I seen the look of such despair on the face of someone so haughty, and I had to admit, the juxtaposition was just mesmerising.
"Harry Potter," she said slowly, meaning every word. "I will not let you murder my son."
I had heard that tone before. From Nymphadora Tonks. Narcissa and I had been pretty amicable until now, until the point when I made her feel helpless. Things had just gotten a bit complicated. Depending on how she acted next, things could turn in an indefinite number of ways, several of which would end with her demise before the night was over. I didn't want to do it, but if I had to, I would.
I had done a lot to get my hands on the Black Family Magic, and I'd be damned if I had to walk away just to keep ickle Draco alive.
The surprising bit was that Walburga of all people stayed silent, watching me speculatively. Knowing her, she was probably admiring my ruthlessness.
"If you are willing to listen, then I have a way to save your son."
Narcissa said nothing.
"After I wake Lucius up, we offer him a chance. To let him see his wife that has conspired against him. Let him feel the shock, feel the impossibility of the situation weighing upon him, realise that he is lying at Death's door, ready to be sacrificed for someone else to rise to power, just like he has done all his life. And with that knowledge, offer him a chance to save his son and only descendant by…. "
I met her eyes in an even stare.
"... casting him out. Draco would no longer be a Malfoy. He would be rejected by the Malfoy Magic. Lucius can give him away his properties, his money, but House Malfoy would be gone. Draco would have to form a new family, and with the stain on his name, he would be rejected by the House of Black's Charter. I will ascend to the Lord of House Black, and you will be free to return to the Black name, just as you wanted."
After what felt like eternity, Narcissa lowered her wand, and let out a small, bitter laugh. "I did. And you kept your word. To think that I believed that Walburga chose you as a replacement simply because the other option was a Malfoy, rather than your own aptitude…."
I winced at that. Walburga's smirk didn't help matters either.
"Look, I didn't want all this. Hell, you and Walburga here decided that the smartest way was to keep me in the dark about this entire genocide thing, and I was planning on saving Lucius until the end so that I could kill him in front of you. I thought it would be… I don't know, cathartic for you to see that? So don't blame me for setting you up and destroying your son's life. All that is on you."
"Which conveniently fits right up your plan."
"Yes, and what are you going to do about it?"
Both of us stayed silent for the next several seconds. Finally, she let out a loud exhale.
"You have made your point, I believe, Harry Potter," Narcissa said somewhat stiffly. "The current balance of power does not favour me. So we will do as you suggest. But mark my words, Harry Potter. If you ever make any moves against my son after this, Morgana help me, I will find a way to end you, even if it kills me."
A small breeze blew in the room, her oath taking effect.
"So long as he does not become a willing thorn on my side, I swear not to attack him."
A risky thing to do, but compromises had to be made.
"Acceptable."
"I'm glad we understand each other then," I said. Despite being close to a hundred percent anchorage, I now had full confidence that Narcissa would never become a Lilim, not when things turned out this way. "Well then, let's get started, shall we?"
Notes:
If you want to support me, find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Next Update is on 24th December.
Chapter 128: Death
Notes:
Sorry for the delay. Was hospitalized and took some days to recuperate.
As always, I have a Discord server, Penthouse. If you are interested in joining it, following for more updates and snippets, and discussing SED in general, just hop in on the link.https://discord.gg/jvzqqvHhr7
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 3 - THE INCUBUS AND NECROMANCER
CHAPTER 128 - DEATH
Lucius knew his time had come.
There had been something whispering in his ear for the longest time. A certain something which told him from the very moment he had faced the Dark Lord back in Albania that a grave and fatal future was hanging over his head. He had dismissed it as his instincts reacting from the Dark Lord's presence. The man was temperamental even on the best of days, and restrained in that frail form had not improved his attitude.
If he had to put a finger on it, he'd have marked out that moment when the Bulgarian Veela began performing in unison. There was a strange power oozing from the Top-Box, and Lucius had felt it. Seeing Cornelius thumping Potter's shoulder like a fond uncle should have told him that something was happening in the background. That the events post the detonation were heralds of something ominous. The cold voice at the back of his head had told him that he really must kill Harry Potter, no matter the cost, because otherwise, he wouldn't even have a life with him alive.
Now, as the aged patriarch of the Malfoy family lay on the floor in silence, already having dealt with the surprise of finding himself in an unknown setting, he knew that it was just a matter of time before he drew his last breath. His killer, likely Harry Potter, an amusing fact because just some hours ago, he'd have laughed off at anyone daring to suggest something so ludicrous about the Gryffindor Golden Boy, but he knew better now,
The boy was a killer, had killed, both in that terrifying bestial form, and as a human.
And now, he was going to kill him.
There was no saying what would happen to his family post his demise. He did not care too much about Narcissa. That woman could handle herself just fine. It was Draco that he was concerned about. With everything that was going on, he had forgotten to check where his son was. Even if something sinister had not befallen him, Draco bore an irrational hatred from the Potter boy.
Like him, Draco too had fallen for the goody two-shoes facade of the Gryffindor Golden Boy.
Unlike him, Draco lacked the cunning, the connections and the necessary skill of deception paramount for surviving in their cut-throat world.
Most likely, his son was already killed, and if not, would be killed in the near future.
And just like that, the Malfoy line would vanish. Everything he had spent decades building, his reputation, his wealth, his connections, his legacy — all of it was about to be undone.
So who was going to inherit his wealth?
Narcissa? Perhaps.
Lucius had the sneaking suspicion that should Draco die, Narcissa would slowly but certainly break her ties to the Malfoy name, leave it to be extinct for good measure, and attempt to return back to her roots. Their marriage contract made her privy to a fourth of the fortune if she chose to part ways.
But his empire? The Dark Alliance that he commanded for the better part of two decades?
Crabbe and Goyle were henchmen at best, filled with greed as they were, and would immediately change their allegiances to Nott who was most likely to assume command unless he too was captured or worse, killed. Parkinson would be beside himself at his passing, though that would be less due to his loss of a friend, and more because in Lucius's absence, House Parkinson would likely need to hunt for another benefactor willing to accept it as a vassal at the Wizengamot and give it representation. Jugson, Travers, Dolohov, Quentin — all of them would try to make his legacy theirs, assuming the other side didn't already burn things to the ground first.
Broderick… Broderick was always his partner at personal investment, and never one to deal with politics. He would likely take control of Lomfay Enterprises and slowly, unwittingly, let his friend Gideon Abbott into the business. That rat bastard was as sly as they came, and Lucius had no doubt Gideon would aim to grab for whatever he could get his hands on without making Broderick feel suspicious.
All in all, it was going to end.
For good.
And all of that because of the actions of Harry bloody Potter.
"Hello, Lucius."
Lucius was certain that up until a second ago, he could feel nobody around him. Except, it was no longer the case. His senses flared and the world around him suddenly blared into focus. He was lying on the floor, with his right hand —
His right hand —
A feeling of foreboding rose in him before it was nipped again. Yes, he remembered. His left hand was blown off from his shoulder because that madman Barty Crouch Junior had attacked him out of nowhere from behind. The stump was cauterised, he could feel it. His other hand was cleanly cut off from the upper arm too, and while that could normally be healed using the proper potions, the curse that was used to severe it was anything but normal.
Sectumsempra, Lucius realised. Snape's invention.
But the most disturbing of all things was the face that swam into focus. Sitting to his right, looming over him like the shadow of death, was that blasted green-eyed messy-haired brat. Now that he stared in the halfblood bastard's eyes, he could see a cold-blooded amoral killer behind them.
His first instinct should have been to attempt an attack. Even without his hands, Lucius was more than capable of several wandless charms. His second should have been to kick Potter in the face or the chest, followed by a wandless banisher. It would be a pain to attempt getting up without his hands, but an Ascending charm could do the trick. A third option could have been to cast the Animatus charm on himself and order his body about akin to a puppet.
Yet, he did none of those things. As a matter of fact, none of those things even crossed his mind. He was strangely, prenaturally calm. No bubbling anger, no anxiety over what had transpired and would follow, no sense of vengeful retribution, no desire to crush the bastard's throat with his bare hands, nothing. Just a calm, unnerving acceptance that bordered on tranquillity at what was to follow.
"A calming draught," he said at last.
"Ah, you recognized it that quickly?" asked the boy, his eyes fleeting with amusement. "It's the Draught of Peace actually. Only a tad more potent, or so my potioneer tells me. Seeing the effects, I'm inclined to take her by her word."
She. He had said She. But who could it be? The mudblood werewolf? Draco had reluctantly conceded that she was one of the best brewers in his class. But brewing a potion and altering it were two different things. One could be skilled and diligent like Lucius himself, or skilled and talented like Severus.
So who was it?
"Are you going to kill me?"
That spark of amusement was back. "Of course I'm going to kill you. Why does death always come as such a shock to people? I mean, you're quite used to seeing people, aren't you? By your own hand, especially."
"Yes, I have."
"How many, if I might ask?"
"Fifty… sixty perhaps?" Lucius answered without the slightest hesitation. "I avoided killing by my own hands if I could help it. Killing is often a chore, and there is always the chance of blood splattering over my robes. Too many vanishing charms can damage those fabrics. There's also the issue of evidence lying around, so I had others deal with the riff raff."
His eyes went slightly wide as the words escaped his lips. "You have dosed me with veritaserum."
"And a babbling potion," said the boy nonchalantly. "She warned me that the Draught of Peace contains Hellebore, which can violently react with the crocodile heart strings to induce organ failure. Given the situation we have here, I thought it was well worth the risk."
The clinical and polite, friendly tone in which the words had been delivered chilled him. It was like listening to someone simply making conversation with an old friend he had not met in a while. It told Lucius that if, no when Potter chose to kill him, it would be done with no fuss whatsoever, not unlike squishing an ant.
And the worst part? Nobody would see it coming. Dumbledore's favourite, the Gryffindor Golden Boy being a psychopathic killer? Who would believe him?
Said killer was looking at him, intrigued. A form of sickening interest that Lucius couldn't put a finger on.
"So who were the ones you personally killed? Go on, and don't think of leaving any gory details back. Spit your heart out, Lucius. You might never get the chance after this."
Just what was his endgame? Lucius had no doubt he would be killed soon. Was this his way of ensuring that the Malfoy name was irrevocably destroyed? Did he want to release the memory to the government? No, that would be foolish. Dumbledore would obviously denigrate Potter's actions, so perhaps this was his way of self-justification?
"There was Marlene McKinnon. Sirius Black's fiance. I made some passes at her back at school and she refused. Her brothers were Aurors, and firmly opposed the Dark Lord. During the raid on Azkaban prison back in 1981, the Dark Lord killed her brothers. Taking advantage of that, I infiltrated their manor with Dolohov's aid, put her father under the Imperius curse, and incapacitated both of them. I defiled her and her mother, then imperiused her mother to repeatedly stab her husband with a knife. Then I animated the corpse into defiling both women and killing them, and—"
"Stop."
Lucius paused, the babbling potion taking effect. He wondered what sort of additions Potter had made to it to make him this pliable to his commands.
And then Potter snapped his fingers.
Like a glass wall shattering, Lucius suddenly realised that he had been unable to see just what was Potter sitting on. Or rather, what was next to him. His insides turned cold with horror as he realised that it was his wife Narcissa that was sitting next to him, with not a stitch of clothing on her, sucking Potter's dick. She was rolling her pink tongue in a slow teasing circle around her pouty lips, making them shine invitingly, the red lipstick standing out brilliantly against her creamy white skin.
"Come and get it," said Potter, equally naked. "I've got another nice big load for you."
He surged the dripping knob of his surging prick at Narcissa's face, a glistening web of precum flying from the tip and landing lewdly on her cheek.
The touch of that slimy discharge seemed to fire Narcissa's ardour even more. Lucius watched, flabbergasted, as she slid both hands along Potter's thighs and moved closer, her mouth open invitingly, pushing her lips forward for a torrid kiss. She pressed them against Potter's cock, moved her head forward, her lips opening wider as they followed the expanding contours of his mushroom-shaped crown.
"Mmm…." came a gentle sound from his wife's throat.
"Fuck, look at her go," said Potter. Lucius watched as Narcissa methodically pushed and pulled her head back and forth while pumping her fist on the lower part of Potter's shaft. She made nasty cocksucking sounds as she pleasured him feverishly, frothing slobbers of saliva oozing from the corners of her mouth and dropping on her large breasts that dangled lewdly below.
Lucius should have attempted to wildly attack Potter right then. Instead, not a word escaped from his lips.
Then Potter looked at him. "Well, go on. Don't let me stop you on my account. I'm pretty sure you have many more conquests to talk about."
And so he did. His insides burned with rage and humiliation, but his mouth kept speaking out loud. Lucius took Potter through his episode with Edgar Bones and his family, about how the daughter escaped his hands because she was away. And then about the Prewitts. About how it was unfortunate that Molly Prewitt was already married to Arthur Weasley and living under the protection of the Order, about how he missed spilling his seed into her pureblood cock and spoiling her in front of Arthur Weasley's eyes, but how he had taken his frustration on Fabian Prewitt's wife and little daughter instead.
Meanwhile Narcissa had just made Potter cum, and pulled back at the last moment, making him spray his cum — a wholesome amount he couldn't help but notice, all over her face and breasts, before lewdly rubbing them all over like some kind of body lotion. He stared in mounting horror and humiliation as she used her breasts to further pleasure the boy, as Lucius progressed to talking about Fleamont Potter and his wife Euphemia. About how he had only made Euphemia give him oral under the Imperius curse before Macnair had his way with her. He hoped— he really, really hoped to see anger and rage surging through Potter's face as he spoke of his grandparents' fate.
Instead the bastard kept making groans of pleasure as Narcissa pleasured him.
Lucius then described, in rather brazen terms, his eyes burning brightly with excitement as he relived the episodes where he had gotten off the pain. It was where he had realised that true excitement came from defiling the weak, seeing their fragile faces as he destroyed their innocence and shattered their lives. And as he did, Narcissa proceeded to settle down on Potter's cock and jump back and forth, her whole body glowing from the sexual pleasure she was getting. Seeing Potter take his wife like that, see his ultimate conquest — Narcissa Black, his trophy wife be taken so brazenly in front of him while he watched impotently — the two opposing emotions clashed in his expression and all the while, Potter kept grunting while Narcissa kept moaning, jumping on his cock.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of this humiliating punishment, Potter looked at him again.
"Lucius Malfoy," his killer said at last. His voice had an edge this time. "Let me be frank with you. I had devised at least eighteen different ways of killing you without anyone knowing any better. You know, the quick and neat sort. But that wouldn't be half the fun as this one."
And then he met Lucius's grey eyes and spoke.
"Feel."
It was like someone had set him on fire. One moment Lucius was lying down, utterly tranquil, describing all the horrors he had committed, revealing his darkest secrets to his would-be killer while his wife sucked and pleasured the bastard. The next moment, his heart exploded with fiery rage, sweat erupting all over his body and his facial muscles began moving erratically in all directions, like going into paralysis. Lucius attempted to get up, but found his legs and waist chained down to the floor, and no matter what he did, no amount of magic was within his reach.
"I'LL KILL YOU! I'LL KILL YOU, YOU BAST —"
And then blood spewed out of his mouth and nostrils.
"Ah," said Potter, with a hint of embarrassment. "I knew I was forgetting something. You see, I chained you with the Shackles of Malchance. Ring any bells?"
Despite the turmoil and tumultuous agony he was under, a part of Lucius registered what Potter had just spoken, and its implications.
The Shackles of Malchance. A cursed version of the shackles employed to restrain the prisoners during the fast-track Death Eater trials. Unlike the original variant that completely repressed the person's ability to cast magic, this one simply turned the magic inward into heat. With all the emotional turmoil Lucius had been going through, and the way he was lashing out, the shackles were transmuting all that energy back into the body — like a never-ending vicious cycle of the blood-boiling curse.
He had himself used the Shackles several times on his victims, letting them burn from the humiliation and rage he was dealing them.
His nostrils flared as a pungent smell hit him right then.
"Ugh!" said Potter, and flicked his wand, and a convex shield formed all around Lucius's body, limiting the stench from escaping and letting him have the full experience. "Remember what I said about hellebore and crocodile heartstrings? The elevated body temperature only makes them react more vigorously. I guess that your bladder giving away was a symptom."
Lucius couldn't speak. He was still frothing in the mouth, blood trickling down his eyes, nose and ears, as he impotently attempted to lash out physically but to no effect, while Narcissa kept jumping on the bastard's cock. He wanted to speak, to curse both of them from his deepest darkest recesses of his shrivelled heart, but not a single word escaped his lips. After a while, he calmed down again, the Draught of Peace's effect for sure, and instead looked around with morbid curiosity.
He was lying down in an ornately drawn ritual circle. Was this what it was about? The Boy-Who-Lived was going to sacrifice him on the altar to gain power? Had Narcissa helped him — of course she had! That woman knew Black Family Magic like nobody he had met, save for perhaps, Walburga Black and Arcturus Black himself.
"Let me tell you what is about to happen, Lucius," said Potter, pushing Narcissa away. "I am going to take everything from you. Your life, your fortune, your empire… everything. This ritual will consume your blood, your magic and your soul. It will kill you, kill those you have descended from, and those that have descended from you."
Lucius paled.
"Yes. Draco, your only son."
Lucius attempted to move, but the most he could do was feebly move a finger. It was like his entire body had been petrified.
"Yeah, sorry about that. Narcissa here was too scared you might attack and kill us. She really holds your skill in high regard. I suppose you could think of your current position as a compliment."
He chuckled. "Now, there are really two ways we can get this done. Option one: You can keep vainly attempting to break past the restraints I have put in place. It's going to end up with your blood burning even more, and I'll be forced to just kill you before you kill yourself, and dear Draco will join you soon after in the afterlife."
Narcissa flinched.
"Option two."
He held up a set of papers. Even from his vantage point, Lucius recognized them as Gringotts forms.
"You cast Draco out of House Malfoy. By name, by blood and by magic. Draco would never be able to exercise any magic proprietary to the Malfoy would be barred from all properties registered under the Malfoy name, and will have to forge a new name for himself to choose to join whatever family he shares blood with. As far as House Malfoy is concerned, Draco will be effectively a mudblood."
Lucius's eyes widened with disgust. There was no way he would let his son befall to such a —
"But," said Narcissa, cutting his thoughts short. "He will be alive."
That made him pause.
And think.
"Now," said Potter. "Because I am such a good guy, I have already filed them for you. All you have got to do is stamp them, voluntarily, with your blood and magic. If you try anything other than that, I'll drive this dagger right through your heart and we know exactly how things turn out after that. Now, nod once if you understand and twice, if you have anything worthwhile to say."
After a moment of pondering, Lucius nodded. Twice.
Potter snapped his fingers yet again, and Lucius suddenly felt like someone had pulled an invisible hand from pressing hard over his mouth. He glared at the boy in front of him, the boy who was taking everything from him! Everything!
But he didn't say a word to Harry Potter. Instead, he turned to look at his wife. "Was it worth it, giving up your life, your family, your son, the Malfoy name, all of it just to warm this halfblood bastard's bed?"
His wife met his eyes. "You wouldn't understand if I tried to explain it, Lucius."
Lucius opened his mouth in a silent snarl, but held back yelling out a curse. His body was already heating up to dangerous levels. His eyes were blood-red with lifeblood trickling down the edges. Anymore and he'd die of an aneurysm. Part of him wanted to do exactly that and deny the boy whatever he aimed from the ritual. But if he did that then…
"The form."
Potter held it out at the correct page. With a flick of his finger, he made a tiny incision at Lucius's forefinger.
"Go on."
Lucius pressed the incised finger on the page, which began to greedily soak up his blood. With all the magic saturating his blood all this while, this signature, and his words would become as potent as it could be. No doubt Potter had planned for that too.
"By my blood, by my magic, by my name, I, Lucius, Lord of House Malfoy, son of Abraxas Malfoy, declare Draco Malfoy an Outcast. Let his name bear meaning no longer. Let him be those without Malfoy blood. Let him be tormented, so that… so that he might live."
He paused for a moment, before speaking again. "I, Lucius, Lord of House Malfoy, declare this as my last will and testament. All that belongs to House Malfoy, every property, every investment, every single knut, is to be transferred to Draco, formerly Malfoy's name. So have I spoken, so mote it be."
He gave Narcissa a look of vengeful satisfaction. Surely the bitch hadn't —
"Thank you."
It wasn't Potter that had said that. It was Narcissa.
For once, Lucius had no words.
"You did what I expected, no, what I wanted you to do. For Draco."
She probably meant it as an apology. Or whatever apology she could pull out of her black heart after betraying him like this. Narcissa probably even expected him to forgive her or some such bullshit.
"Do not look at me like that, bitch," he snarled. "You chose that halfblood Potter! For what? For your Black heritage? You would deny your own son just to jump on that halfblood's dick? If Draco is my son, then remember this well Narcissa Black, he will avenge my name."
Before Potter could react, Lucius pushed his bloodied finger against the Gringotts form, snarling. "I curse Draco to hate the Black heritage with every fibre of his body! I curse him to look at his mother and burn in hatred! I curse him to ensure that his mother, Narcissa Druella Black, dies ALONE!"
His eyes were blazing. His heart was burning. His soul was screaming for vengeance.
"SO HAVE I SWORN, SO MOTE IT —"
Stab.
In a flash, Potter impaled the antiquated dagger deep into Lucius's chest, piercing through his heart. Lucius's consciousness only remained awake, barely, so that he could finish his final word.
"...be."
Notes:
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Next Update is on 4th January.
Chapter 129: Ritual
Notes:
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Chapter Text
BOOK 3 - THE INCUBUS AND NECROMANCER
CHAPTER 129 - RITUAL
The end of the line had arrived.
I stared, slowly, at the body in front of me, watching the lights go out of Lucius's eyes once and for all, feeling Lucius's soul get dragged out of his body, and merge into the ritual circle below, activating it, right as Narcissa screamed, knowing that her husband had ruined everything for her right at the moment of his death.
Part of me could not believe that I had actually come this far. Part of me did not believe that I had actually done it. Part of me was still waiting for Lucius to somehow rise up, and snort, telling me how I was a fool for thinking I could be rid of him that easily.
Yet, none of those things happened.
He was Dead.
Humiliating Draco, gaining political power, resources, and fucking side-characters , even those as relevant as Amelia Bones and Narcissa Malfoy was one thing. But aside from Voldemort, Dumbledore and potentially Dolores Umbridge, Lucius Malfoy was about as central as far as characters in the Harry Potter world went. The summer before the fourth year would mark the resurgence of Voldemort, with the Third Task spelling the rebirth of the most dangerous Dark Lord in recent history. Everything that happened in the canonic fifth year, from Fudge's open hostility to Dolores Umbridge, Lucius was the linchpin around which the events had orchestrated.
And now he was dead.
At my hands.
Before all of that could even begin.
If I was worried over just how much my knowledge of Canon events mattered before, it was pretty much useless now. With Lucius dead and gone, I had effectively created a massive vacuum. The massive loss of life, especially on the DMLE end and the Death Eater camp would only make things worse. The sheer number of werewolves that were killed in the zone would lead to other werewolf packs to avoid Britain for a while, and that was ignoring the world-wide negative reactions on lycanthropes for their role in this madness.
The wealthy Death-Eaters that hadn't participated in the World Cup attack would come in to grab Lucius's legacy. Those that lost significant manpower and finances would get desperate. The Dark faction would crumble to pieces without adequate management, and most under-the-table deals would come to a screeching halt until things were better.
Or until things went even more chaotic.
"Harry," said Walburga. "Get on with it. Begin the ritual. Once it reaches an impetus, you will chant the aria, when the yenaldooshi arrives, offer the sacrifices in the belt to exchange it with Ni' Hodithil. Be warned, the yenaldooshi spirit is a predator, both physically and spiritually. Once the sacrifice is accepted by Ni' Hodithil, and the spirit completely shifts to your body, it will be a battle of wills. Remember, you must not let it prey upon you. If you do, then all will be lost."
"And if that happens," said Narcissa. "I'll cut you down before you break out of the Circle and kill me."
Her wand sparked angrily.
"Noted," I said, and sat down at the centre, cross-legged, and closed my eyes, as if in meditation. Despite the events happening all night, a soft, serene smile formed on my lips.
Walburga had taught me that in the transitory realm between the physical and the spiritual, animal spirits had an overwhelming advantage against the human mind. Magic was emotion, and animal spirits, that ran on emotion and instinct, were far more potent than the human mind, that always attempted to rationalise their actions, no matter how flimsy their excuse was.
The yenaldooshi was a predator, and after all the emotional turmoils I had been through, there was always a chance it would find a chink in my armor and corrupt me from within, and pull me down into the depths of spiritual purgatory. And while the Incubus Lord was a powerful demon of its own, its power did not share the same zip code as the yenaldooshi.
"Harry," Walburga frowned. 'What are you doing?"
"Improvising."
Switching Paths…
Activating Path NECROMANCER
Registering Affinities…
Binding…
Welcome, Necromancer!
And the reaction was instantaneous.
Walburga instantly pulled back by several feet. Narcissa too, had stood up, and was staring at me in apprehension, her wand raised.
I paid them no mind. A whirling sensation erupted out of me, like the world had been caught in a gale, only there was no wind. I had done something similar just hours ago, in the middle of the burning stadium, invoking the spirits of the dying and the dead, churning them, twisting them, robbing them off their sanctity, their wholeness, and disintegrating them into nothing but fragments for me to reforge into Amelia's soul. This time, things were simpler, but far more focussed.
Black, sludge-like fumes branched out of my body and sunk down the ritual circle, coating the mercury with a shade of jet black.
"INGWAZ!"
The last time, Ingwaz had set up the soul churning process. This time, the wardstones emitted an intense bright light, and an intense feeling of vertigo threatened me for several seconds, as the tiny wardstones guzzled through the magic gathered in the wardstone fueling the wards of the Black townhouse. The entire house let out a loud, mechanical groan, and several pieces of furniture crashed down to the floor, shattering to pieces. Cracks formed on the walls, and an inky blackness began to spread through it.
"What — what is happening?" asked Narcissa, and I noted the fear seeping in her voice with amusement.
"What you wanted for all this time," I said, opening my eyes. "I am about to become the Black Lord."
The groaning vanished after the tenth or eleventh second, as the wardstone sunk deep in the dungeon below, began pulling more energy from the leyline below, to balance the sudden energy expenditure. Within the next minute, things were looking stable.
"You — that — I recognize that stench. It's — it's necromancy! You're a necromancer!" exclaimed Narcissa.
"Accursed magic!" spat Walburga. But then in the same vein, she went on. "But powerful! Powerful! So powerful!"
"Accursed," I agreed. "But it's also the same power that is the bedrock of Voldemort's existence. Is it not? Power and potential of this degree requires an appreciative audience, not sycophantic brutes of followers that have no idea of what their Lord is truly capable of."
"You —" Narcissa began. "You —"
"I'm not Lord Voldemort, Narcissa," I smiled.
"It's like you said, Walburga. The yenaldooshi is a predatory spirit. Let's see how it fares against that which hunts spirits."
"ANSUZ!"
The rune of communication opened the doors to the Ni'Hodithil, the First Dark World, and the ritual began in earnest.
Those that existed in the spiritual realm were often of great power, enough to make the likes of Dumbledore and Voldemort look little more than mindless annoyances. But for all their power, they came with their fair share of vulnerabilities.
Like the inability to defy a summoner when invoked through a Ritual Circle.
Of course, there was always the chance of them snapping the summoner's neck or worse, possessing the summoner itself, but that didn't negate the fact that they had to answer the call.
"Hear me," I said. "I am the child of the Coyote. I bind and I eat, I curse and I kill,
On this accursed night, I call upon those waiting in Ni'Hodithil."
The energy prevailing in the entire house, and particularly inside the Circle, was far, far different than the one during the time I had invoked the principles of Incarneum to resurrect Amelia as my lyctor. The power here was less inherently evil, but it was wilder, more dangerous, more predictable.
Night was a time of endings. To the sensitive mind, it was like a completely different setting than the daytime. As an 'accomplished' necromancer, courtesy to the horcrux, I could sense the forces of the spirit world, hanging over me like a pallor. Spirits, ghosts, wraiths, wild things that haunted the world, energies that were drawn to death and decay, mostly unseen by mortal eyes.
The prison was built and the trap was set. The material was rare and meticulously arranged, but it was still within the realm of possibility to build a circle from which even a being like the yenaldooshi could not lightly escape.
So I shut my doubts into a closet in the back of my mind, along with my fears. With deep breaths, I envisioned myself drawing in power with each breath, and exhaling weakness and distraction. I felt the magic stirring around me and within me as I did, and I started building up my will, gathering my strength for use, until the mercury below began glowing a distinct otherworldly purple and the hairs on my neck rose on end. Taking a final breath, I opened my mouth, and continued to call out in the steady cadence of the summoning.
"To the First of the Dark, I offer the dead, the dying, the suffering, the cursed,
On this night, I become your vessel,"
Walburga's tutelage had also granted me a fair amount of appreciation for Astronomy, and its related discipline, Astromancy. On the twenty-third of August, the Sun had moved into Virgo, a condition that invoked the surge of practicality and attention to come to the forefront of one's mind. This transition allowed one to integrate the insights gained by Mercury's retrograde into tangible routines to transform oneself.
And tonight, on the twenty-eight of August, the Mercury retrograde in Leo was ending, beginning the Virgo season, bringing clarity, order and transformation.
I wouldn't say it was the perfect night to pull off this ritual. Samhain or Beltane would probably have been a better option, especially the potency it would offer the summoning ritual. On the other hand, the sheer number of spiritual predators out on that night would be exponentially high. My blood and magic would be in the spiritual waters, and the sharks would come sniffing.
In that respect, this was much better.
My voice went louder.
"FROM THE DARK I CALL YOU. INTO THE DARK I CALL YOU…."
The words of the chant tolled inside my head. I realised that I couldn't stop now, not even if I wanted to.
"I CALL YOU WITH NAMES, OH MY LORD! OH MY LORD!
I SUMMON WITH POISON—"
The necromantic energies swirled around me malevolently, yet nothing about it could match the power building inside the Circle.
"—AND I SUMMON WITH PAIN."
The athame that had struck Lucius down in the heart flew up and pierced me in the chest. My eyes bulged, and a scream threatened to tear through my throat.
But I resisted.
It was not piercing my heart, just impaling my chest to touch the blood flowing beneath. Like an ethereal hand, fumes of necromantic energy connected the athame's hilt with the altar, pulsing with eldritch energy.
"I OPEN THE WAY, AND I OPEN THE GATES…."
One moment the circle was empty. Then there was a flash of lightning slamming upon the ritual circle and scattering around in a hissing matrix of electricity and magic, defining the entire Circle as silver borders rose from all sides, entrapping me. I barely stopped myself from flinching and breaking off the summoning chant—a mistake that would have destroyed everything at best, or gotten me horribly killed at worst. But I recovered myself and kept up the litany all the way through to the end.
My voice rang hollow in the darkness of the Black manor, muffled but strong, and I poured every bit of my will into the words, until the power in them began to make the air ripple around them as they flowed from my lips. There, in the darkness, I reached into the spirit world to call up one of the deadliest beings out there.
"COME!"
And Yenaldooshi answered.
It was like a disembodied black shadow, easily nine feet tall, but with little physical presence to cast it. All I could see were twin gleams of purplish ambers for eyes, and a raw, wild hunger pressed against the outside of my skin. I could feel the yenaldooshi's lust for the wild night, to hunt, to kill everything this world had to provide and more.
I'm here. I want to hunt. Release me.
The words suddenly appeared in my head without going through my ears, scarlet and glowing and scalding. This time I did flinch as the yenaldooshi's will sent meaning into my thoughts like a well-thrown spear. I tore my attention away from that lance of thought and spoke aloud in reply.
"I will not release you."
The glowing eyes snapped back to me, flaring larger and brighter.
I am no beast to be lured and trapped, mortal. Set me free and join me in the hunt.
Images came with the thoughts this time— a world of blasted cities, of smoke, of tears, of screams. Blood ran in the gutters rather than water. And columns of greasy black smoke rose from altars, from buildings, from shrines decorated with skulls and crusted with the blood of sacrifices. And in the middle of that was the raw hunger I felt in my belly, the strength and power of my body and the glorious thrill of the chase as the prey fled as it was created to do, while a storm of endless bloodbath raged around me. It was a primaeval mind, one that had no business existing in the modern, civilised world of witches and wizards, and it would return the world back to the time when humans dared not venture out of their caves for fearing of losing their lives. That sheer desire for carnage, the terror, the death, the blood, the destruction, the senseless chaos fueling an excitement, of passion, of savage harmony red in tooth and claw — that was what the yenaldooshi was.
Blood was its art.
Screams were its music.
Horror was its faith.
We are not foes. Blood of my blood. Kin of my Kin. Release me.
"No," I growled. "I will not release you."
With a flick of my hand, the cilice belt levitated upwards and dropped itself upon the altar. And in doing so, I activated the exchange.
Within the next second, the yenaldooshi's form turned corporeal, and I could truly see it for what it was. A nine-foot tall nightmarish blend of beast and shadow. Its heavily muscled frame bulged out beneath its black fur, which rippled, as if alive, with smoke-like tendrils curling out of it. Its eyes stared into my soul, and in them, O could see warped, twisted visions of being torn apart by its massive hands and razor-sharp claws.
Man suffers. Man dies. It is how things are. Your mortal shell cannot hold me. Release me, and join me in my hunt, lest I prey upon you.
I believed the creature.
Trust me, even with everything I had at my arsenal, I could win. No chance in hell. If I fought, I'd die. If I attempted to run away, the barriers would stop me and I'd die. If I stood there, I'd die. There was only one thing I could do and that was try to restrain the spirit by any means necessary.
Becoming the Lord Black better give me something more than just a vault full of gold and a stupid seat at the Wizengamot after this.
"I will. Not. Release you."
Quite naturally, the first blow came right after.
Then, suffer.
And then the yenaldooshi roared, a deafening sound, and the floor began to tremble as it lashed against the Circle. It was an enormous struggle, controlling it, and almost hopeless. I felt like a man straining to push a car up a hill. Not only was it a difficult weight to begin to move, but a greater force was working against me, and if I allowed it to move even an inch it would begin to gain momentum and crush me beneath it.
So I fought for that inch, refusing to give it to him. The yenaldooshi, despite its appearance, wasn't physical, and by enacting the exchange of my sacrifice for its spirit, I had effectively trapped it in the real world. It might be a force of nature, power and violence without conscience and restraint, but it would be a spirit regardless, and weakened the moment the first rays of sunlight lit up the sky.
The yenaldooshi was a predatory spirit, and I, a mortal, necromancer or otherwise, had made it feel fear.
The well-justified reaction followed suit.
LET
I was flung off like a ragdoll and hit my back against the silver barrier holding the ritual circle off. The barrier was empowered with the raw energy from the wardstones, and I'd be smashed and turned to paste long before the barriers would crack.
ME
Which was bad for the yenaldooshi and far, far, worse for me.
OUT!
An invisible fog suffocated my senses, warping my sense of reality. The air grew thick, the light in my vision vanished, and my world was collapsing inward. The fumes of necromancy could work on souls, but this was both more and less than that — spiritual enough to possess me once it had smashed my will into smithereens, and yet corporeal enough to ignore the tendrils of my necromantic power attempting to undo its soul.
LET! ME! OUT!
LET! ME! OUT!
LET! ME —
Every single hit felt like an unstoppable force hitting an object attempting to be immovable with every bit of its strength. Everything felt spinny. Empty. I think I heard a scream, and it took me a while to realise that it was probably me.
The next thing I knew, the creature slammed into me, and then the screen flashed with an alarming red.
Body approaching magical exhaustion
Impossible! This bloody creature was literally eating my necromantic energies, and growing stronger. It tore at my perceptions, flooding them with random images and smells and sensations. It was like standing in a sandstorm, only instead of inflicting pain, every random grain forced you through an experience, a memory, so disjointed and intense and rapid that there was nothing to focus on, to hold on to.
Darkness overwhelmed my vision.
I thought I heard Narcissa yelling in the background.
I heard the sound of claws and waited for the end to draw near, wondering if dying would be quicker and easier than falling asleep. And then —
And then —
And then my world was inundated with light.
The darkness vanished, replaced by images of flashes of things he had definitely not imagined.
Amelia, sitting with Susan at their dinner table, with Susan softly caressing the small bump on her aunt's belly. The smiles on both of their faces brightened up the entire room.
Emmeline looking at a letter, sent by her little boy from Hogwarts. A hand, with the Potter and Black rings glinting on the fingers, grabbed her softly by her stomach, moving to her cleavage. She sighed in elation.
Hestia, screaming her lungs out as she hung in the dungeon, naked. "More!" she said. "Give me more."
The images followed. Every single one of them belonged to one of my anchors. People that lusted, no, loved me. Wanted me to be part of their lives, wanted me to be the most important person in their lives, and wanted to stand by me no matter the cost. And with that, came an image that was strong enough to hold all the rest together.
I found that image.
Me. Sitting on a massive throne. And standing all around me were women I knew — Amelia, Emmeline, Hestia, Anastasia, even Narcissa. There were silhouettes of countless other women in the background, some I could make out, and others that seemed quite familiar. All of that, inside one grand room, inside a grand edifice that felt less like a building and more like a shrine.
A shrine of a God.
A God of —
I smiled at the image. With everything else happening, I had almost forgotten one simple fact. The necromancer was powerful, but he stood alone. In life and in death. And against a creature like the yenaldooshi, it would spell his doom. But what if I wasn't alone.
Smiling, I focussed on that one image. And that was enough.
If the yenaldooshi shredded away everything else I had, this would be enough to build on.
The storm of the entity's will raged. But I found myself standing in the eye of the hurricane with the most quiet, defiant smile that had ever landed on my face.
The world came back to me.
Switching Paths…
Activating Path INCUBUS LORD
Registering Affinities…
Binding…
Welcome, Incubus Lord!
"I. WILL. NOT. RELEASE. YOU!"
I snarled out every single word, the creature shrieking in outrage as it attempted to find a weakened spot in my spirit to tear away. My left eardrum exploded. Or maybe imploded.
Whatever, it wasn't there anymore. The world turned into one of those barrel rides where they spin so fast you stick to the wall. Only I didn't have a wall to lean on.
I had my anchors.
The vast form of my defiance, my anchors arose like a tower of gold and dense purple, crashing down upon the yenaldooshi spirit that screamed once more. It enfolded the creature in its vast, implacable form, slowly pulling it down into the ritual circle. The yenaldooshi fought, but its strength was spent. It was like watching a seagull get pulled down by something big and dark and unseen — a desperate struggle with a foregone conclusion. Not because the yenaldooshi wasn't strong enough to shatter through my offence and the ritual circle, but because this was what the ritual circle did. This was the purpose of its creation. Ant-lions aren't that much stronger than ants.
But ant-lions kill ants. It's what they do.
It's what the ritual circle did.
THRUM! THRUM! THRUM! THRUM! THRUM!
Maybe it was the sound of the energies colliding. Maybe it was the sheer defiance of the predator meeting its match against an equally dangerous foe. Maybe it was just the sound of my heart beating furiously. Either way, I watched as the yenaldooshi spirit was dragged into the ritual circle, getting assimilated into the mercury, and finally sent through the tendrils rising out of it, through the athame directly into my mind.
And right then, the Screen lit up with a brand new notification.
Congratulations! You have gained a Title — BLACKENED PRIEST
You have gained a new Perk — CURSES WITHOUT END
You have gained a new Perk — LORDING AROUND
You have gained a new Perk — SHAPESHIFTING
And that was not all. In fact, it was barely the beginning.
Related perks found in existing Schematics!
Do you wish to combine Perk - Malevolent Release with Perk - Shapeshifting?
I blinked. Unless I was absolutely mistaken, Malevolent Release itself was the upgraded form of the Natural Demon perk, the one I had gotten from Hermione's nature as a twisted werewolf variant. And now it was about to be combined with yet another perk to become something more?
Go on. I said. Do it.
Your perks MALEVOLENT RELEASE and SHAPESHIFTING have combined to form an Upgraded Perk!
PERK — MAGICAL ANIMAGUS
Why settle for just fur when you can have fire and flair?
EFFECTS
By assimilating the spirit of the yenaldooshi successfully, User has gained access to a unique magical animagus form.
50% affinity to Eidolonics
As soon as I digested that information, the Screen lit up with a dozen different notifications, several of which involved details about the wardstone operating at the base of the Black townhouse, as well as a litany of data that could only be an accounting of the house. If I didn't know any better, it was like the house itself was doing its best to unveil every single bit of its secrets to me with the same zeal as a fanatic preaching for his church.
And then I realised it.
"My Lord," said Narcissa and Walburga together, genuflecting almost instantaneously.
Perk - LORDING AROUND
Why fight the System when you can own it?
EFFECTS
User becomes the undisputed Master of his domain. He exudes authority so effortlessly that even the most stubborn of dissenters find themselves nodding along.
Temporarily elevates Interest Level by 15 units.
Temporarily decreases Difficulty Level by 1 Rank.
Neat.
"My felicitations, my Lord," said Walburga, courtesying. "My job in this realm is finally over. That curse that Arcturus saddled me with, I can finally feel its effects dissipating. It has been an absolute pleasure teaching you, and seeing you grow, Lord Black. Finally, I can rest knowing I have redeemed myself before my ancestors."
"Not so quick," I said, standing up, feeling the barriers around me flicker and vanish. "If you remember, I had questions to ask you, Walburga Black. Answers that you denied. Answers that I won't be denied any longer."
Walburga's eyes glittered with pride.
"Ask it."
"Tell me what happened to Kreacher and Regulus Black."
Notes:
If you want to support me, find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Next Update is on 9th January.
Chapter 130: Walburga's Tale
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 3 - THE INCUBUS AND NECROMANCER
CHAPTER 130 - WALBURGA'S TALE
Being the Lord of Black felt… different.
No, that was not right. I already had the Potter Lordship for quite some time now, and aside from the occasional information that the family ring relayed to my head, there was little to no difference. The ring also carried an extra enchantment that granted me the 'sense memory' to recognize older works written in the Potter Grimoire into easily-comprehensible modern English. Granted, I hadn't gotten much progress in diving into the transfiguration lore of the Potter Grimoire, but that had less to do with the difficulty and more to do with the time constraints I was operating under. After all, for all the perks I had, elevated temporal perception wasn't one of them.
Hmm… Temporal… Now, wouldn't that be interesting?
Okay, La La wonderland time could come later. Time to focus on the present.
Now, where was I? Yes, the mantle of Lord Black.
I imagined it had less to do with the lordship, and the Wizengamot seat, and more to do with the method of my ascension. By assimilating the yenaldooshi spirit, I was spiritually a blend of a yenaldooshi and a human, the closest thing to the originators of the Black Family Magic itself. Toujours Pur, the Black Family Motto, always granted power to the one that was the purest. Too bad that the descendants twisted the meaning to justify their purist, bigoted beliefs instead of refining their original bloodline.
I hadn't. And the results now stood before me.
The Magical Animagus perk was quite self-explanatory. The yenaldooshi were powerful shapeshifters, and capable of powerful sorcery of their own right. Just their psychic stench was enough to debilitate even the most adept witches and wizards. Adding that to the Malevolent Release perk where I could transform into a 'form of darkness'... Part of me shuddered at the idea of what it would be.
I'd no doubt attempt that transformation in the near future, but only in a very warded location.
With multiple people ready and armed with all sorts of protections.
And a Fidelius.
Surprisingly, Lording Around perk proved to be far more interesting than it originally seemed. It was a perk that reproduced 'Toujours Pur' as a concept, enhancing the potency of the Black Lord. If activated normally, it elevated the Interest level of those that shared Black blood, and reduced the Difficulty level of manipulating them, of course at varying degrees depending on how much Black heritage they had in their blood. A useful skill, but I had better options to get that done.
But when I used it on things other than people, well, that is when things turned interesting.
That left the third and final perk. Curses Without End.
PERK - CURSES WITHOUT END
Rule of the Fresh-blood Emperor
EFFECTS
80% reduction in cost when casting curses
Crazy, isn't it? I mean, having a high, or even a 100% affinity towards the Dark Arts was great, but it only increased the chances of casting the curses without fail. At best, a 100% affinity meant that my curse would be as potent as possible with minimal loss of energy during the casting.
But a 80% reduction meant I could cast five curses at the magical cost of one. Such a skill would be absolutely terrifying on the battlefield, especially after I had scoured through the Black library and added hundreds of powerful curses in my arsenal.
I'd have loved to say that it was all there was to the perk.
Unfortunately, it wasn't.
Curses Without End wasn't just a perk. It was closest to what I could call a perpetually active perk. Like a puppy that had spent its entire life in isolation. With the Black Family fallen to ruins, and the yenaldooshi's powers degrading with every generation, it left the Family Magic starved and scarred and utterly, utterly neglected. Now that it had found a proper Master, it was practically jumping up and down, wagging its tail and wanting to be of service.
All it took was a mere thought of using it, and Curses Without End suggested a litany of spells right off the Black Grimoire into my mind. The closest analogy I could use was a form of AI that sensed my need and instantly forwarded the appropriate spell for my use.
Only, the spells in question were all curses.
Curses Without End.
But even that was fine. The true problem lay in the fact that this overly enthusiastic 'puppy' only wanted to please me. For everything else, it was a rabid wolf that wanted to curse everything within its range and beyond. It would curse, curse and curse away until the entire universe was crushed out of existence by the weight of the curses upon it. And no, just because someone was of Black blood or an Anchor to its Lord made absolutely no difference in its mind.
Like… right now.
Walburga's hands went slack, her eyes wide in shock and her skin going a shade paler than it already was. Beside her, Narcissa looked at him in alarm, the tightness of her body and the openly hateful look on her features spoke volumes.
"What… what is this power?" Narcissa asked.
"The power of Curses," I said, followed by a 'Without End' in my mind. "My authority as the Black Lord. It sensed your earthly bonds shattering, Walburga, and I needed both of your cooperation. I am also freshly out of miracles so if it decides to harm you, I won't be able to stop it. Please be polite."
"This is outrageous," said Walburga. The dichotomy of the enforced neutral tone and the absolute fury of being restrained was beautiful. "I have done nothing but work in the best interests of House Black."
"Of House Black, yes, but not necessarily mine," I said coldly. "The spirit was nothing like you prepared me for. I am certain I would have died if not for…" I paused, not willing to give away the potential information. "And neither of you would have done anything to stop that from happening. No, had the yenaldooshi killed me, both of you would have attempted to restrain it with the wardstones until it was morning."
"Come down from your high horse, boy," said Walburga. "You told me you would do whatever it takes to become the Black Lord. Wake up! Power like the kind you wield now does not come without equivalent risk."
"True, but it doesn't relieve you of your obligations to ensure I have the greatest chance to attain this power. And now, before proceeding onward, I must know where either of your heart lies. Be warned that any attempt at lying and the Magic will strike you down. And no, Walburga, being a wraith won't keep you from eternal torment. I might not be able to kill you, but there is nothing preventing me from… oh I don't know, entrapping you inside a box and sealing you beneath this very building."
Walburga went whiter.
"Speak," I commanded the wraith. "And I will judge you for it."
"I have been cursed to remain here until I redeem myself by ensuring a worthy Lord Black takes up the mantle," said Walburga, looking at me in appraisal. "The Malfoy brat, even if he did end up taking up the Wizengamot seat, would never be the Lord this House needs. Lucius had bred him to become a Malfoy first. My dearest Bellatrix is probably rendered barren from her stay in Azkaban, and Andromeda was cast-off by Uncle Arcturus himself for sullying the House name. My only chance was to wait for dear Narcissa to conceive again, but as the years passed, that hope began to flicker. And then, you happened."
I didn't know how to feel about Walburga describing me as an 'event' rather than a person.
"Despite my intention, I couldn't outright reject you. You entered this mansion, so your Black blood must run true in your veins. When you mentioned your name, I remembered Dorea Black, Arcturus's dear sister married to the Potters. I was also curious about the strange power that led you to survive and vanquish the Dark Lord as a babe. When you proclaimed your desire to become the Black Lord, I couldn't help but consider you as a potential candidate, even with your mother's blood sullying your lineage."
"Aunty communicated to me about your proclamation," said Narcissa. "At first, I was inclined to believe Draco's words and ignore you as little more than a nuisance. But then I saw you at Twilfit, and I reevaluated you. You were powerful, especially for your age. You ignored my allure, and I entertained the idea of taking you as a lover. If you performed adequately, I would elevate you as a potential claimant, and if you failed, I would ask Aunty to drop her hopes about you."
A small smirk formed on her face. "Needless to say, you performed spectacularly. I estimated you would attempt your OWLs earlier, and use your current standing as Lord Potter to make a pass at the Black seat. I knew Sirius was your godfather, and he'd have never wanted the seat to go to a Malfoy. But never, not in my wildest expectations, did I foresee you framing my son into casting an Unforgivable and removing him from the competition utterly. I was… exhilarated. You had proven to have the right amount of cunning, diplomacy and ruthlessness that Grandfather Arcturus would have wanted. You had enough skill to charm me, Narcissa Malfoy, into surrendering my body for you to play like an instrument. Your lack of decorum and non-adherence to pureblood ideologies was annoying, but that taint could be rubbed off in time."
She met my eyes. "You know the rest. I dropped my panties and offered you my arse."
"In the meeting room of the DMLE," I pointed out.
Walburga let out a low, grumbling sound.
Narcissa rolled her eyes. "I knew, right then, that you were the one. That I could take a chance with you. That you could kill Lucius for me and then —"
"And then?"
Narcissa opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out of her mouth. She tried again, and then again, but to no effect.
"You are cursed to speak the truth, and nothing else but the truth," I told her.
Narcissa's eyes bulged. "How —"
"That's the Black Family Magic for you," I said. "This is what you are up for, Narcissa Black. Your husband is dead and gone, and your son is cursed to hate both yourself and the Blacks for the rest of his life. And you are the widow of a man responsible for an international genocide. And unlike dear Aunty, you don't have the option of getting ahead with the afterlife."
"Yes, tell me something I don't know," spat the woman. "What is it you want, Harry Potter? You want me down on my knees, sucking your cock and begging you to take me in? Is that what you want?"
"Tempting," I said. "But we'll get down to the sucking on your knees part eventually. But no, what I want is your complete allegiance, Narcissa. You know I am against the Dark Lord, and after tonight's events, things will escalate beyond your imagination. I need to know if I can trust you."
Narcissa glared at him, but said nothing.
I turned to Walburga. "Now back to my original question. What happened to Kreacher and Regulus? Be warned, if you choose to lie, I will know it, and react appropriately."
Walburga scoffed. "I don't need to. Not to you, my Lord," she curtseyed again. "It snowed heavily that December. I remember Regulus coming in, and telling me that the Dark Lord required the services of an elf. I sincerely wanted to please the man, and suggested Kreacher to be in his service. I ordered the elf to do whatever the Dark Lord needed, and then come home."
She floated to the right, her body shimmering.
"When Kreacher came back, he was half-dead. He was poisoned with the Drink of Despair, and it took over a month for Regulus to heal him back. My dear boy always had a soft spot for that elf. The tales Kreacher told us afterwards… it boggled the mind. The Dark Lord had taken him to an island, on a boat. He had him drink from a basin filled to the brim with that potion, and put a locket inside the basin. Then, he left him there to die, amidst a lake filled with —"
"Inferi."
Walburga hissed, startled. "You… you…"
"A lake full of inferi," I said. "Pulling Kreacher down to the depths of the lake. But Kreacher isn't a wizard, he's an elf. And what Voldemort considers beneath him, he never bothers to understand it. House-elf apparition is different from wizard apparition, and Kreacher was asked to come home, so he did, despite the wards outside."
Walburga was staring at me, flabbergasted. "How do you —"
"Never mind how I know it," I said. "I assume Regulus went with Kreacher after that? What happened? Did they return with the Locket?"
Walburga looked like she wanted to explode but barely restrained herself. "No. My little boy went with Kreacher to retrieve this locket, but someone captured him before they could break in. Regulus perished in trying to defend himself, and Kreacher… Kreacher died here, in this very house, from a withering curse."
Right then it clicked. I took a sharp breath. "Don't tell me it was —"
A terrifying rage tore through Walburga's features. "Lucius Malfoy. He is the one that suggested Cygnus to marry Bellatrix away to Rodulphus Lestrange, and he's the one that murdered my Regulus. And Merlin knows that the bastard ensured that Sirius remained in Azkaban. That… that French, goat-sucking bastard destroyed my precious family, and I had to watch as he took control of the Black fortune and pillaged it, adding to his own Vaults over the years. And to think that one day his son, that son that never saw the Black name as anything more than a seat and a fortune to steal from, would take up the mantle of Lord Black? Egregious!"
That… made a surprising amount of sense. But if Regulus perished before getting his hands upon the Locket, then it probably was in the same cave.
Pity Kreacher had died. I could've used him to get the cave again. At least I knew where to start searching.
After what seemed like eternity, I met Walburga's eyes. "I cannot bring your son back, Walburga Black. But this I can swear. Lucius has already died for his deeds, and the Dark Lord will follow. He will rue the day he decided to make an enemy out of House Black."
Walburga shivered at my words.
I closed my eyes, and took in a deep breath. I didn't know what I was doing, just what I needed to do. The words came to me on their own, and I let the Black magic guide me.
"I, Harry James, Lord of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, hereby testify before Magic herself. Be it known that Walburga Cassiopeia Black was a true daughter of House Black. Whatever her deeds, whatever her failings, I hereby declare that she fulfilled her Oath to the family, redeeming the family to its original path of Toujours Pur. So have I spoken, so mote it be!"
I opened my eyes and —
Froze.
Walburga Black was standing there, smiling, her eyes filled with tears of happiness and gratitude. She mouthed a 'thank you' as her body glowed bright silver before exploding into motes of purple light.
And then she was gone.
I exhaled, and turned to Narcissa, who was staring at me like a hawk.
"You have something to say?"
"Many things," she said. "But those can wait. Tell me, Lord Black, just how do you know all that? And that power earlier… that was Necromancy. How does a —"
She opened her mouth and then decided otherwise.
I smirked. "Don't worry, Narcissa. Everything will be revealed in due time, once you offer me your allegiance."
Narcissa stared at me for a long moment. Finally, she sighed. "It's like I said. The current balance of power does not favour me. Is it really… necessary to keep me in this position, Lord Black?"
"Are you done with tricking me into dangerous situations?"
"I'm willing to negotiate rationally."
I gave her a professionally suspicious look.
Her poker face was better than mine.
"Fine," I said, and stepped back. With that, Curses Without End let her go. Narcissa coughed, and exhaled, before checking her body and casting certain diagnostic charms upon herself to verify her situation. Finally, she regarded me and said —
"Thank you. I appreciate dealing frankly with one another at this point."
"Sure."
"Don;t be so coy, Harry Potter," she said. "You hold my future in your hands now. It's like you said: I have no options. I gained the freedom I sought for years, but my husband had the last laugh. Despite being his widow, I won't have anything to live on, since he has transferred every single knut to his son's name. And as per his will, Draco is magically forced to hate me, and everything to do with the Black family. He will not welcome me. And the Rosier family will not accept the shamed, penniless widow of the deceased Malfoy family. I have nothing, except for what Lord Black might offer me out of pity."
Every single word felt like a knife aiming for her throat.
"So," she asked. "What's your price? You asked for my complete allegiance, but loyalty is something not even Magic can enforce. What is it then? An unbreakable vow? Oaths of Silence? Curses placed upon my body and soul if I ever choose to act against you knowingly or otherwise?"
I lifted my eyebrow. "You really think that high of me?"
Narcissa snorted. "I like to call a spade a spade. Yes, I tricked you. I used you for my own purposes. You had all the qualities of a good lover. I assure you, had you perished tonight, I would have missed the sex."
I snorted.
"But," said Narcissa. "I am a Black woman. I have grown up believing that the world is ours to command. I considered you a tool at first, and a potential ally. The question is, what am I to serve for you?"
I sighed. "Look. I know I play hardball, but I play it clean. Or at least, I won't sacrifice my own for the sake of gain."
"You are not that much of an idealist, Harry Potter," said Narcissa with a faint hard smile on her mouth. "At the end of the day, you chose to kill and butcher all those Death Eaters and werewolves. Not because you wanted to save the innocent, but because you wanted the blood and the magic to fuel your ritual. You saved that mudblood from being sacrificed, not because it was the right thing to do, but because it was inconvenient for your plans. At the end of the day, you are just like my husband. You will commit genocide if you think it is the proper thing to do."
"You're goddamned right I will," I said, because the empirical evidence was pretty tough to dispute. 'But if I was as hardcore as you think, you wouldn't be standing here mouthing off to me. I'm the Lord Black now, and while we are here, there is nothing stopping me from killing you and cutting the loose ends off."
Narcissa narrowed her eyes. "Is that your intention?"
I threw up my hands. "Bloody hell, Narcissa. Look, if I wanted to do something bad to you, I could. Right now. You know it just as well as I do. You're standing in the wrong place, you are cut off from your resources and even your husband is acting against you posthumously. You aren't in a position to stop me from doing it."
Words could not be more rigid than the ones she spoke. "I am aware."
I exhaled. This was going nowhere.
"Look. I mean I could do all that, but I don't. You and I have a working relationship, and objectively speaking, a woman of your talents would be of great use to me and mine. You can have the wealth, the lifestyle, and the sex you are used to, as well as the freedom you want. And I will have the information and insight that only you can provide, while I meander through the myriad that is Wizengamot politics. It's a win-win. All I want is your allegiance to me, to Lord Black."
She stared at me with that unreadable expression for a good minute. Then she said, "I suppose worse things could have happened. I can't believe I am saying this, but I agree with what Auror Robards had to say about you. Either you are being sincere, in which case, I truly don't understand you. Or you are a person capable of twisting situations to secure gain for yourself while simultaneously cladding yourself in moral armour as to make yourself practically unassailable. In which case, your skill at manipulation is to be admired."
"I figure you can look at this in two ways."
She arched an eyebrow at my comment.
"You can think of this as you working with me, using me as a tool as you saw fit, but somehow, gaining me what I wanted in the first place. Only, now that I am in a position of power, I am taking a cheap shot at you."
"Sounds about right."
"Or," I said. "You can accept the fact that circumstances change, and that both of us are making shit up while we go along in the best way we know how. You put your interests above mine. I just pulled mine up next to yours."
Something like grudging understanding tinged her gaze for a second. She let out a soft snort through her nose.
"I will swear whatever vows you want me to swear. But first, I need you to write me a check authorising some major remodelling for this manor. I can't bring myself to live here while it is in such a sorry state, not even in my worst nightmares."
I laughed. "Why don't you spend some of your own money? Until I take up the Wizengamot seat, I cannot touch the Black vaults, without coming out as a potential suspect."
Narcissa snapped. "Did you get hit in the head, Potter? My husband left me nothing. It's his last will and testament, and he clearly left me nothing. Not a single knut. Not for his widow. Not for his House. All is to be transferred to Draco's Vault."
"Oh, not necessarily," I said. "I have learnt that more often than not, events can turn out to be quite… serendipitous."
An excerpt from the Daily Prophet the next day….
Terror at the World Cup!
Death Eaters and werewolves attack and detonate the World Cup stadium! Thousands dead!
British Ministry in ashes!
Hundreds of werewolves as well as upstanding purebloods found dead in Death Eater attire! Is the worst over yet?
The Aurors Weekly, the crime-reporting newspaper went on to say….
Martial Law activated through the discretionary powers of the DMLE Director.
Wizengamot is to convene in a week for an emergency session to decide the fate of the captured insurgents.
The Witch Weekly on the other hand, decided to focus on….
Fudge's Ministry blamed for their incompetence.
ICW to reconsider the placement of the prestigious Triwizard tournament that was about to be scheduled at Hogwarts.
But the cream of the crop was stolen by the front page of the Le Cri De La Gargouille, the leading French newspaper.
Wizarding France, Bulgaria and Ireland raises charges against Wizengamot member and philanthropist Lucius Malfoy.
French Minister of External affairs Sebastian Delacour turns witness and plaintiff.
British DMLE issues Capture-On-Sight order on Lucius Malfoy, who is deemed missing.
Meanwhile at Gringotts….
"Among House Malfoy's investments, you have an annual sixty-six percent royalty from the collective revenue coming through from these twelve companies," said the goblin whose name was Brassknuckle. "An annual ten percent revenue from Borgin & Burkes, an annual thirteen percent from Quidditch Quality Supplies, to mention the more relevant ones. Including gold and other liquid assets, counting for Insurance and House Costs adjusted for inflation, House Malfoy stands at fifteen million, eight hundred and twenty-three galleons, fifteen sickles and two knuts."
Brassknuckle lifted a piece of paper.
"As per the Clause 9 of your marriage contract, your filing for divorce for breaking the terms and conditions of the contract allows you to extract forty-five percent of the current liquid assets, but leave the others untouched. All investments that were funded through the Black Family and managed by Lord Malfoy are to be reverted back to House Black's control."
Narcissa nodded.
"I must say, Lady Malfoy," said the goblin. "You are indeed lucky to file this right now. We received a will and testament from Lord Malfoy shifting everything in the Vaults to Vault 116 registered to Draco Malfoy, your son, I believe. But we received a missive from the Ministry this very morning, saying that a warrant would be here soon, demanding an immediate sealing of the Malfoy Vault until Lucius Malfoy is pronounced dead. Fortunately, things are a bit rocky at the DMLE or the warrant would have reached here by now."
"Oh you know," said Narcissa, beaming. "Sometimes things can turn out to be quite serendipitous."
Notes:
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Next Update is on 18th January.
Chapter 131: At The Wizengamot Part 1
Notes:
Sorry for the delay. Was away. Next update comes tomorrow itself, and the next one on 1st of next month to make up for the missed updates. Next month's schedule will run from 5th as is the norm.
I have a Discord server, Penthouse. If you are interested in joining it, following for more updates and snippets, and discussing SED in general, just hop in on the link.
https://discord.gg/jvzqqvHhr7
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 3 - THE INCUBUS AND NECROMANCER
CHAPTER 131 - AT THE WIZENGAMOT PART 1
The last time I was at the Ministry of Magic, it had been to attend Draco's little trial at the DMLE. It had been a quick trip from the Wand Registration desk and Inspection Counter, to the elevator and right away to the DMLE offices located on the First Floor, to Courtroom One, where Auror Robards had overseen the testimonies and its fallout. This time, the elevator went down further, all the way to Level 9, where a soft 'ding' alerted us of the Department of Mysteries.
Hestia and I stepped out of it, smartly walking through the serpentine tunnels, noting the black, polished tiles that seemed to cover every goddamn surface, leaving just a single, rather plain, black door at the far end of the corridor. There was no handle, nor an obvious means of entry, but a hooded guard informed us to take to the left, where a series of steps led down to an alcove with a long, stone-cold tunnel past it.
"Ready, Harry?"
"As I'll ever be," I muttered. "Just confirming, what are the chances these people are gonna try to arrest me the moment I mention the Black lordship?"
"Trust me, Harry, there's a lot going on around that's far, far bigger than the Black seat. And we all know who we have to thank for that."
"Why, Lucius Malfoy of course."
Hestia rolled her eyes. "Speaking of, there have been rumours of Lucius Malfoy being spotted somewhere south of Wiltshire. I believe the Director already has people acting on it."
"Lingering around his manor," I murmured. "Guess they should raid his house for a start."
Hestia was having trouble suppressing her urge to grin like a loon. "Maybe they will." She paused, and pointed at a door with a dull and stained brass plaque, with the number 10 plastered on it.
"That one, I believe."
The first time 'Harry Potter' walked down these steps and entered this courtroom, he was absolutely terrified out of his wits, apprehensive of his future, and going crazy wondering why in Hell couldn't he have a normal life for once. Me on the other hand, was walking into the courtroom, dressed in fancy, purple robes, with a large W pinned right over my heart, ready for my very first Wizengamot session as Lord Potter.
Yes, the irony was not lost on me. As was the realisation that my knowledge from the books was little to useless now.
"Everyone is expecting the new Lord Potter," said Hestia. "Your little stunt at the Auror office earlier in the summer, and your purchase of Phyllida Greenhouses both made it to the business circles. People are wondering about the sudden shifts in Sleekeazy, and if you are truly the Lord Potter. I think Madame Longbottom has already spoken to a few Houses, and Director Bones threw a look at me, so chances are she might have informed some among her group too."
She grinned happily, reminding me that Hestia was in her element.
"Good to know."
I let her lead me through, trying to remember the protocols that she and Narcissa had independently drilled into my brain, though it sort of got lost as I stepped in and took in the inner architecture.
The walls of the chamber were dark stone interspersed with metal sconces that lit the room but did little to remove the chill from the air. The room was a vast circle and oddly reminded me of the Great Hall of Hogwarts, with tiered seats on all sides except two openings on either end. The entirety of the Wizengamot was seated on the two longer walls, with the Ancient Houses on the top row, stripped in gold, but couldn't see them well in the dim light. The middle row had all kinds of important-looking people, and Ministry officials. The lower row, with its chairs of silver upholstery, was for the newest members of the Wizengamot: the minor Houses, the Order of Merlin recipients. Finally, the base-tier had the Minister sitting, with other prestigious seats like those of the Chief Warlock, the DMLE Director, and two arcs of benches for the prosecution and the defence counsel to sit on, circumferencing the area in the middle, where a large cage sat, with an inky blackness covering the contents within.
"Ah, Harry, m'boy," said Cornelius Fudge in his overly bombastic manner, but his spirit was absent. Having one's primary advisor declared an international criminal by multiple countries, while also suffering from the aftermath of the largest international genocide Britain had seen in decades, supposedly perpetrated by said advisor, Cornelius was going through what was probably the worst PR nightmare one could imagine.
I took note of Sebastian Delacour sitting in the plaintiff section, along with several other faces I could recognize from the Top Box. The man's eyes widened slightly and gave me a nod in acknowledgment. I looked up at the viewing gallery above, and found it jam-packed with reporters and paparazzi. With the names that would be thrown about today, it would stir a massive controversy. Finally, I spotted Dumbledore glancing at me, the frown on his face dissolving the moment I met his eyes, replaced by a familiar grandfatherly smile. It went back to being a frown the moment I looked away.
"Seal the doors!" He ordered as he took his place.
"Seal the doors!" The Auror in charge of security repeated, and the gathering quieted, the torches on the walls flaring up at the command.
The mannerisms and methods of the Wizengamot mirrored its muggle equivalent in a great many ways. The Chief Warlock banged the gavel, and the Court Scribe, a portly man that wasn't Percy Weasley, stood up and began the roll-call, naming the members in alphabetical order, with the Lords, Regents, or their proxies standing up to register their presence. The Ancient Houses had a total of three votes to themselves, unlike the normal 'registered' pureblood families, that held two votes each. The top tier, that is the Nobility, held a whopping seven votes, which was why most families — Ancient or otherwise, tended to flock towards them. Finally there were the Head of Departments at the Ministry, and the Order Of Merlin recipients that held a single vote.
Fortunately for me, House Potter was part of the Nobility, as was House Black, which meant a total of fourteen votes on my side. Not to mention the Order of Merlin I had gotten for supposedly 'vanquishing' the Dark Lord as a baby.
But fourteen votes meant diddly against the entire Wizengamot if you had no one on your side. And that was my true goal for today's event.
Unfortunately, House Black's presence was declared by a middle-aged man with a hawk-like face, introducing himself as a certain Arnold Snyde, Lucius's proxy. I watched as the man read out House Black's name, alongside House Malfoy, Flint, McNally, Lestrange, Greengrass and Dolohov, finishing with a grand declaration of a massive twenty-four votes.
I swear I am going to make that man jobless soon.
I noted that Ollivander too was a Noble and Most Ancient House and had strong ties with House Bones, a nice surprise given that House Bones was soon going to jump ship with me. As the Roll-call proceeded to a close, House Weasley's name was called in, where Arthur Weasley stood up, representing four votes — three from the Ancient status of his House, and one from his role as the Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office. Hestia informed me that one of the reasons the Weasley family was so poor was because Arthur spent a large amount of his income in paying the dues to maintain his House's Ancient status at the Wizengamot, even if it meant living a life of poverty. It didn't help that the man was brutally honest and his pro-muggleborn beliefs made him a direct opponent of Lucius Malfoy.
And then it was finally my turn.
"The Wizengamot calls House Potter. Who stands?"
"I do," I said, and stood up, making sure to exercise my allure in moderation. As Incubus Lord, just standing in a crowd was more than enough to cause it to break into an orgy. I had to tone my presence down to the limits that it appeared as my innate charisma instead of some psychic allure.
"Harry Potter, Lord of House Potter. Seven votes."
It was only after I had said my piece that I noted an old, short and bent man standing up from the middle row, looking at me in abject curiosity.
"Well?" asked the court scribe.
"Elphias Doge," said the man. "Proxy to House of Potter. Uh, Seven votes."
I narrowed my eyes. Nowhere in the documents had I seen anything about House Potter using Elphias as a proxy for their Wizengamot sessions. And the worst part? Doge was a member of the Order of the Phoenix, and a Dumbledore loyalist. Had I, perchance, stepped into one of those 'fanfiction' worlds where Dumbledore was secretly using the Potter votes and the fortune for his own agendas? Surely that was just bad writing, and an actual twist on the real thing?
…Right?
Even Cornelius Fudge was looking at me in confusion. I noticed Dumbledore open his mouth. Knowing him, it would start with a 'Harry my boy,' and end up with some flowery argument that deserved the minimal amount of my attention. Thankfully, someone else spoke before he could.
"Noted," said the Scribe. "House Parkinson, next. Who stands?"
The rest continued without any major distractions.
And then Albus Dumbledore stood up.
"One hundred and sixteen votes have been cast, fulfilling the quorum requirement of ninety-one votes. As Chief Warlock, I declare the August Session of the Wizengamot open."
Cornelius Fudge stood up to give his welcoming speech, one that was full of rhetoric about Wizarding Britain still standing strong despite the recent calamity that struck the Quidditch World Cup. He went on to speak about the valour and the sacrifice of the DMLE staff that lost their lives to the explosion and the insurgent forces that wanted to promulgate mass fear and commit all kinds of heinous crimes. He thanked the members of the DMLE that fought the insurgents and the werewolves and brought the criminals to justice. He went on to describe the support offered by the security staff of the foreign dignitaries as well as emphasised how terribly sorry he was for allowing such oversight to happen in his administration, promising stringent punishment and swift justice to be delivered in this session. Finally, he mentioned that the DMLE Director had exercised her discretionary powers and installed Martial Law, and so, all of his Executive powers are effectively null and void until this august body heard the DMLE Director's statements, and made a decision to let the Martial Law stay for a longer duration, or withdraw it, and return power to the Minister's office. With that, he left the floor for Amelia Bones to speak.
Amelia, true to her nature, did not bother with honeyed words or formalities.
"I now call to order this debriefing of events," said the DMLE Director, taking the dais, giving a look at each and every single row as she did a three-sixty degrees turn. I met her eyes and smiled, but Amelia didn't so much as twist her lips.
"Over the last three days, the DMLE has made extensive investigations, conducted raids and interrogated every single one of the thirty-four arrests made at the site of crime. While the DMLE will release a more detailed statement at a later date, with various institutions and individuals, I have gathered a list of salient points to go over what is officially known and being done. Only after I am done making my statements, uninterrupted, will I field any questions from this august body. Beyond that, I will moderate any further discussion, and treat any obstacles as exactly that — obstructions to the law, and act accordingly.
I suppressed the urge to whistle. Amelia had told me that while the Ministry of Magic was run by the Minister, the DMLE, the Department of Mysteries and the Department of International Magical Cooperation could operate with a massive degree of autonomy when certain conditions were fulfilled. That said, the budget funding the working of all three departments was still in the Minister's own hands, which was exactly why Amelia Bones had to personally fund her staff to function like they were.
With the Martial Law activated, she was, quite literally, the real power in the room. And unless the Wizengamot could find a genuine reason to demand her to deactivate Martial Law, or Amelia herself gave it up, things would stay the same.
"I will begin by saying that the Head-Auror Rufus Scrimgeour, and Senior-Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt perished in the line of duty in the explosion. As such, all investigation and interrogation has been conducted by Auror Gawain Robards, Obliviator Emmeline Vance and their respective units."
I blinked. That was new. The DMLE was using Legilimencers for interrogation? No wonder Amelia knew she had everyone by their balls. Given the pale looks in the crowd, they knew it too.
"At roughly 1800 hours on August 23, the night of the finals of the Quidditch World Cup, an unidentified magical explosive detonated the World Cup stadium, causing the deaths of fifty-two Aurors, seventy-one recruits, sixty-seven hit-wizards and at least six hundred and ninety-one civilians."
Silence hit the Wizengamot like a tidal wave, and Amelia let it build.
"Following that, a group of insurgents that the DMLE suspects to be members of the insurgent group known as the Death Eaters, along with an army of rogue werewolves attacked the survivors. Since the members of the Top Box were removed from the building when the explosion happened, and after identifying the major points of attack, the DMLE has concluded that these insurgent attacks were aimed towards systematic assassination of individuals, ranging from entire families to visiting delegates."
"How are you certain that they were Death Eaters?" began someone from the top row. "For all we know, they could be —"
BANG!
The thundering sound from Amelia's wand shut the man up. "No interruptions meant no interruptions. Lord Mulciber."
"But —"
"Whether the arrested are truly Death Eaters or not, is irrelevant, Lord Mulciber. What matters is that they were found guilty of causing the largest genocide in recent history. Now, I will request you to withhold questions until the end or be removed from this quorum."
Mulciber sat down.
Amelia's eyes flickered towards Sebastian Delacour before she continued. "Our investigations have found evidence of certain compounds in the bodies of the werewolves that suggest they were operating under their senses. Currently, the Beast Division is researching these compounds to see if it is possible to reverse-engineer them into whatever ingestibles were taken by these werewolves on that night."
She paused. "And now, I will reveal the prisoners."
She flicked her wand at the large cage, and the inky blackness within it dissipated, revealing….
"Lord Nott?"
"Timothy Warren?"
"Is that… Antonius Selwyn?"
"Yaxley! How did he —"
Whispers erupted in the courtroom, before another deafening bang shut them down.
"Director Bones," said a man sitting at the lowermost tier. With his large forehead, extra-narrow chin that felt narrower courtesy of his tapering goatee, and the formal suit he was wearing in contrast to the general Wizengamot purple, he could only be one thing.
"I'm Pius Thicknesse," he said. "The legal counsel and defence attorney for Messrs. Nott, Warren, Selwyn and —"
"What you are is a person failing to comply with the rules set for this forum," Amelia retorted. I wondered if playing the strict dominatrix card in front of the entire Wizengamot was a good idea, before she continued. "The next person to speak will be removed forcibly, without warning."
That shut him up.
"The arrested have been interrogated under Veritaserum, and we have twelve names, several of whom are among the arrested. After repeated verifications, we have been able to pinpoint it at one single person that is responsible for this dastardly act that has brought shame to Wizarding Britain. Sebastian Delacour, Minister of External Affairs of France, and his daughter Fleur Delacour are both plaintiffs and victims of this man's direct, and multiple attempts to kill them that very night."
"And who is that?" asked Cornelius slowly.
"Lucius Malfoy," said Amelia, glaring at Fudge for speaking in between. True to her word, two Aurors moved ahead to physically grab Minister Fudge who instantly raised his hands up in surrender, and Amelia shook her head, gesturing the two to hold back.
She took out a long scroll of parchment, which floated itself midair. Her wand sparked dangerously, reminding everyone to stay silent, and she began reading out loud.
"After extensive investigation and interrogation, sworn statements under Veritaserum by plaintiffs, witnesses, verified memory evidence and finally, state-witnesses, we have come to the following conclusions:"
"Lucius Malfoy was found guilty of initiating an insurgency attack against Wizarding Britain, with the intent to cause a genocide of an international audience, set up the Dark Mark in the sky, create public terror and most importantly, cripple the DMLE and thus, bring Wizarding Britain to his knees."
"Lucius Malfoy attempted to kill Sebastian Delacour and his daughter Fleur. Without the timely aid of one Harry Potter, both of them would be killed. Investigation has revealed Malfoy's cut-off right arm, his wand attached to it. It is evident that multiple killing curses and other illegal spells were cast by the wand's owner. The magic of course, matches Lucius Malfoy himself."
"Investigation has revealed that the arrested were bribed, coaxed, and coerced by Lucius Malfoy to ensure the werewolves's support in this massacre. Among the ones that were found dead in Death-Eater regalia, are Walden Macnair, Alecto Carrow, Amycus Carrow, Thomas Jugson, Albert Runcorn, and Selina Wilkins, all of which, aside from being Ministry personnel, are known associates of Lucius Malfoy, and Imperius victims of the last war."
This time, Cornelius Fudge raised his hand.
The edge of her lips crooked in amusement. "Yes, Minister?"
"If they were Imperius victims, perhaps they were subjected to the Imperius once more?" offered Fudge. "They might all be innocent—"
"They bloody well were not —" growled Augusta Longbottom.
"Language," chided Dumbledore.
I smirked. Trust Dumbledore to stay his hand when Fudge tried to paint the criminals as anything but, only to make a stand when someone used a cuss-word.
Amelia's expression thinned. "I'd agree, Minister, if everything they did were under the influence of the Imperius curse. Veritaserum questioning, aided by the babbling potion, proved that not only did they act upon their own accord, they were also quite enthusiastic, with their personal agendas mixed in. Corban Yaxley, Auror, admitted to aiding Alecto and Amycus Carrow in killing Emmeline Vance, Kinglsey Shacklebolt, and myself, ensuring that Yaxley would rise to the position of DMLE Director next. In exchange, Alecto Carrow would be made the Head of Wizengamot's Administration Services Department, while Amycus got the Top Obliviator's job if Emmeline Vance was killed. Corban Yaxley claimed to have an understanding with Lucius Malfoy that would ensure the above happened. In fact, Malfoy's closeness with you led Corban Yaxley to believe such a stunt was indeed worth attempting."
Fudge looked like he couldn't decide whether to turn red or blank white.
"For the next part, I'd like to summon Dirk Cresswell, Head of Goblin Liaison Office."
A tall, lanky man with greying hair came down from the second row to the dais.
"Wizard Cresswell," said Amelia. "Kindly enlighten the Wizengamot about the developments in regards to the Malfoy Vault at Gringotts."
"Uh, yes," said the man, looking a little worse for wear. "On August 24, at 0916 hours, we received three notifications from Gringotts, Diagon Alley branch. The first was a fully filled Form 61, where Lucius Malfoy used blood magic to cut his son Draco from the Malfoy name, magic and fortune. The second notification was that the trust vault belonging to Draco Malfoy was converted into a Common Vault belonging to Draco No-Name. The third notification was an entry of a new Last Will and Testament of Lucius Malfoy, which, among others, directed the transfer of all monies, properties and assets belonging to Lucius Malfoy to Draco No-Name's Vault upon his death."
"Does that mean that House Malfoy retains nothing in its vaults? Not even the minimal due for his wife Narcissa Malfoy?" asked Amelia.
Cresswell frowned. "We received a fourth notification from Gringotts, later during the day. We had intimated Gringotts about Lucius Malfoy's official status as a fugitive, and asked Gringotts Bank to seal the Malfoy Vaults. However, because of a delay in the administration, the official warrant reached there about two hours late. During this time, Lady Narcissa Malfoy filed for divorce by exercising Clause 9, which allowed her to take away forty-five percent of the current liquid assets."
Amelia turned to the audience. "A genocidal terrorist escapes Wizarding Britain, but before he does, he transfers his fortune, down to the last knut, to his next of kin, and cuts him off from the Malfoy name by blood and magic, ensuring that the Ministry cannot touch the gold. His wife, quite conveniently, takes away nearly half of his gold for herself. For all we know, this gold would find its way back to Lucius Malfoy's hands."
"We have heard enough!" yelled Mulciber. "I say Lucius Malfoy be declared Kiss-On-Sight."
Someone said, "Arrest his wife!"
"The entire family are murderers!"
A significant majority of the Wizengamot vocally agreed on the proposals. Half of them were Death-Eater or Death-Eater sympathisers that were simply looking to use Lucius as their scapegoat, and sweep everything under the rug, while the rest were members of families that had lost people in the massacre, and wanted vengeance over everything else.
I wondered how Amelia was going to use this.
"With the general consensus in favour, I'd like to conclude my statements and move ahead with the show of hands. I think —"
"I object," said Pius Thicknesse, standing up. "As much as I hesitate speaking before such a unanimously agreeing Wizengamot, I must say that my client Narcissa Malfoy is innocent."
"Is she now? Wife of a Death Eater rumoured to the Left-Hand of the Dark Lord himself, escaped justice through the Imperius defence, and now caused the greatest genocide that this nation has seen in decades…. And you suggest she's… innocent?"
"Being related by marriage to a criminal does not make one a criminal," argued Thicknesse.
"True, but it does make you a suspect."
"Then you should have no problem with me attempting to disprove that."
Amelia merely smiled at him. I knew that smile. It was the type that important and powerful people used on the lesser ones. The type that stopped inferiors in their tracks and sent them into a quivering wreck. I had seen her use it on myself back during our 'ten-minute' meeting, only this time, it was a tad more terrifying.
"Please," she said, smiling peacefully through her eyes. "The floor is all yours."
I had to hand it over to Thicknesse. Even with his rather unassuming demeanour, the man had the fortitude to stand against Amelia in the fullness of her power. The man walked out of the bench and stood at the centre of the dais.
"Witches and wizards, my client Narcissa Black, formerly of House Malfoy, is innocent. She has no charges apart from being tied to Lucius Malfoy in marriage. She was not suspected to be a part of the Death-Eater radical group, nor proven to have a Dark Mark upon her arm. Exercising Clause 9 is her right as a pureblood wife of an Ancient family. Unless… we would be willing to break our own laws, and set a precedent, making it acceptable for pureblood women to be denied the rights ensured by their marriage contract?"
I suppressed the urge to smile. I hadn't known how Narcissa would choose to represent herself at the Wizengamot, but it was nice to see she hadn't gotten that Snyde woman again.
I glanced at Amelia, who pursed her lips, but said nothing.
"With permission from the DMLE Director, and this august body, I'd like to ask Wizard Cresswell to clarify a few things for me."
Amelia's frown deepened, but she consented.
"Thank you," said Pius, striding ahead until he was standing right next to her. "Wizard Cresswell, you mentioned that there were a total of four notifications from Gringotts on the morning of August 24, correct?"
"Yes."
"And one among them was the Last Will and Testament of Lucius Malfoy, correct?"
"Yes."
"And Gringotts can certify that this document can and will override all previous wills drafted and attested by Lucius Malfoy?"
"Yes."
"Could I ask you to read out the contents of the Last will and testament of Lucius Malfoy before this august body?"
Cresswell shook his head. "The Goblin Liaison Office only liaises between the Ministry of Magic and Gringotts Bank, London Branch. We have no authority to access any wills made by the vault owners without a formal warrant being submitted to Gringotts by the DMLE."
"Hmmm, too bad, but tell me, Wizard Cresswell, does your authority extend over to verifying the authenticity of wills and testaments submitted to Gringotts?"
This time the man nodded in affirmation.
Thicknesse took out a document from within his sleeves and offered it to Cresswell. "Please identify this for the Wizengamot and verify if it is true."
Cresswell did so. With permission from the Chief Warlock, he cast several diagnostic spells upon the document, before reading through the pages and giving Thickness surprised looks. "This is…"
"I know exactly what it is, Wizard Cresswell. But could you verify it?"
"It is authentic," said the man instantly. "A copy of the original, of course, but the enchantments and the wordings on it have not been distorted. It is indeed a true copy."
"Would you be so kind as to read it in front of the Wizengamot?"
"But this is…"
"Wizard Cresswell," said Amelia, growing impatient. "Just read it out."
"I… I cannot," said Cresswell weakly. "A Will can only be read after the creator is certified to be dead. And even then, only those addressed in the Will are allowed to listen to its contents. I mean, if Lucius Malfoy is a wanted fugitive, then surely he is alive, and if that's the case, this reading is a farce, because it won't ever be executed."
"Farce or not, it contains the reasoning behind the former Lady Malfoy's actions," challenged Pius. "Surely that is enough grounds for circumventing that rule?"
That led to a lot of whispering among the audience. Finally, a really, really old woman stood up.
"The Wizengamot recognizes Lady Arabella Brown," cried the scribe.
"The laws of the Wizengamot must be respected. House Malfoy is an Ancient family, and the laws of inheritance proscribed in the Charter cannot be circumvented."
Several others murmured their consent with her statement.
Dumbledore banged his gavel. "While there exists the Special Circumstances provision among many Ancient families in regards to their inheritance policy, the Wizengamot has registered no such addition in this case. Your plea for this Will-reading in presence of the Wizengamot is rejected, Wizard Thicknesse."
Pius grit his teeth, and for a moment, I wondered if Narcissa had placed her bets upon the wrong horse.
"In that case," said the man. "I'd like to call my next —"
"KIndly wait a moment, Wizard Thicknesse," said Amelia, wolfishly. "You see, that little line at the end might have halted your attempt, but it opened up an entire vault of questions for me."
Pius gritted his teeth.
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Chapter 132: At The Wizengamot Part 2
Notes:
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Chapter Text
BOOK 3 - THE INCUBUS AND NECROMANCER
CHAPTER 132 - AT THE WIZENGAMOT PART 2
The trial was going on in full swing, and the longer it continued, the longer I was cursing myself for not taking Amelia completely into confidence. She knew of my arrangement with Narcissa, and knew that my entire stunt with Greengrass was based on Narcissa's information. At the same time, she knew nothing about my recent gig with her and Lucius's last-minute attempt to dodge the wrecking ball coming for his family fortune.
If I wasn't careful, she'd potentially damage things in her vindictive attempt to destroy the Malfoy legacy, the name that had been a permanent thorn for the DMLE for the better part of two decades.
"Wizard Cresswell," said Amelia. "Would you agree that until Lucius Malfoy is officially certified to be dead by the British Ministry of Magic, his last Will and Testament holds no more weight than the parchment it was made of?"
"...Yes. Until the point it is executed, it has no meaning in court."
"As such, following by, or acting because of its contents is meaningless, because so long as Lucius Malfoy is alive, that document might as well not exist?"
"...yes."
"Thank you, Wizard Cresswell. Next, I'd like to call on Perseus Parkinson," Amelia looked like she was having a hard time suppressing her sneer. "The current Advisor to the Minister for Financial Matters."
I stifled a laugh. Perseus Parkinson was a nosy slob that had stopped thinking for himself for a long time now, and with House Parkinson an established vassal of House Malfoy, Perseus was the link through which Lucius controlled the Nation's treasury, and put his personal twists on the tabs for every Department.
Amelia hated the man just as much as she did Lucius.
The man in question was short and obese, with black hair already reduced to the point of baldness. If not for his thin frame and narrow eyes, he'd have passed off as Horace Slughorn's twin.
"Wizard Parkinson," said Amelia. "In your professional opinion, what is the Ministry mandated action against someone charged with sedition against the Ministry?"
"We uh, I mean, the Ministry is authorised to seal away the accused's Gringotts Vaults, cancel their apparition licence, and put them under arrest varying from solitary in-house confinement, to Azkaban, depending upon the degree of their crime."
"And what would you say the recent holocaust fares as far as degrees of crime are concerned?"
Parkinson swallowed. "The worst."
"And as the perpetrator of such horrendous crime, Lucius Malfoy falls under this exact transgression?"
"...Yes," said the man, scowling at the way she was leading him on.
"Let me reiterate my earlier statement then. Lucius Malfoy transferred the contents of the Malfoy family Vault, including all his properties and assets to his son Draco, before casting him out of the Malfoy family by blood and magic. And he did this right after causing a holocaust unseen in decades, and vanishing off the grid. Tell me, in your professional opinion, can we say that Lucius Malfoy was indeed attempting to protect his fortune from Ministry seizure?"
"I…. yes. It does seem like —"
"I'm afraid I don't have time for speculation, Wizard Parkinson. A yes or no would suffice. Going by your own statements, can we consider that Lucius Malfoy, after committing this terrible holocaust that not only crippled the nation's law enforcement for good, but also stole away the lives and destroyed hundreds of families, attempted to protect his fortune from the Ministry protocol, by transferring it all to his son's name, and casting him out of the family. With a single document, he is attempting to safeguard his fortune, which for all we know, will be used by him to deal even greater damage to our wounded government. Am I not right?"
"...ye— yes. Yes."
Amelia smiled again. "So in your professional opinion, does this have enough legal grounds to tie the fortune-transfer case of the Malfoy Vaults in litigation, and seal it until Lucius Malfoy is found, arrested, tried in open court and sentenced guilty or otherwise? Does the law protect the individual's side, even if the individual is charged with sedition against the Ministry? Or does it side with the Ministry, and not respect his individual rights for the greater justice?"
"I… I can't really…"
"Wizard Parkinson," said Amelia, an undercurrent of sternness in her voice. "You are the Advisor to the Minister on financial matters. It is by following your knowledgeable opinion that the Minister of Magic decides how much the budget of the DMLE, the protector of the country, is to be decreased to fund the Ministry Balls instead. It is by your trusted skill at such matters that the Department of Mysteries gets its budget decided every year. It is on your judgement that the Minister makes an informed choice on how much funds to take away from the Department of International Magical Cooperation. Surely…" she chuckled slightly. "I understand that your family is vassalized to the Malfoy name, but surely, a man of your stature would be able to easily discern the punishment for such a financial fraud?"
Every single statement was puncturing holes into the man's image. And it was working too. The man didn't even need to look up to recognize the stares he was getting from the Wizengamot. They were full of questions, daring him to refute Amelia's words, daring him to say something that would prove he was deeply involved with Lucius and potentially a co-conspirator.
Parkinson looked like he was going to throw up.
"He — That is, The Ministry has the right to tie the matter up in litigation, overriding his authority over matters of House Malfoy. Especially…" He trailed off, licking his lips in trepidation. "Especially in light of recent events."
No one missed Amelia's victorious smirk.
"Thank you," she said. "That will be all."
She turned to face the Wizengamot. "Witches and Wizards, regardless of whatever tomfoolery Lucius Malfoy might have attempted, he is charged and proved to act in sedition against the Ministry, and is thus, an enemy of the state. As such, I demand a cease-and-desist order on the transaction emptying the Malfoy treasury into Draco No-Name's Vault. Effective immediately. Given that the DMLE has suffered extreme damage because of him, the Malfoy family funds should be utilised to enhance the DMLE coffers to enhance hiring practices and ensure this nation stays strong."
Murmurs of support rang from all sides.
It was as I had suspected. Lucius had always bottlenecked the DMLE budget year after year, forcing Amelia to donate her own familial gold to fund the DMLE. Now that she had found one chance to avenge herself, she was leaving no stone unturned. As much as this would annoy Narcissa, I couldn't quite get in Amelia's way.
Not in this case.
I could stop her. I really could. But I had no obligation to help Draco. Just not to intentionally cause him harm.
Thern Pius opened his mouth.
'I agree that the DMLE should receive what it is owed," said the man. "However, my client isn't the one charged with sedition, is she? Claim the Malfoy Vaults and fortune if you like, but my client, the former Lady Malfoy, rightfully deserves forty-five percent of the liquid assets, as is her right by Clause 9 of her marriage contract."
"Only if you can prove that she is not complicit in the recent events, Wizard Thicknesse."
"Agreed, which is why I'd next like to call on the one person that can shed further light into these matters. I'd like to summon…Wizard Harry Potter."
Oh…
The smile dropped from Amelia's face.
…Shit!
Whispers echoed throughout the courtroom as Pius Thicknesse called my name out.
It was to be expected, given the gravity of Lucius's crime, his sudden disappearance, and the fact that I was being called to clarify matters personal to Lucius's recently divorced wife. I didn't need to be a legilimens to see the cogs running in the audience's heads.
Still, colour me surprised. I didn't think Narcissa would expose herself to this degree. True, it could serve as a speeding ticket, since Narcissa was a daughter of House Black, and as another member and Lord of House Black, it was only natural for her to approach me. I could always play it to my benefit.
On the other hand, the moment she brought me into the picture, chances were that my little stunt with Draco would be highlighted. Just a little more, and Thicknesse might end up pulling Auror Robards or worse, Nymphadora Tonks into the picture. The former was simply apprehensive of my deeds, first with helping Draco escape justice, and then with the mess with Broderick Greengrass and Phyllida.
On the other hand, suspicion didn't even begin to cover what Nymphadora Tonks felt for me. The only reason she'd not have run and babbled everything to Albus-too-many-names Dumbledore was because she was capable of doing her own thinking.
To a degree.
That and her name wasn't Remus Lupin.
Even though she did eventually marry him. In Canon. Fat chance of that happening this time around if I have a say in that. And luckily, I do.
Still, I might just have to come 'clean' and bring her into the loop with the whole 'Time-travel Do-over' bullshit I have been feeding everyone. Even excluding her, I am cent percent sure Amelia had tons and tons of questions too.
Yes. A meeting of the ladies was due soon. If I could convince Tonks to shift allegiances, it'd be interesting to see what perks a metamorphmagus might give me. Metamorphmagery was supposedly a derivative of the original yenaldooshi shapeshifting, and seeing the two magical perks react to each other should be rather illuminating.
Speaking of, I had yet to see what changes my new Perk Magical Animagus gave me. The advantage of a perk was that it worked perfectly the moment it activated, but that didn't mean the effects of its activation would be completely benign. Yenaldooshi were shapeshifters and capable of powerful sorcery in their own right, and I was quite looking forward to where my new form stood compared to… shall we say, Hermione during her 'necro-beast' transformation, as Horcrux-Voldemort had put it.
But that was for later.
Slowly, I stood up and walked down the stairs to the dais. But before Thicknesse could question me, someone else intervened.
"Harry Potter is not of age," said Albus Dumbledore, banging his gavel. "He cannot be subjected to this trial without proper representation or a formal counsel."
Wonderful. Even without asking, Dumbledore seemed perfectly ready to intervene in matters he had no business in. It would have been useful if Thicknesse was actually against me, but as things stood, Dumbledore was just being an unnecessary addition.
"Actually, Chief Warlock," I said. "I have taken up the mantle of House Potter, as is evident by my answering the roll-call earlier. However, if you want more confirmation, I can make a formal statement before this august body before answering whatever lawyer Thicknesse wants me to."
"But Harry —"
"Chief Warlock," said Amelia, crossing her arms. "Harry Potter has indeed taken up the mantle of Lord Potter. I can even personally attest to that." The look she gave the old man practically dared him to interrupt her again. "Now, if there is any other trivial step we need to get past? I suggest we get there so that I can get to the end of my report and consign the guilty to their fates."
Dumbledore's frown deepened.
"No, I suppose we can wait for the formal announcements for that."
"Good," she said archly, looking at Thicknesse. "Please continue."
"Witches and wizards," said Thicknesse. "My client, the former Lady Malfoy, was born to Cygnus and Druella Black. This fact is widely known, given that Lucius Malfoy has acted as the Black Regent for the better part of two decades, with the next Lordship falling to his son, Draco, my client's only son. But when she found out that Lucius Malfoy had been responsible for the disaster that struck Wizarding Britain, she broke away from her husband and sought aid from the only family she had left."
He glanced at me. "Harry James Potter."
And just like that, the mutters began.
"What tomfoolery is this?" demanded an old man with a scraggly beard from the audience. "Harry Potter is no Black."
"I'd let Wizard Potter here clarify that bit for us," suggested Thicknesse, turning to me.
Ah. So that was how she wanted to let me play this out.
"Witches and wizards," I said. "My name is Harry James Potter, the only child of James Potter and Lily Evans. Let Magic sanctify my words, for as the direct and sole remaining descendant of Fleamont Potter, I now stand in his shoes, as the next Lord of House Potter. As I have sworn, so mote it be!"
The Potter family ring in my hand buzzed with power, and the Potter seat up there on the Wizengamot glowed with a bright mahogany sheen.
"I suppose that clears out any lingering doubt about my current position," I said, giving a brief glance at Albus Dumbledore. "As for your quandary, respected elder," I looked at the bearded man from earlier. "There are few who remember that my grandfather Fleamont Potter was the son of Charlus Potter and Dorea Black, the sister of Arcturus Sirius Black, the previous Lord Black. By right of her blood that runs in my veins, I am the Lord Conditional of House Black."
"Preposterous!" exclaimed another. "Draco Malfoy is the next Lord of House Black, and Lucius, the declared Regent."
Only this time, it was a face I recognized. I mean, you would too, if the name came up in your potential shit list.
"That would be technically correct, Lord Nott," I said. "But Sirius Black, son of Orion Black and grandson of Arcturus Black, was the blood heir to House Black. House Black has a Special Circumstances provision that authorised Gringotts to continue financial matters with House Black members regardless of Ministry mandate. Hence, despite his status as a wanted fugitive, when he submitted his last will and testament, stating me as his heir, Gringotts processed it, and granted me Lord Conditional status."
Technically, it was valid for only one year, but I didn't need to inform them of that.
And then Snyde, Lucius's Proxy, stood up. "I refuse to acknowledge his status as Lord Conditional. Lucius is the standing Black Regent, and in his absence, I refuse to let some halfblood pretender take over House Black."
Dumbledore banged the gavel loudly.
"I'll ask Wizard Snyde to stay in control of his personal feelings," warned the Chief Warlock. "Any more usage of such slurs and you will find yourself thrown out."
The man mockingly bowed. "Apologies. I was just… surprised that the Wizengamot would let… forgive me, a child, to try usurping that which is beyond him."
Ah. Good old condescension. I knew just how to answer that one.
"Don't worry, Wizard Snyde," I said sweetly. "You wouldn't have to bring yourself to do a task beneath your exalted station. I have someone else in mind to take up the Black proxy before the end of this session."
"What?" glared the man, ignoring Dumbledore's constant attempts to stop the debacle through his gavel-ing. "Preposterous! Lucius is the Regent Black —"
"Not anymore."
"That's —"
"Lucius Malfoy is an international fugitive at this moment, and the DMLE Director has just proven his crimes in open court. You are, forgive me, just a proxy. His proxy. Unless you have Lucius hidden inside your sleeve, I suggest you stop right here."
The man turned purple, but before he could speak, Dumbledore did.
"Harry… Potter," said Dumbledore softly. "Please don't antagonise him."
"Yes, Chief Warlock." Just reminding him who held the cards right now. And that Lucius wouldn't be there to bail him out if he ran his mouth a little too much in court.
Judging from the look Snyde gave me, it was clear things wouldn't end quietly.
Thicknesse cleared his throat. "Ahem, Wizard, err… Lord Potter —"
"Wizard Potter is fine."
"...Right. Are you acquainted with Narcissa Black, the former Lady Malfoy?"
"I am. She's the mother of Draco Malfoy, my classmate. And… she's a cousin, through the Black family."
"And when was the first time you encountered her in person?"
"Sometime in July, though I can't remember the exact date."
"What was the meeting about?"
I frowned, wondering what his angle was. "I encountered her while purchasing some robes at Twilfitt & Tattings. I will admit I do not share any camaraderie with her son at Hogwarts, so I was quite apprehensive. Quite naturally, I was surprised to find her warmly acknowledging me as a Black."
And giving me a blowjob.
Followed by some of the greatest fuck sessions I had had to this date.
But there was no need to share that little detail.
"And did the former Lady Malfoy, or her son, acknowledge you for the same before this date?"
I shook my head.
"Not even when you first met her son at school?"
The frown deepened. "Draco told me that some families are better than the other, and wanted to be my friend. I'm not sure if he was indicating the Black blood we share, or our status as Ancient families. I had just discovered magic was real, and brought into the Wizarding World after el… thirteen years of living a muggle life."
Damnit. I had almost said eleven back then.
"A muggle life? Do you mean to say —"
Dumbledore banged the gavel right then. "Lawyer Thicknesse. Kindly stick to questions pertaining to the case."
"Apologies," said Thicknesse. "Can you tell us what brought the sudden change?"
The man was fishing for information. That could be a problem.
"No."
"Did my client ever meet you after that?"
"Yes."
"And what was it about?"
I narrowed my eyes. Just what was Thicknesse attempting to coax out of me? A confession that I was involved with the woman? No, that was too brutish and not Narcissa's style. If she hired this guy, I had to believe she knew what she was doing. I knew that the DMLE had brought her in for interrogation multiple times and put her under House-arrest, which was why she wasn't here for this session.
But I could still use this.
"She confided that she knew of my standing as Lord Conditional of House Black. She wanted me to help her find a way out of her marriage with Lucius, and was afraid that he was up to… no good. As a token of faith, she even supplied me with several incriminating pieces of evidence that I submitted to the DMLE Director herself in an official meeting at Bones Manor."
I looked at Amelia.
"I… recall that conversation," she said slowly, with the right mix of hesitation and annoyance in her tone. "Though he did not disclose the source of those documents."
"It was Lady Malfoy."
Amelia thinned her lips, but said nothing.
I didn't need to look for Broderick Greengrass to know that his face had gotten ashen by now. The man was likely feeling his world crash around him. Too bad it was just the beginning.
"So," asked Pius. "Can we assume that my client had no part to play in Lucius Malfoy's schemes and wanted a way out?"
"I… I think so," I said slowly, hesitantly. "I am no expert. She could have an ulterior motive I'm ignorant of, but she has not dealt in bad faith so far. With me, at least."
The irony of my choice of words almost made me smile. Almost.
"Did my client communicate with you after the recent holocaust?"
"Yes, she intimated that she had found out that her husband had found out about her actions, and so, left her with nothing as punishment. She requested permission to return to the Black household after the dissolution of her marriage to Lucius."
"I imagine that was because you are Lord Conditional of the House Black?"
"Yes…. and more."
I added the last bit with the right degree of hesitation.
"Please explain."
"At the advent of my summer holidays, I found out that Sirius Black, the man who supposedly betrayed my parents, not only is my godfather, but also designated me as his heir. He left me the rights to the Black Manor, and did the necessary framework to ensure I was Lord Conditional of the Black Family. Over the summer, I followed the path as described in the Black Family Grimoire to gain favour of the Powers that govern the Black Family Magic and was judged worthy. A path that led me to become the Lord of House Black."
"... You mean. Lord Conditional?"
"No," I held out the Family ring, which shone malevolently, and Arnold Snyde was bodily lifted and thrown off the Black seat, which was glowing an intense magenta. The man unceremoniously fell down upon the dais, barely two feet away from me.
"As of right now, I am the Lord Black. Familius Magicus Patronum."
A massive spectral scorpion rose above me, towering at everyone else in the Wizengamot. Whatever protests anyone had in mind died before the presence of my titanic protector.
With a casual flick of my hand, the massive totem vanished, leaving the entire Wizengamot drenched in silence.
"You have claimed it?" asked Dumbledore, and for the first time, I sensed a deep grudging respect mixed with awe and disbelief in his tone. "You have actually claimed the Family Magic for yourself?
"Do I need to manifest the totem again?" I deadpanned. "I assure you, it doesn't just appear on a whim."
"But you are a Potter, and quite a long way from your Black lineage. I mean, such a strong connection through your great-grandmother of all people…"
"Is that a problem, Chief Warlock?" inquired Augusta Longbottom imperiously. "The young man has given valid proofs to his claims at the Potter and the Black seat. Please get on with it."
"No, I mean… Yes, I have witnessed this act and deem it valid. The Wizengamot welcomes you, Lord of Potter and Black. However, you are still underage and will require a proxy or a Regent to serve your place until you come of age, or have acquired the minimum number of NEWTs."
"Absolutely," I nodded. "Which is why, effectively immediately, I am delegating the Proxy and Regency of House Potter to Lady Amelia Bones, the existing Regent of House Bones in hope that she would strive towards ensuring prosperity to both Houses as my grandfather Fleamont would have wanted."
Amelia went stiff.
As did Dumbledore.
"Harry," breathed the old man, his eyes widened. "I mean, Wizard Potter, is this truly what you want? Elphias Doge has been managing the Potter proxy seat for quite many years now, and he has stayed true to the ideals that your father adhered to."
I smiled. "I'd agree with that sentiment, Chief Warlock. Problem is, I never knew my father. However, a brief discussion with the DMLE Director during my private meeting with her revealed the long-standing connection both of our families shared. Thanks to her, I have been able to learn a great deal about my family. As per my parent's will, Lady Amelia Bones was the next candidate to take me in. Had things happened that way, I'm certain she'd have held the Regency in the first place."
Dumbledore pursed his lips. Amelia on the other hand —
Just. Kept. Staring.
At me.
I smiled. "Lady Amelia Bones, would you accept this position as your… uncle Fleamont would have wanted?"
Her lips trembled, and for a moment, I feared her strong, stern facade would shatter.
"I… I accept," she croaked. "I accept. I accept this responsibility. Thank you, Lord Potter."
By the end of it, her ironclad control was back. From the corner of my eyes, I saw Elphias Doge slowly get up from the Potter seat before, I pondered in amusement — before it magically hurled him off for the designated holder to take his place.
"This is injustice!" claimed Lord Nott, standing up. "Draco Malfoy was the heir of House Black. Everyone knows that. That half blooded brat is stealing Draco's inheritance in front of all of us, and we're doing nothing? Aurors, arrest that boy for line-theft of a Most Ancient and Noble family."
"Anyone that raises wand against Harry Potter, raises wand against me," warned Amelia, her own wand out.
Quite naturally, not a single Auror moved from their position. Wizengamot member or not, Lord Nott had no power against the Director of the DMLE.
"Really?" I drawled, meeting Nott's eyes. "And what's your logic behind the claim?"
"Lucius Malfoy was the Regent of House Black, and Draco the established heir. Everyone knows that."
"Everyone also knows that you have a Dark Mark on your arm, Lord Nott," I threw back casually. "Just like everyone knew Lucius Malfoy was an imperiused Death-Eater turned philanthropist. We all know how that worked out."
Nott looked at me with absolute loathing.
"It is common knowledge that Draco Malfoy was the heir of House Black. Not the designated heir, but one by elimination. Orion Black's son Sirius Black was the blood heir, but he was imprisoned and sentenced to a lifetime in Azkaban, while Regulus Black perished during the war. Orion's brother Cygnus had three daughters — Andromeda, who was cast out of the family by Arcturus Black himself; Bellatrix, who is currently serving a life-sentence in Azkaban, and Narcissa, Draco's mother. It is true that Draco's claim on the Lordship is greater than my own, what with two generations removed in my case. But I have shown the initiative, braved the perils and proved my worthiness before the Black Family Magic that awarded me with the authority to wield it."
I looked at Thicknesse. "Narcissa Black knew it. I am not certain of her reasons to not fight for her son's right to the Black name, but she did not thwart my attempts to become the Lord Black, and instead, helped me with preparing the appropriate rituals so that in time, I might be able to annul her marriage to Lucius and free her. Plain and simple."
"I have one final question to ask," said Thicknesse. "Did you know that she was filing for divorce?"
"At that time I wasn't…" I trailed off. "I'm not a Seer, Lawyer Thicknesse. My own aim was staggering enough to require my unwavering focus. Whether she did submit a divorce filing before, or did it after the unfortunate event at the World Cup, I really couldn't say. But as the Lord of House Black, I humbly beseech this court to ensure that my family member should not pay for another's sins. Already we have seen a massive loss of life recently. Wizarding Britain will likely take years to get past that. But in the process of rejuvenation, let us ensure that fewer souls are maimed, fewer families are torn apart. Does that not seem like a worthy goal to you?"
Thicknesse looked around. "I believe I have made my case. Director Bones, if you wish, you could go ahead with the show of hands."
Amelia was not amused.
Notes:
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Next Update is on 1st February.
Chapter 133: Aftermath
Notes:
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Chapter Text
BOOK 3 - THE INCUBUS AND NECROMANCER
CHAPTER 133 - AFTERMATH
WIZENGAMOT SCRAPS THE MALFOY SEAT! MALFOY FORTUNE SEIZED BY THE DMLE!
IS THIS THE END OF A GREAT HOUSE?
Right below it, on the bottom half of the page in equally bold headlines…
HARRY POTTER RISES AS LORDS POTTER AND BLACK!
AMELIA BONES TAKES OVER AS THE NEW POTTER REGENT! EMMELINE VANCE BECOMES THE NEW BLACK REGENT! DOES THE BONES-POTTER-BLACK ALLIANCE SIGNAL A NEW FACTION AT THE WIZENGAMOT?
For reading about the meteoric rise of the Boy-Who-Lived, kindly check Page 3.
"BASTARDS!" yelled Draco, hurling the Daily Prophet across the room in a burst of impotent rage. Raising his wand, he sent a flurry of blasting hexes at the paper and the floor it had fallen on, creating multiple tiny craters on the wall. An interesting feat, Narcissa observed, since the floors were enchanted against such brute force damage. Her boy was at his most dangerous when angered, true to his name.
"Can you believe them?" he growled. "Potter stole the Black lordship from me and they let him!"
In the aftermath of the Wizengamot session, Amelia Bones had ended the Martial Law and returned power to Cornelius's Ministry, but not before extracting the Wizengamot's permission to seize the Malfoy Vaults, but only after leaving a sizable fortune twice of Draco's initial trust fund, and Narcissa claiming her forty-five percent of the liquid assets. Clause 9 of her charter allowed her more, but she didn't want to tickle the proverbial dragon and decided to accept whatever wins she could take.
She knew that the madness had only just begun, but right now,she had the biggest hurdle of them all to face.
Her son. Her rage-addled, father-worshipping idiot of a son.
Narcissa thanked whatever powers were looking after her, that the newspaper article hadn't contained the role she had supposedly played in bringing Lucius down. Or her filing for divorce and rejoining the Black household for that matter. Or if the papers had printed them, it was likely on some other page and her son hadn't seen it yet. A fortunate thing, or else that overpowered blasting curse could've been aimed at her.
Not that it would change anything when she herself revealed those details.
"Where have you been? Have you seen the papers?" Draco yelled. "They— they're saying Father — Father is a fugitive! That he's run away! That's he's —he's —"
"Draco…" Narcissa began hesitantly, before pausing again. The day had come. She had known it would from the moment she had asked Potter to do the needful. She had tried to prepare for it, but there was no way to anticipate just how or when it would come.
She needed to come clean with Draco about how things were going to change.
She had already lost a husband. The Malfoy name. The authority she wielded as Lady Malfoy, both in and out of the British Ministry. She could do without losing her son too.
At least, she told herself, Draco wouldn't be magically compelled to hate me until Lucius is proven dead.
"Draco," she tried again. "Son, there are things I need to talk to you about. Things you need to understand."
Her words were supposed to calm him down. Instead, panic flashed on his features.
"Where were you?"
"I — I was detained in the DMLE, and put under solitary confinement until the Wizengamot session was complete. They let me out barely an hour ago, and got me to sign documents, after which I came here."
"WHY?" Draco bellowed. "What is going on? Why are the newspapers saying all that rubbish about Father?"
There was a tightness in her chest that she just barely recognized. It was similar to the one she'd get every single time she had been in the Dark Lord's presence, courtesy to her husband back in the last war. It hadn't happened for many years now, but she still remembered it, having felt it just a few days ago, just before Harry Potter killed her husband in front of her own eyes.
It was dread. Draco didn't just adore his father, he idolised the man. Witches and wizards didn't believe in God, but if there was a God that Draco believed in, he'd probably look like Lucius Malfoy.
"Those… those papers speak the truth, son. The massacre that happened at the Quidditch World Cup, that explosion that killed hundreds of people and crippled the nation, it was your father's doing. I was there at the DMLE when they interrogated the prisoners under the truth serum, and every single one of their confessions linked it all to your father. He…. He is a fugitive, because if he was captured, the Ministry would subject him to the dementor's kiss."
"What?" Draco whispered. "That couldn't possibly be true!" Narcissa didn't need legilimency to feel him screaming in denial over and over inside his head. His father was Lucius Malfoy! The man that ruled the Wizengamot and had the ear of the Minister, a pureblood of the highest standing, and the leader of the Dark Alliance. Every single person he had met in his entire life was scared shit of his father. The Ministry couldn't possibly have ordered his father to be put to death.
"Draco," Narcissa began again. "Believe me! The things he has done, nobody could possibly speak in his favour. If you ever knew —"
"I don't care what he's done!" yelled Draco. "I'm sure he had his reasons. I've read the papers, Mother. Most of those dead were blood traitors and mudbloods. Animals," he sneered. "I'm sure I'd have done the same had I been in his place!"
And that, Narcissa reasoned, was why she'd eventually fail to protect her son from Harry. While he had promised not to come after him, he would certainly retaliate if Draco came after him after this, and he sure would. Her son would ensure that things ended in the worst possible way.
For himself.
"But Mother — why are you trying to defend these bastards?" asked Draco, nonplussed. His thoughts were easy to ascertain. Why was she being so callous about his father's current state? Where was the anger, the rage? How could his father's allies — the Notts, the Parkinson's, the Greengrasses, the Mulcibers — how could any of them have let this happen? Had they all betrayed him?
Truly, the best and worst thing she could do now was to give him the truth. Plain and simple. It was best that he heard it from her and not through someone else. That way she'd have a chance to manipulate the information to suit her purposes.
"Draco, I want you to listen to me very carefully. Ever since this summer, your father has been acting strangely. He — He was working to ensure the Dark Lord's return. I know you adore your father, but you don't know how things were during the last war. The Dark Lord killed just as many purebloods as he did the mudbloods —"
"Traitors," Draco growled.
"Traitors or not, they were of magical blood. Of families just as ancient as ours if not more. The objective was to fight to secure pureblood supremacy, instead it became a tool to ensure the Dark Lord's eventual conquest of Britain, no matter who lived and who died."
"And that is the way things should be!" snapped her son. "When the Dark Lord returns, I'll be at his service. You'll see. When he takes over, Father will return to us. We will do whatever we want."
"No, son," said Narcissa. "We will do what the Dark Lord wants. It has never been about us."
"Why are you —" Draco paused, and met her eyes accusingly. "You… you are actually siding with the blasted Ministry, aren't you? You want Father to be punished!"
Yes, thought Narcissa. Lucius got off far easier than she intended. And while Potter had ensured that his final move would be ineffective, it was up to her to ensure that things stayed that way.
"I — I can't believe you, Mother. You… you're betraying Father! You are betraying the Dark Lord!"
"The Dark Lord doesn't have my allegiance!" snapped Narcissa, the beginnings of annoyance slipping into her tone. "Now listen to what I say so that you might actually know what's happening instead of making another foolish mistake and landing up in Azkaban. Trust me, son, all they need is one excuse to take you in."
That stopped her son in his tracks. "What… what do you mean?"
Narcissa closed her eyes, and gathered her words. When she opened them, they no longer had the look of the concerned mother. Instead, there was the cold pragmatic woman that had plotted with Harry Potter to murder her husband.
"Your father is an international fugitive. Not just the British Ministry, but the Irish, the Bulgarian and the French Ministries are after him. I wouldn't be surprised if the ICW declares a circular to arrest him on sight. But before he left, he did something vital. Something you must know about."
She reached out and grasped his shoulders., bringing him from his murderous thoughts and forcing him to look her in the eyes. "Your father knew that the Ministry would be coming to seize the Malfoy Family Vaults, so he did something… shocking. He — he transferred everything in the entire Malfoy Vaults directly to yours —"
Draco's eyes went wide.
" —and then he cast you out of the Malfoy family, by blood, by oath, by magic. You will receive a summon from Gringotts Bank, where you would have to choose a new family name for yourself. I was thinking… I was thinking you could take up the Black —"
"PREPOSTEROUS!" thundered her son. "Harry Potter stole my inheritance and fooled the Wizengamot into giving him the Black lordship! He — he tricked me. Tricked us! Just like he tricked me at Diagon Alley! Daphne was right! That bastard has been after the Black Lordship from the very beginning. And you want me to take up the Black name and be subservient to that halfblood bastard?" He spat. "It's a good thing you're my Mother, or else, I'd have cruciated you to an inch of your life."
Narcissa stepped back at his sudden viciousness.
"Draco…"
"No!" snarled her son. "And I can't believe you're betraying Father by even considering becoming a Black. How could you?"
"Your father —"
"Father did what was necessary," said Draco, his eyes shining with conviction. "He knew that the mudblood-lovers and blood traitors would come for our gold, so he cut them off. He sent it all to me. To his son. Draco Malfoy."
"Aren't you listening?" Narcissa yelled. "You're not a Malfoy anymore."
"I don't care!" he spat. "I'm still my father's son. And I see it. I know exactly what he's doing. He cut me off to keep the Ministry from our gold, so that I can fund him when he needs it. And when the Dark Lord returns —"
His head snapped to one side as she slapped him hard, a red handprint visible on his cheek.
"You — you hit me?" He whispered. "How dare—"
SLAP!
SLAP!
SLAP!
"Listen to me, you stupid fool! Stop this madness at once! You think you're so smart? Then listen! The entire Malfoy clan is reduced to dust. You can't even call yourself a Malfoy anymore! And that gold you're so confident about, the Ministry got its hands on that gold anyway. They claimed that your father's actions were a financial fraud, and negated his orders for the fortune transfer."
Disbelief again.
"They - they can't do that! It's our gold!"
"They can, and they have," snapped Narcissa. "All you have is the Trust vault, along with whatever you had gotten from the Black family. The only reason the Ministry couldn't claim the rest was because I had the presence of mind to make it look like I have been acting against your father, so that they'd let me claim forty-five percent of the wealth for myself."
"You…." Pause. "...What?"
"I," said Narcissa slowly, puncturing every word. "Made it look like I was against your father. That I wanted out of this marriage. Why do you think Potter let go of the unforgivable charges against you? He's a noble Gryffindor," she sneered. "Dumbledore's golden boy."
Draco still looked downright hostile, but at least he was listening.
Narcissa sniffed disdainfully. "You should've seen him. All it took was some documents showing some irregularities in your father's businesses, and he was ready to believe I was willing to reform. That I wanted to step into the light and do the right thing."
Her lips rose into a cruel smile. "As if those documents would've gotten anywhere. Parkinson would never have let it pass through to the Wizengamot, assuming Potter even had enough pull to bypass Fudge. And even if it did, your father owned the Wizengamot. But Potter's a simpleton. He just took me at my word, and let go of the unforgivable charge that would've landed you in Azkaban."
Her eyes flashed with anger. "But things have changed. Parkinson is facing a lot of flak. There is international pressure for your father's capture, and Fudge won't do anything that makes him look bad. The only thing I could do was use Potter to prove that I was innocent. That I wanted no part in whatever madness Lucius was planning. And look, I have forty-five percent of the wealth. For us."
She pulled out a folder from her robes and pushed it to the other end of the table where her son stood.
"It's a contract. With Harry Potter. I'm not sure how, but he found a way to elevate himself to gain the Black Family Magic, making him the Black Lord."
"Preposterous!" whispered Draco. "I am the Black heir."
"Only because there's no one closer to the main line that isn't dead or cast-off from the family," Narcissa scolded. "And it doesn't matter. Potter gained access to… the Black townhouse…"
Damn it. She couldn't even speak of its location now.
"... Sirius Black left him the townhouse in his will. Potter went there, studied from the Black library, and found a way to please the spirits of our ancestors, and gain their blessings. His magic is as close to the original Blacks as possible. Purer than yours or mine. Purer than even Sirius himself."
"Toujours Pur," murmured Draco softly, his eyes downcast, thinking.
Narcissa nodded. "But what's done is done, son. Listen to your Slytherin instincts, your self-preservation, your cunning. It's what has kept the Malfoys going on. I've already signed that document. Potter wants me to advise him on political matters and strengthen the Black fortune. He's even willing to let bygones be bygones, and welcome you as a Black. You can have it all. The Noble title of the Blacks. A new trust Vault to add to yours, and with the gold I got out of the divorce, we can start afresh. I can register you to Durmstrang. I'm certain I could convince Potter to give away the manor in Bulgaria if you just took the Black name and—"
"BOMBARDA!"
Narcissa stared in shock, her breath taken away as Draco's pulverising curse detonated the entire table, alongwith the document.
Especially the document.
"Take the Noble title of the Blacks?" Draco frothed. "What was already mine before Potter stole it from me? And now…. Now you want me to go crawling to him and beg him from scraps? Me? I'm Draco MALFOY!"
"NOT ANY LONGER!" Narcissa screamed. "Why can't you just —"
She paused, the rest of her words dying in her mouth, as she found her in a position she had never expected before.
Her son's wand pointed right between her eyes, shining a malevolent crimson.
The cruciatus curse.
Her son… her son was about to… had almost… cruciated her.
Her heart ran a marathon in a split second, her stomach feeling heavy, as if it had turned to lead.
Why? Oh why couldn't she convince him? She was Narcissa Mal… Black. Even without her experiments with veela blood, she could charm any man off his feet. So why was she failing so horribly before her own son? Why?
Draco moved towards her, and Narcissa stepped backwards.
"Draco… I'm just acting for our self-preservation. I—"
Another step.
"You can call it whatever you like. Take a bucket of piss and call it Granny's peach tea. Betray Father and call it self-preservation. I won't agree with it."
Another step.
"Go live with that halfblood swine if you want. Maybe make him lick you like the half bloods at Twilfit. I'll stay back here, waiting for Father's return. For the day when he comes to the British shores with the Dark Lord, kills Potter and makes me the Lord Black as is my birthright."
Another.
"Draco —"
"You have made your choice, Mother. This is me making mine."
"Foolish! You're being foolish! If you stick to this, you'll have nothing left. Nothing."
"Good. At least I won't have to whore myself out to some halfblood bastard."
"DRA—"
SLAM!
The doors of Malfoy Manor shut on her face, hard, and Narcissa stepped back, nearly slipping. She stared in abject shock at what had just happened. Part of her knew that there was always a chance of Draco choosing the wrong side — her son always was a little too impulsive and rash for his own good, letting his emotions dictate his actions. In a way, he embodied the worst of Gryffindor traits, and used them to fuel that ruthlessness that sorted him into Slytherin House.
Glancing at the Malfoy entrance door for one last time, Narcissa sighed, and apparated away.
Barely a minute later, the doorbell rang, and an infuriated Draco opened it, his wand pointed angrily, burning a dreadful crimson at the tip. "I TOLD YOU! I AM NOT BETRAYING FATHER AND THE DARK —"
Draco paused right then, recognizing that it wasn't exactly his mother standing outside. It wasn't even a single person, but six of them. With a seventh standing right in front of him, his eyes narrowed and staring at the wand tip meeting his face.
"I'd appreciate it if you remove that wand away, Mr. Draco," said the red-haired man that Draco knew his father loathed. A man whose family were mudblood lovers and blood-traitors of the highest order.
"My name is Arthur Weasley, and I'm the Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office. And this," he pointed at the mousy-haired blonde next to him, "is James Williamson, Auror. Behind us are members of my office and hit-wizards. I understand you must be in confusion, but it's for the best if you put that wand away and cooperate. We have a warrant to check the manor and see if Lucius Malfoy is hiding inside."
"Fat— Father is not here," said Draco angrily. "Now get lost."
"Unfortunately," said Williamson, steel in his voice. "We don't work for you, little boy. So this is how things will happen. You can either claim that you are not a Malfoy anymore, and walk out of this manor, and we can be free to conduct whatever investigation we deem fit inside. You will be allowed entrance once the investigation is complete. Be wary that it might take from hours to days, so if you choose to do so, you might want to get your Gringotts key and some clothes before you leave."
If glares could kill, the man would be a mound of ash right now.
"Option two," said the Auror. "We recognize that this manor is officially donated to you by your fugitive criminal father, even if the decision is tied up in litigation. You will be allowed to stay inside the mansion, and make use of all its faculties, so long as you do not pose an obstacle to the ongoing investigation. Be advised that by choosing to stay inside, you will be barred from communicating with anyone from the outside world through any means, or leaving this residence until the raid is complete. If you have an elf, you can use it for serving your food and other basic needs."
And then Arthur Weasley spoke again. "So, Mr. Draco, what will you choose?"
Hestia Jones had truly imagined that she had seen the worst of wizarding politics when she was being ousted from her job.
Boy was she dead wrong.
The morning had brought a metaphorical firestorm of epic proportions to the British shores, especially because for once, things were beyond the Ministry's ability to sweep things under the rug — Cornelius Fudge's usual administrative policy for nearly everything that went sideways. Hestia had watched the Wizengamot being played like amateurs as a smiling Harry Potter trotted out curveballs, exceptions and sub-clauses, throwing them into circular arguments that lead to nowhere but his eventual win.
That he was being supported by the DMLE Director, who apart from being his newly appointed Regent of House Potter, also held the real power under Martial Law only made things more entertaining. That Harry Potter also donated a hundred thousand galleons to be offered as compensation to the families that had lost members at the World Cup only solidified his image in front of the press.
As soon as the session had ended, they had found themselves hounded by reporters and paparazzi. The fools had come in expecting to twist the statements of a boy that had found himself in an alien, political stage, and were fended off by a veteran. Hestia had gritted her teeth when Rita Skeeter suggested a fictional amorous relationship between him and Narcissa, but Harry had mentioned something about beetles and bugs, and Skeeter had stiffened right then. Hestia didn't know what it was. Knowing Harry, it was just another piece of future trivia.
"You know you might swallow a mosquito at that rate."
Harry's voice broke through her mental meanderings, and Hestia helped herself to her tea.
"Something the matter?"
She shook her head. "Just wondering. You murdered Lucius Malfoy, crippled the majority of the Death Eater forces, thinned the rogue werewolf populace, and came out of the entire thing smelling like roses. All in a week's time." She tiredly rubbed her head, pushing her hair off her forehead as she did so.
"Well, technically it was just one day, and I had a lot of things going in my favour."
"That's just a load of hippogriff dung and you know that. You told me of the future, Harry Potter. You were expecting nothing except a ragtag group of drunk morons throwing fire and playing Death Eater. All that happened, and you still managed to pull things off like this…"
"We haven't won, you know."
"Potato, Po-tah-to! You might as well have," Hestia argued. "Haven't you looked at the papers?"
She swept a copy of the Daily Prophet and showed him the second page.
FRANCE AND BULGARIA AGREES TO ALLOW BRITAIN TO HOST THE LEGENDARY TRIWIZARD TOURNAMENT, THANKS TO BOY-WHO-LIVED'S INTERVENTION!
MINISTER OF MAGIC CORNELIUS FUDGE NOMINATES HARRY POTTER FOR ORDER OF MERLIN, FIRST CLASS!
"Wow," he said, amused. "Didn't expect that coming. Happy coincidence there!"
Hestia growled. Of all the things that matched the Harry Potter she knew with the Order dossier, why did it have to be his inability to accept praise? Especially when he knew perfectly what he had accomplished?
She had read the papers. Sebastian Delacour had very vocally acknowledged the life-debt that Harry held over them. He had given an interview to the international press, how Harry Potter had not just gallantly saved his and his daughter from certain death several times over, but he had also performed exceptionally well at healing him after Lucius had cursed him heavily.
The Bulgarian Minister on the other hand, wanted the basilisk sales deal badly. With France reconsidering its stance to deny Britain the chance to host the legendary Triwizard Tournament, the Bulgarian Minister didn't want to lose face and gave many pro-Britain interviews to sweeten the deal, making sure to highlight Harry's role in salvaging the entire situation. Fudge had gone from total shock and despair at losing his advisor and political supporter, to exhilaration when he learned that he could gain a new power bloc's support by supporting Harry. For a Hufflepuff, the man had strong Slytherin instincts.
And then there were tabloids like the Magical Mirror and the Witch Weekly, which chose to focus on Harry being Wizarding Britain's richest and most eligible bachelor.
And what was said 'Most Eligible Bachelor' doing at this moment? Gathering an assortment of artefacts and magical products on the table. He'd occasionally pause and ponder, before summoning something else and putting it on the table, replacing something else.
Invisibility Cloak. Three daggers imbued with necromantic energy. Multiple pouches of Instant Darkness Powder. Extra wands. A strange medallion engraved with runes.
"Err… what are those for?"
"The next mission."
"Which is?"
Harry said nothing. Which was weird. Hestia narrowed her eyes at his rather obvious attempt to dodge the question. That was so not-Harry. She was his Lilim, and perfectly loyal to him.
Still, she'd humour him. For now.
"Are we still having the Harem Carnival tomorrow night?"
Harry threw his head back and groaned. "Did you really have to call it that?"
'Hermione came up with that name," said Hestia, having no issues throwing the younger girl under the bus. "I just didn't argue with her about it. Werewolves are scary, you know. Especially those with freakish necromancy powers."
Harry sighed. "So long as you aren't printing matching tops, I imagine we could call it that."
"Too late," she sang, and flicked her wand, switching her top with a bright magenta top with HAREM CARNIVAL GIRL#2 printed in bright neon colours and looking absolutely gaudy. "Tracey Davis tailored it. It's a bit snug across the chest, don't you think?" She asked with faux innocence, jutting out her breasts to emphasise the effect.
Harry rolled his eyes, and pinched her left nipple, making her 'ouch' in mock surprise.
'I thought I'd be Girl#1, what with being your first Lilim and all, but then Hermione's the first girl in your harem, so…"
"Technically that'd be Ginny. I mean as far as anchors go…"
"Harry, the Weaslette doesn't count, and you know it."
He didn't argue.
"Harry…" she tried again. "Just what's going on?"
"Just taking care of some loose ends, that's all," he said absently, pausing again, his eyes flickering in deep thought. He spotted the Auror's Weekly next to her and his eyes widened.
"Any suspicious activity going on?"
"Nothing big," she said. "They're running a full page article describing the destruction caused by the Death Eaters in the last war, the similarities between the carnage during the last war and the World Cup holocaust. Most of it is filled with complaints from people that have suffered because of Malfoy."
Harry muttered something noncommittally. Hestia frowned.
Whatever had him worried after all this had to be big. This wasn't the first time she was seeing him planning something dangerous but for him to be this thoughtful and cautious, it had to be really big. Or really dangerous. Or both.
"Harry, whatever you are planning. I hope you're not doing it alone. You have me. You have all of us."
"I'm not doing this alone. I can't afford to."
Hestia frowned. "Then…"
"I have Amelia joining me shortly. And Emmeline. I'm still on the fence about asking Narcissa to join in as well. But she would bring her share of risks, and I'm not sure if it's worth it."
Damn. All ego aside, Amelia Bones and Emmeline Vance were pretty much the most skilled wands in their little group. And while she wouldn't trust Narcissa Malfoy…Black as far as she could throw her, she had to grudgingly accept her prowess with a wand. If nothing else, her knowledge in the Dark Arts was far superior to the others.
Aside from maybe… Harry himself. What with his freaking necromancy powers.
But the most troubling thing about this composition was…
"Harry, what you did to the DMLE Director…"
"She isn't an inferi," he said, waving her concern away. "She's perfectly alive. And healthy. And normal."
"Harry, she died, and —"
"And I brought her back to life."
"But that's impossible."
"The difference between impossible and possible is skill, knowledge and a fuck ton of luck. I had the right skill, the right knowledge and the right set of conditions to pull it off. Honestly, I am surprised that things worked as well as they did."
"But won't dying and… um, being reborn affect her?"
He shrugged. "I don't have all the answers, Hestia. It was a unique set of extraordinary circumstances and something equally extraordinary came out of it. Maybe you can even ask her when she shows up."
"A wait and see approach is then," said Hestia. "Are you sure I can't join in?"
"No. Things might turn ugly in this one."
"I imperiused my old teacher and Order colleague for you, and then cast it again, and saw you necromance your way to resurrect the DMLE Director, and fought my best friend to protect you. I can handle ugly."
He met her deadpan stare levelly. "Look, not every bad thing has to do with terrible magic. Sometimes, good people ought to do bad things to stop bad people from doing worse things. This… is just one of them."
Hestia searched his face. "Fine. But can you at least tell me what you're about to do? I promise I won't intervene or try to stop you."
Harry considered that, and sighed. "Fine," he said, meeting her eyes, as his eyes hardened to steel.
"I'm going out Voldemort-hunting tonight."
Notes:
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Next Update is on 5th February.
Chapter 134: Defying A Dark Lord
Notes:
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Chapter Text
BOOK 3 - THE INCUBUS AND NECROMANCER
CHAPTER 134 - DEFYING A DARK LORD
Lord Voldemort prided himself in his intelligence, his knowledge of magic hitherto unknown and untested by most, and most importantly, on his immortality, one that had even withstood the test of time and destiny and held strong. He was feared, he didn't suffer fools willingly, nor was he patient with egregious failure. His followers were aware of this, and it helped motivate them to complete the tasks he entrusted them with quickly and efficiently. That and the fact that he was absolutely fine with staying calm and letting his plans come true at the correct time, but no later than that.
Patience and collectivism were Slytherin values, and Voldemort was nothing but the penultimate Slytherin.
But neither patience nor collectivism were things he was interested in entertaining right now. Not after how things had ended.
How could things have gone so wrong?
Lucius's plan had been quite ambitious, far more than Voldemort himself might have anticipated the man to take up. He had expected him to demonstrate the resurgence of the old crowd, torture some muggles, perhaps kill some blood-traitors and leave messages of pureblood extremism behind. Seeing the old message after all these years would induce fresh terror in the mob's hearts, something Voldemort could use very effectively.
Instead, Lucius had set up a grand holocaust the likes of which had happened just once during the last war, and even then, the consequences had been limited to Wizarding Britain alone. But Lucius had used other's personal ambitions, agendas, old feuds and economic needs to fuel his grand master plan that would cripple Britain for good.
And cripple it had. Britain had lost more than half of its DMLE in a single night, along with hundreds of civilians, in an attack that shocked not just Britain, but left entire Europe scarred like Gellert Grindelwald had done at the Lestrange mausoleum in Paris during the Great War.
And Lucius had done it with just economics.
Even Voldemort had to admit that the man's plan had left him humbled.
So why, oh why had things gone so wrong?
Macnair was dead. The Carrow twins were dead. Yaxley was dead. Selwyn was imprisoned, as was Gibbon and many others. The official news on Lucius was that he was on the run, and for some reason, the Dark Mark on his arm wasn't responding either. He could have been dead for all Voldemort cared for, but his 'official' fugitive status meant an ever-active DMLE scouring every potential hideout for Lucius in and out of the country, making things even more risky for Voldemort to cross borders and get to this place.
His best man was officially a fugitive and in the wind.
The rest of his Inner Circle were either dead or in Azkaban.
A major chunk of the lower-ranked Death Eaters were either killed, or captured or lying low. And he'd be a fool to even consider revealing his current form to any of his sympathisers.
And then there was the way Harry Potter had risen up through the situation. He had met the boy three years ago, and even then, he had demonstrated extraordinary defiance if not skill. No doubt Dumbledore had been training him in secret for all this while. The Malfoy fortune was lost to the DMLE, and Harry Potter had supposedly taken over the mantle of House Black, and gained several acquaintances of political and economic affluence.
Voldemort would have been impressed if he hadn't been so pissed. The more he interacted with the boy, the more he was convinced that there might have been something to the Prophecy after all.
Another piece of the puzzle that he was wanting, but had no way to get.
Only if he had someone serving him other than the pathetic rat…..
Speaking of…
"CRUCIO!"
The curse lasted for two seconds before he released it, but Wormtail screamed and flailed, as if his brain had caught fire within his skull, spasming violently. It was a pity that the unforgivable required true hatred to fuel it, and despite his tantrum, Voldemort instinctively knew that he needed the rat alive and functioning to continue his plans. Such dichotomy in his emotions weakened the effect of the curse, and while it still hurt like hell, it left Peter breathing and flailing but still very much alive and in full control of his mind and senses.
He scowled. He shouldn't have had to find himself in this position. After years of wasting away as a wraith, only to be found by Pettigrew and Lucius… Voldemort had truly believed that his time of resurrection was finally at the door.
Lucius. That infuriating idiot. He had truly gone far and aboard to please his Master, but in doing so, had doomed Voldemort to a setback that could potentially take years to rebuild.
A half-arsed ending for a half-arsed effort.
Sloppy. Incompetent. Reckless. Ignorant. Useless…
He swallowed the bile that was rising up his throat. His left hand went up and grabbed the breasts of the muggle woman Wormtail had placed under the Imperius to serve his weird needs. He had no idea why it was important, just that his body did.
"We need more support," he said at last, letting the rat, now a quivering wreck, to stand back up, his body shaking as he did. "My Inner Circle is locked away in Azkaban, and as I am now, it is difficult to find if Lucius is alive or dead. I need help. Competent help," he added, as the rat looked like he was going to volunteer himself.
But who should he ask? Who could he ask?
After what happened to Lucius, asking Nott to step in could be a potential possibility. That man had always coveted Lucius's position, and was consolidating the Dark Alliance in the wake of the Malfoys' fall. The Selwyns were another option, but Voldemort knew better than to deal with that family without being from the position of strength. Jugson was imprisoned. Parkinson? Gibbon? They were bottom feeders that worked as Lucius's extensions. With Lucius being a fugitive, the Ministry was likely keeping a strong check on those families.
Avery?
Hmmm. There was a potential option.
Rosier too. Or perhaps, Rowle or Travers? None of those families could boast the financial support as Malfoy, Nott, Selwyn or perhaps Black. The Lestranges were originally from France, before completely shifting to Britain sometime during the war with Grindelwald. Much of their wealth and properties was still in France.
No.
He recollected the news about the French External Affairs Minister. After such an attack, things would be difficult in France too.
Damn it to hell.
No, he needed to look at the bigger picture. The other potential options. With most of his forces decimated, or imprisoned in Azkaban, he would be fighting a far more uphill battle than he had previously estimated. His opponents — Albus Dumbledore, Amelia Bones, and especially Harry Potter were not weaklings. They had their own powers to compete against him.
It was like starting the Death Eaters all over again.
Albus Dumbledore was a known entity. Amelia Bones? Not so much. And Harry Potter? That boy was a mystery wrapped in an enigma, with luck enforced by Prophecy and Destiny.
He needed to know more about his enemies. Needed to counter their strengths, exploit their weakness, attack from the shades and strike at their core with the least resistance possible. Literally.
And that meant finding a new way to operate, a new location to operate from, and new resources to use for his future operations.
Britain was out of the picture. At least for the current situation. France was risky too. Ireland, less but Hogwarts was in close proximity. No, he couldn't touch it either. The dementors were more likely to attempt to feed on him than join him if he called for them right now. The werewolves would go out of their way to avoid attention after the recent massacre. Not even Greyback would be useful. The vampires…. Well, he'd need the Selwyns for that. That left —
Nagini hissed loudly.
Voldemort turned around. There was… there was someone at the door. And right then, someone knocked on it.
"Who's — Who's there?" asked Wormtail, getting up slowly.
"Thousand-pound yenaldooshi."
Voldemort narrowed his eyes. That voice… It didn't sound like the Carrows, or Lucius.
"Thousand-pound… Who?"
Eyes narrowed, Voldemort extended his magic like a tendril to sense the intruder….
And then everything began to go wrong.
Shock was always the most important aspect of warfare. From ancient to modern history, it had always been the crux upon which battles changed from utter defeat to overwhelming victory. In the mediaeval ages, it would be provided by the cavalry arm of each faction. Armoured warriors, covered in enchantment, holding accursed weapons, riding abraxans, charging straight ahead at the enemy, while witches and wizards hurled spellfire from behind as the support staff, thundering down upon the poor, unfortunate fools that made up the infantry line. The initial impact of thousands of pounds of abraxan flesh and rider inflicted such horrendous damage, such psychological shock, that entire formations of men would break and run.
It would be followed by druids activating long-ranged traps for the escapees, while the mages ran lightning and fire from the heavens.
The modern world had changed from cavalry and mages to wards, wardbreakers, and duelists. Lines of people standing along the periphery constantly bombarding against the wards, causing damage to the entire territory, while killing curses ran loose once inside the victim's house. Transfigured attackers, defensive enchantments, blasting hexes and exploding curses. The methods were new, but the psychology behind them was the same.
Shock the enemy into inaction.
So when a nine-foot tall, and about half a ton of supernaturally powerful muscle blasted the door along with the hinges and half of the wall, and smashed inside, Amelia knew things were on the track. The person on the other side went rag doll, flying back from the impact in an explosive cracking of breaking bone — only to hit the wall on the other side, and dropped down, unmoving.
"AVADA KEDAVRA!" yelled a cold, furious voice.
A disillusioned Amelia levitated a piece of broken plaster to intercept the curse, but it was barely needed. The massive hulking shadow simply leapt to the side, then to the top, and then to the right wall, as if gravity were merely a suggestion, throwing whatever it could find at the twisted abomination that sat on the chair, in the lap of a naked woman that was clearly under the Imperius curse.
My turn, thought Amelia, and twisted her wand.
The imperiused woman instantly rose up in a shriek, the effects of a frenzy hex, hurling the baby off her. The serpent slithering next to her was already snapping at the massive hulking beast which it registered as the most dangerous opponent, and belched out a fog of poisonous venom out of its mouth.
It might as well have tried scolding it.
The behemoth came down from the ceiling, avoiding yet another killing curse, and brought its claws— larger than Amelia's entire arm down at the serpent, slicing it into five parts with a single slash. Magic surged out of the hacked serpentine form, and a shockwave of magical force exploded out of its body, accompanied by a hideous screech that echoed in both the inside of her skull and outside. The baby-Voldemort screamed in horror with the force of an exploding bomb, and the beast was sent flying against the wall. The abomination levelled its wand at the beast and yelled —
"CRUCI—"
"Vespertilio Mucosus!" snapped Amelia, as boogers erupted out of Voldemort-baby abomination's nose, and formed into tiny, aggressive bats and viciously swarmed all over its face mid-casting. And right then, Emmeline, who had been equally disillusioned, cast a gouging hex upon the baby's head, exploding it into gore.
"NOOO!" roared the beast.
Too late.
The sound that erupted out of the headless torso was enough to drive an Occlumens mad. Amelia couldn't have said what it sounded like, for it was too huge a noise for that. All she could remember was seeing the torso glow with an intense crimson light, and the hairs on the back of her neck rising all at once, and her encasing herself and Emmeline with her strongest shield. The beast simply brought its titanic claws before its head and face and curled into a ball.
It was all that saved their lives.
The shields lit up like a flood light, as a cataclysmic shockwave erupted, and Amelia's shield orb was hurled into the atmosphere like a cannonball through the walls. She could hear the animalistic roar from inside the flaming dome below, followed by it rising up and expanding into a firestorm of epic proportions, forming a singular face, gigantic and terrifying, carved from the hellish flames.
It was the face of Voldemort.
Her shield orb hit against an invisible barrier, and Amelia had the sensation of being smashed to paste, as the raw energy from the explosion washed over her from every side. Both of them were screaming in pure reflexive protest against Voldemort's roar, though her voice was lost in the dim.
Her shield orb kept buckling and pushing against the barrier behind her, but to no avail.
For the invisible barrier she had erected right before the attack didn't so much as flutter.
"DAMN MY ANCESTORS!" Amelia yelled. She had given the Serratura, an artefact capable of erecting a ward more powerful than anything she had seen. Unlike other wards that were employed by wardstones, the Serratura had its origins in blood-based and ritualistic magic, imitating a death-match and offering the sacrifice to the ancient Canaanite god Moloch, who would bless the victor in quality entertainment. As a Bones witch, Amelia had twisted the functions to fit it as a deathmatch between two parties rather than all-in-one massacre.
So long as she, and the invoker, that was Harry Potter, was alive, the shield would not break.
That knowledge however, would not keep both of them from being sandwiched and scorched. Amelia hissed in pain as her hands began to blister and scald from the raging heat, and Emmeline had to switch from supporting the shield to cast freezing charms and keep themselves from being barbequed. Trapped between the invisible barrier behind, and Voldemort's rage before them, they might as well be two muggles seeking shelter behind a stone against an incoming hurricane.
She could feel the power of Voldemort's wrath as it touched her shield; feel the raw, undiluted hate driving it. It wasn't any mortal emotion. It was hate of the original vintage, hate as old as the universe itself, hate as hard and sharp and cold as steel, hate as hot as the flames of Hell, hate so vital, so vicious, so vitriolic, that it surpassed the understanding of her merely mortal mind.
Voldemort hated her. Personally, and on a level that she couldn't even begin to understand. That she walked the Earth and drew breath was enough to earn his everlasting fury.
But that was just a shadow of what he felt towards the beast, towards Harry Potter.
That was personal.
Ever since the night of her resurrection, Amelia had been able to feel a strange sense of connection to Harry Potter, one that had nothing to do with the romantic or sexual interests she had in him, or the Potter-Bones contract for that matter. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that it was his magic that had dragged her soul from the Afterlife, reforged it, and put it back into her mortal shell, but she could feel him. Feel him on a level that she couldn't really comprehend, much less explain.
A connection that was currently allowing her to see things directly through Harry's eyes.
And yes, Harry's eyes, not the nightmarish beast he had transformed into. She watched him raise his wand against the deluge of flame and whisper.
"Devour."
It was like a command upo the world itself, imposed by the will of an impossible force. Fumes as dark as midnight surged out of Harry Potter, cloaking his entire form so densely that he might as well be a dementor, while wintry fumes formed all around him, covering the immediate terrain with genuine sheets of ice, another similarity with the dementorish aura. The freeze extended, stretching and thickening, coating everything in near inch-thick sheets of frozen shelling, with ice erupting with violent force at points, forming stalagmites. Within a second, the entire area around him mimicked a veritable ice-age.
And then the powers collided.
Wherever the red energy touched, the ground melted and flaked away, scorching at the edges and bursting into flame. It was like the wind itself was on fire. The house had already erupted, the terrain itself crackling, and Amelia was certain that the Serratura's invisible barrier was now visible to anyone within sight as a red dome shining with malevolent light, ready to explode. The flaming Voldemort-face roared again, a tsunami of pure force, and smashed against Harry Potter.
But his defence head.
His barrier of fumes held strong.
Amelia watched in fascination and disbelief as a cold, tranquil darkness formed around her, a sphere of black radiance that deflected the incoming wrath, like an obdurate stone standing strong against an angry tide. And in that crash, Harry stood, a being of pure defiance, a silhouette, unbreakable and unmovable against the tide.
In that moment, Amelia Bones understood why Harry Potter was revered as the Boy-Who-Lived.
And then it was over. The blast ended. Harry had done it. He had stopped it. With his necromancy. Amelia could see the smoke arising from his body, remnants of black soot forming all around him, held back by an armour of true blackness.
And then he dropped down to one knee, and a surge of agony shot through her, and the connection was interrupted, and the next moment, she was falling down to the ground. She sensed her fellow compatriot cast anti-velocity spells to slow their descent until both of them were safe down on the ground.
That didn't mean it was over yet.
Not while the Dark Lord was properly dealt with.
"USELESS! YOUR ATTEMPTS TO KILL ME ARE USELESS, HARRY POTTER!" boomed Voldemort's voice again. "YOU WILL DIE JUST LIKE YOUR MUDBLOOD MOTHER AND USELESS FATHER, AND THESE BLOOD-TRAITORS WILL SHARE YOUR FATE!"
Lord Voldemort, now reduced to a wraith with malevolent red eyes, staring at them with undisguised hate. Before that gaze, Amelia felt small and wanting. But knowing that the man had lost the power to affect her in any way that she didn't allow herself, she glared back.
"Really?" said Harry slowly, pulling himself back up. "Because the way I look at it, we just kicked your arse."
"Dark Lord Voldemort," said Amelia, feeling a surge of satisfaction at the shock in the wraith's face at her lack of hesitation at speaking his name. "We have come to put you in the past where you belong. For your crimes, I sentence you to oblivion."
She raised her wand.
The wraith threw his head back and laughed. "FOOLS! I CANNOT BE KILLED! I AM LORD VOLDEMORT, AND HAVE LONG PAST SHREDDED THE SHACKLES OF MORTALITY! I AM—"
"A mouthy piece of shit," said Harry Potter, flicking his wand and drawing entire rune sequences in mid-air at a speed that made her jealous. She could spot a generous use of the Othila rune, signifying separation, Nauthiz, the rune of constraint, and Thurisa, the rune symbolising gateways. At the back of her mind, she could instantly tell that whatever he was crafting, it had to be something related to confinement. A trap.
For Voldemort.
With a rash sideward flick, he completed the entire sequence with the Kano rune, creating an opening, and levelled his wand at the wraith.
"Now, Accio Lord Voldemort."
The shock in the wraith's eyes was almost hilarious as it was physically pulled towards Harry, who directed its trajectory directly into the rune sequence. With a control that was impossible for someone like her, much less a sixteen-year-old, Harry safely pushed the runic scheme, as well as the entrapped Voldemort inside it, directly into an ornate ritual dagger fallen on the ground at his feet.
And then it was done.
And then, for the second time, Harry was down on his knees.
"Harry!" screamed Amelia, and rushed towards him, with Emmeline right after her. She hastily checked him for injuries but found none. Emmeline on the other hand, magically levitated the dagger and was observing it, checking from potential psychic leakage. It would not do for the spirit entrapped inside to psychically manipulate an unsuspecting observer into unsealing it in any way.
"Don't worry," said Harry. "He won't get out. And even if it tries…. Well, DOBBY!"
Instantly, Harry's batty elf popped in, ready with a thick and heavy-looking chest. With a snap of his fingers, the elf opened it, showing that the insides were paved with thick slabs of lead. Emmeline lowered the dagger into the box, and Dobby sealed it back, and added physical locks on all sides.
"I want to make the box as magically-inert as possible," said Harry.
"Where are you going to put it?" Amelia asked.
"Ideally, I'd like to sink it to the bottomless depths of the ocean, but we might need to perform inspections on it from time to time. At least until we are certain he's gone for good."
"Gone for good?" asked Amelia. "We just destroyed his body and trapped his wraith."
"There are ways in which he can return, Director," said Emmeline softly.
Amelia noted the look in the Obliviator's eyes and scowled, not liking the fact that Harry had entrusted Emmeline with information he had hid from her.
Then she regarded Harry.
"I have questions."
"I know," said Harry blearily. "You and everyone else. Just wait until the party Hermione and Hestia are setting up. I'll answer all your questions. For now, take my word that we are not quite done with Voldemort. Not yet at least."
He looked at the chest, and smiled. The look on his face, the satisfaction, it didn't belong to a sixteen-year-old, but a war veteran, someone that had been through the grinder for far too long, only to see it end.
It was such a smile.
"Goodbye Lord Voldemort," said Harry Potter. "I hope you enjoy your immortality."
He looked at the elf."Dobby, go ahead with the plan."
The elf made a funny little salute and popped away with the trunk.
"Where did you send him?"
The smile didn't vanish from Harry's lips. "Somewhere he'd finally get a bit of rest. And perhaps, appreciate a bit of irony."
Hundreds of miles away, an elf appeared in the middle of St. Mary's Catholic Cemetery, located in Kensal Green in London. The burial ground, apart from being the resting place of over a hundred and fifty thousand Roman catholics, was also the closest cemetery to Wool's Orphanage, a place where Tom Riddle grew up as a child. The elf snapped its frail-looking fingers, and the earth near its feet rose up. Scrunching his face, the elf waved his left hand, and dropped the heavy chest into the ground, seven feet below, and covered it with the floating earth. Another wave of his hands, this one more meticulous, and the ground was morphed into a proper burial, complete with a headstone.
Dobby glanced at the tomb next to it, the one marked MEROPE GAUNT, and scrunched his face thoughtfully, remembering the words his master had told him. A curious movement of his fingers later, an ornate epitaph formed on the headstone, complete with the name. It read…
TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE
1926 - 1996
Safe from Death, at last.
Notes:
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Next Update is on 10th February.
Chapter 135: Meet The New Boss
Notes:
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(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 3 - THE INCUBUS AND NECROMANCER
CHAPTER 135 - MEET THE NEW BOSS
A shaken and utterly flabbergasted Broderick Greengrass appeared in front of an old, rundown building. There was a strange haze all around the place that prevented him from recognizing the area, only that it was in London. The letter scrunched in his hands was a portkey, one that was supposed to bring him and his wife to meet Harry Potter to discuss matters most urgent and profitable. Normally, a meeting with Potter was all about profit and sexual playacting with his wife, but this time, it was anything but.
For things had changed drastically.
Lucius's fugitive status, the massive deaths, and the incarceration of several high-profile individuals had thrown the markets in an uproar. And Harry Potter was at the centre of the entire mess.
The Galleon Gazette, a wizarding publication that discussed financial news, economic trends and magical business developments had Harry Potter splattered over six entire pages. That newspaper, along with another tabloid — The Potion's Press, heavily discussed his taking-over Sleekeazy to the acquisition of Phyllida Greenhouses which further caused Sleekeazy's stocks to rise. The DMLE had already seized the Malfoy investments, selling them all at market value, which meant a fresh supply of shares for those that wanted to invest in Diagon and Knockturn Alley, as well as new options for the existing business class that operated there. Potter's other company, Moonforge Inc. was also in the highlight, as well as speculation if Amelia Bones's new position as the Potter Regent meant Boneyard Warding would be seen doing business with Moonforge Inc.
And that wasn't even the only thing going on.
Lucius's long and sustained tyrannical reign over Diagon Alley and the Ministry meant that several people had lost jobs, and others had run into financial instability, which Gallo-Loans, funded by Lomfay Enterprises had taken complete advantage of, through sleazy landlords and hired thugs. Several people had been forced to sell their properties to Gallo-Loans for prices far less than market value. Other businessmen that could only stay afloat at best because of Lucius's negative influence in Diagon Alley were now making hay while the sun shone, and creating a larger than life villainous caricature of the man, as if he were the Devil in disguise. There was even a column in the Aurors Weekly, where one man claimed that the Dark Lord was just a face — a puppet indirectly controlled by Lucius Malfoy for his megalomaniacal desires.
And now, both husband and wife were there to meet the one person that was potentially responsible for everything that had happened recently.
Ironically, it was the same person that could now save him from losing everything he called his own.
"Honey," said Anastasia, "let's go in. There is no use standing here, pondering over what might be."
Broderick looked at his loyal wife. Despite the recent playacting and sex that she had with Potter, and despite all the insults she had done to him during those sexual encounters, Broderick felt a rush of confidence that his wife was his, that he held her complete allegiance.
Even if Potter had changed from a pawn to someone that was holding Broderick's balls in his fist.
The door opened, and they stepped into the atrium, where a batty elf that looked strangely familiar welcomed them and took their coats, showing them the way to the office. Broderick had only once been in this place, back when Orion Black ran things, and he remembered how the office was on the first floor to the right, exactly what the elf had said.
While the outside screamed for want of immediate repairs, the insides of the office room were anything but. High, arched ceiling with an exposed wooden beam that gave the room an imposing and grandiose feel, with tall, leaded, glass windows letting in shafts of natural sunlight, somewhat muted by heavy, velvet draped embroidered with the Black family crest. The air smelled faintly of old books, polished wood, and the magical herbs subtly burning in a silver brazier.
A massive, intricately carved mahogany desk dominated the room, its surface polished to a deep, dark sheen, reflecting the flicker of the sunlight. Runes were etched subtly into the wood, offering protective enchantments. There was a silver inkpot, adorned with a thunderbird feather quill.
And behind that desk, on a throne-like chair, sat Harry Potter, the embers burning at the fireplace reflecting in his emerald eyes. What was truly unexpected however, was the portrait of Sirius Black was smirking at him from above the fireplace,, and… was the dead bastard shamelessly ogling at his wife?
Broderick hugged Anastasia closer with one arm.
"Behave, Sirius," admonished Harry Potter, rolling his eyes. "I'd like some privacy right now."
The portrait harrumphed before going blank.
"Forgive him," said Potter. "It seems like even his portrait self couldn't get rid of his bad habits. Manwhore in life, manwhore in death."
He stood up.
"Broderick, Anastasia, welcome. Come, take a seat. There is a lot we need to discuss."
Broderick and Anastasia sat in one of those elegantly carved, high-backed chairs, set up exclusively for that purpose. There was a pensieve floating on one side of the large desk. There was even a large bookshelf against the wall, crammed with ancient tomes in dragonhide and ornate leather, their spines marked with gold lettering. He recognized several of them as forbidden texts, nothing that the Gryffindor Golden Boy would be found reading.
But then… was Harry Potter even the Gryffindor Golden Boy he thought him to be?
'We, uh, received your letter," began Anastasia slowly. "I imagine it has something to do with you taking over the Black lordship."
"Yes, yes," said Potter, smiling disarmingly. "But we will get to that after everyone else has joined us. Until then, Dobby —"
With a pop, the elf from earlier appeared with a tray of refreshments.
"I hope tea is okay for you both."
"It's fine," said Broderick neutrally. From the first day he had encountered Potter, he always had an upper hand at things. Even with the situation at the DMLE had gotten all pear-shaped, his wife had coerced Potter effectively, and the brat was nothing if not grateful for the sexual experience he was gaining out of it.
But now? If Potter was truly the Lord Black then that meant Broderick would be subservient to him from now on, an odd shift in the dynamics. More dangerous was Potter's closeness to the DMLE Director, especially with the Potter Regency, given the nature of businesses that Broderick actually conducted on behalf of House Black.
He'd have to play his cards very carefully from now on.
"Before we proceed to the important bits, there is something I'd like all of us to do," said Potter, after they were finished drinking. "A vow of silence, ensuring that nothing discussed in this meeting will be shared to third parties, directly or otherwise without my explicit consent."
"A vow on?"
"Your magic."
Broderick stood up, shocked. "Ma— magic? You want us to swear an Unbreakable Vow?"
"Not just you, but all three of us. Trust me, it's a lot better that way. The things we'll discuss here in this office today, you'd truly be glad that it falls under the protection of the vow."
"Those are… very harsh terms, Har— err, Lord Black," said Anastasia reproachfully.
Harry met her eyes nonchalantly. "You are free not to swear, just like I am free to choose whoever I want to talk about my latest findings. And trust me, it's really juicy, as your husband would be able to confirm. Won't you, Broderick?"
"...I do," Broderick said neutrally.
"Can we… get some time to think about it?" asked Anastasia.
"Of course. And please," said Potter, gesturing at the refreshments. Help yourself."
"I hope none of your friends or associates were hurt," offered Anastasia, taking a sip. "The attack…" she gave Broderick a dirty look. "It was horrible."
"It was a nasty shock, yes," said Harry Potter, frowning. "My secretary was attacked, but she was able to escape. My other friends ran into trouble, especially the Weasleys. But they were lucky to get timely aid and survive the mess. The Weasley's eldest, William, was hit by a really bad curse in the left leg. He'll be handicapped for the rest of his wife, so I imagine curse breaking is over for him. I've heard that he'll be joining Gringotts London to teach curse breaking to the freshers."
"I.. see," said Broderick slowly. "Potter, about what happened. I know Lucius wanted me to join in whatever madness he was up to, but I swear I didn't —"
"Of course you didn't, Broderick," said Potter airily. "I completely believe you. Now, if we could get to the vow quickly, we could skip the song and dance and jump directly into the matter."
Broderick clenched his teeth. Truth be told, refusal wasn't even in the cards. He had already been owled by several members of the board of directors of Greengrass Exports, demanding his resignation over his past association with Lucius Malfoy. He had already received several owls demanding to know the status of his relationship with the Boy-Who-Lived, who had very recently rented Phyllida from him. If he rejected Potter's request and walked out, he'd have to walk out of his own company before the week was over.
He could not refuse, not this vow. Not anything else that Potter insisted upon. And if Potter didn't know that already, Broderick would eat his wand arm.
"Fine," he said at last. "We will do the vow."
They went through it, and felt it take effect. Nothing they would discuss or get to find out in this meeting could ever be shared with Potter's direct consent.
Potter clapped his hands loudly, and then, Narcissa Mal — Black entered the room.
Broderick shook in anger.
"So it's true," he growled at Potter. "You were behind it all. You dropped those files on Amelia Bones's desk. Files that she pushed on Robards to investigate me. Files that she gave you."
If glares were spells, his would be a killing curse right now.
Narcissa meanwhile, stayed wholly nonchalant about it all.
"I did," said Potter.
Broderick fisted his hands. His initial instincts had been right.
He hadn't fooled Potter into accepting a subpar deal.
He had been fooled by Potter into thinking he was fooling him into a subpar deal.
Broderick Greengrass, Lucius Malfoy's right hand, had been playing checkers against someone who was playing chess.
His fingers itched for his wand. Instead he just sat down impotently, as the scheming, treacherous ex-wife of his business partner strolled across the room and stood right behind Potter, like a protective guardian, looking over her Lord, with a strange knowing smile pasted on her beautiful face. Broderick didn't know much about Narcissa's true dealings with Potter, but if she was present for this meeting, chances were that she wouldn't think twice before digging out old skeletons to ensure Broderick fell in line.
"Why?" demanded Broderick. "What did I ever do to you?"
Potter snorted. "I attempted to purchase Phyllida thrice, and you rejected my request every single time. And then, when the DMLE came sniffing, you chose to deceive me. You and Gideon Abbott chose to lease Phyllida to me for a period of a year, gain my allegiance, and use me as your shield to ward Auror Robards off."
"That was the deal," barked Broderick. "You sleep with Anastasia —"
"Yes, you are the arsehole that let a young boy of your daughter's age fuck your wife while you watched. The same boy you then planned to saddle your eldest daughter with, so that you might quietly arrange for an accident and then claim the entire Potter fortune for your own. Isn't it?"
Broderick didn't know whether to turn red or white.
"You put your interests above mine, Broderick. It's only natural that I put mine above yours."
"And Lucius? Are you behind his fate as well?"
Potter snorted. "You give me far more credit than is due, Broderick. I certainly didn't make Lucius arrange for blowing the World Cup stadium. I certainly wasn't behind him buying hired wands, coercing fellow Death Eaters, and gathering foolish werewolves into enacting his little coup against the Ministry. He did all of that himself. I just took his little plan and turned it on itself."
"And now? What happens now? You said it yourself. I tried to rob and trick you. Are you going to consider me an enemy and kill me too?"
Potter snorted. "Enemies are a waste of time, Broderick. They're a distraction for those unwilling or incapable of dealing with such annoyances. I, on the other hand, prefer having friends. People I interact with frequently. Acquaintances I speak to on occasion. Then there is the rest of the Wizarding world, and then the muggle world. And then, there are targets. Never enemies."
He said it without any melodrama, the way most people would talk about taking out the trash.
And it was twice as effective because of that.
Potter wanted Lucius gone, so that he got the Black Lordship. And now, Lucius was an international fugitive, at least officially. For a moment, Broderick even considered the idea that his friend and business partner might even be dead. For all he knew, Potter might even have something to do with it, especially with Narcissa Black on his side.
And the worst part? There was no way to prove Lucius's death. Dead people were notoriously bad at proving themselves dead. Even if there was no evidence about his whereabouts, the Ministry could still drag the case for years on end, before they settled on an 'officially dead' status.
Until then, the Malfoy name would be dust.
'What am I, then?"
Potter smiled. "Now that's an interesting question. You might already know this, but since the start of the summer, I have been holding the position of Lord Conditional for House Black. It took a while, but I got a detailed check on everything Lucius was doing with the Black fortune over the years. Do you know what I came up with?"
Narcissa flicked her wand, and several files rose out of his desk and floated in mid-air before Broderick.
"House Black has a total of twenty-six investments, seventeen of which are share-purchases in identifiable brands. The other nine are angel investments from House Black, acts of support to help fledgling businesses to thrive in a cut-throat world."
He snorted again. "Five of these were set up by Lucius after gaining his Regency."
One of the files dropped on the tea-table with an audible thud.
"Gallo-Loans, a payday loan company, set up under yet another of House Black's investments, Lomfay Enterprises. Or perhaps I should say, Malfoy Enterprises. Gives out loans at a hundred and fifty to three hundred and seventy percent interest."
The next file fell.
"Mystical Meanderie. Again, owned by Lomfay. On paper, it's a wizarding distillery that manufactures knotgrass mead. But in truth, it brews illegal potions for the other three companies. Can you guess where the production takes place?"
He grinned. "Phyllida. Phyllida Greenhouses."
"You can't prove that," said Broderick. "Our contractual agreement forbids you from sharing the details with anyone else."
"True," said Harry Potter. "But if the DMLE comes up with a warrant, I'd have no option but to show them the books. Won't I?"
"So it all comes down to this. You and your buddy Lucius used the Black fortune to set up an illegal potions market in and out of Britain and made your fortune over the years. While on paper, these investments are shown as non-productive assets. Have I got things clear so far?"
Broderick gritted his teeth.
"...Yes. You have."
"Ah, good. Good. We're on the same page then. Now, being the law-abiding citizen of this nation that I am —"
Narcissa snorted loudly.
"—I should simply do my duty and simply forward all these documents to the DMLE. Now, the companies are worth nothing on paper, which means there is a ton of black money hiding somewhere. Narcissa claiming her half of the Malfoy fortune has definitely gotten the Director pissed, so this would probably go a long way in mending that. It would also go a long way in improving House Black's notorious reputation and start afresh."
Broderick stayed mightily quiet.
"Obviously that would mean the DMLE would get to you, investigate your own wealth, and after they find out that you have been committing financial fraud for over a decade, they'll want all the taxes paid back with proper dues. I think the imprisonment duration for tax fraud is what… twenty years? I'm afraid my knowledge is not quite up to the mark."
"Twenty-two years," said Anastasia softly.
"Ah, thank you dear."
Broderick gaped at Anastasia.
"And by the time you return, I doubt there would even be a Greengrass family left. And if you feel differently, allow me to correct your ignorance. Anastasia, I think you've pretended long enough."
"I agree."
Broderick snapped his neck so fast that he feared he had sprained it. His wife, his loyal, faithful wife that had slept with Harry Potter just to ensure he got out of prison — that wife stood up, and almost hypnotically, walked over and knelt before Potter — a priestess before her god.
"Now, show him the error of his ways."
Broderick watched, dumbfounded, as his wife got up, walked over to Potter, and knelt down before him. Quickly, she undid his zip, and pulled out the monster that had been drilling into her over the last couple of weeks, and began rubbing her hands all over it. The next thing he knew, Anastasia turned to look at him, before smiling as he leaned forward and flicked her tongue over Potter's cockhead, her eyes locked with Broderick as she did so. He watched as she pressed her lips to Potter's dick, absolutely absorbed by the horniness and need to get fucked by the cock she was holding.
"Anna…. Anna… get up! This isn't fun anymore! This is, he's ..."
"I gave you enough time to think, Broderick," she said. "Now it's time you made a quick decision."
"...Decision?"
Anastasia didn't answer. Gently, her tongue ran over and around the head and then slowly licked all the way down to the underside of Potter's cock, kissed each of his cum-filled balls, ran her tongue all the way back up his cock, and took the entire thing into her warm, wet mouth.
"No," wept Broderick.
"Mmmm," moaned his wife, and began working faster on Potter's thick shaft, Broderick's whispers for her to stop being disrupted by the ever louder sucking sounds escaping her as she continued working her head up and down his cock. With every bob, she managed another inch, working her lips hungrily towards the base of his shaft. Eventually, his cockhead was hitting her throat, making her gag, but not enough to deter her from pleasuring him.
"Ana… anastasia! ANASTASIA! THAT'S AN ORDER, DAMNIT!" Broderick growled, his nails digging into skin. "I'm your husband and I —"
"Don't have rights to me anymore," said his wife, pulling off the cock and giving Potter a reverential look. "I belong to him now, Broderick."
"What? No, you're my wife, you're —I'm your husband, damnit!"
"Really?" she sneered. "The kind of husband that left his wife at the mercy of another man? The kind of husband that leaves his wife to this wolf just to get signatures that would save his sorry arse?"
"But — but —"
"But don't worry, husband," she said in a mockingly sweet tone. "I am a loyal wife. And as a loyal wife, I must ensure that my husband also stays true to me. Consider this as me making you pay for selling me out so callously."
"Sell you out?" exploded Broderick. "You agreed to his proposal!"
"And you let me! What kind of man sits and watches and strokes his cock while another man fucks and ruins his wife in front of him?"
"It was —it was supposed to be an act! It was all supposed to be an act!"
"Which part?" Anastasia demanded, giving Potter's cock another lick from top to bottom. "The bit when I exclaimed how his cock massages my throat, while yours doesn't even reach halfway through my mouth? Or the part where he called me a whore and fucked me over and over while you sat and jerked off?"
She stood up, and began disrobing. The gown dropped, followed by her bra, and finally her panties, until she was utterly and deliciously naked.
"Ana— Anna, Narcissa is watching." Broderick stammered. "She— she —"
"Won't do anything until I ask her to," said Potter. "Though she might just join your wife in pleasuring me if you take too long to make up your mind. Though, given how you get hard by seeing me fuck your wife, maybe I should just go ahead and do just that?"
Broderick almost reached for his wand.
"And I'm certain you must be overwrought with rage and all righteous indignation," Potter went on. "But do keep in mind, this is the Black Manor. The moment this office senses even a slight degree of hostility in the air, it will come down with extreme prejudice. And I'm only a third-year, so don't expect me to be able to control it. Please be polite."
Had Broderick been less tense, he'd have noted the way Narcissa flinched at that.
"I'm sorry, Broderick, but you must realise,' said his wife, as she stood right above Potter's cock, and slowly began to descend down on it.
"His cock is far, far better than yours. Look at how thick —"
She sank a little.
"Hard—"
A little more.
"Juicy this cock is. How can your flaccid pencil compare against this trunk?"
She was definitely attempting to put on a show. With one final push, she sank down fully upon Potter's turgid cock.
Broderick watched, stunned. His face was red, a mix of rage, indignation, hatred and, not that he'd admit it, arousal.
"Oh, fuck!" moaned Anastasia. "Fuck me! Fuck me hard, Harry!"
She bounced her arse up and down, not even needing Potter to do any of the work, screaming and moaning as she did it.
"Shall I make you pregnant?" asked Potter. "I mean, your husband still doesn't get it, so it's obvious he's choosing to go to prison instead. How'd you like that, Broderick? I'll ensure that your wife is well-fucked and taken care of for the time you'll be away. I assure you, she'll pop up multiple kids that can carry on the Greengrass line just in case you want more. Or perhaps the Selwyn line? She is a Selwyn after all."
"Yes! Yes! Make me!" screamed Anastasia.
"Tell him, whore! Tell him, who fucks you best?"
"You!"
Spank.
"Tell him!"
Spank.
"I AM NOW HIS WHORE, BABY!" sang Anastasia. "Your wife is Harry Potter's whore! yes! yes! show my husband how you'll fuck me after he's gone! show him how —"
"STOP! I'LL DO IT! I'LL DO WHAT YOU WANT! JUST — JUST STOP!"
Anastasia paused mid-coitus, and looked at Broderick in surprise.
"You don't even know what I want."
"Don't care!" snarled Broderick. "You have something in mind. If you had to give everything away to the DMLE, you'd have done it, not brought us all the way here so that you could monologue about it and cackle like a megalomaniac. You wouldn't have…"
He glared hatefully at his wife, before looking at Potter again.
"Tell me. Tell me right now! What do you really want?"
Potter smiled. A wolf would have been jealous.
"True, true. You see Broderick, in the game of chess, you can kill the pawns, then the rooks, the knights, the bishops, the queen, not necessarily in that order, but eventually, and last of all, you get to the King. But by then, the game is over. But if you just kill the King right off the bat, well then, you can start a new game with his pieces. People aren't permanent, only positions are. You're angry because I upset your world. Now, I can either destroy your entire world for good, or…."
"Or I can work for you," Broderick concluded.
Potter grinned. "Everything stays the same. The companies, the investments, the factories, the people, the galleons flowing in. You swear whatever vows I want you to swear, and work devotedly and diligently for me for the rest of your life. In exchange, I'll cut you a bigger deal than Lucius gave you. The queen, the bishops, the rooks, the knights, the pawns, they all stay the same. Only there's a new king in place."
"You."
Potter smiled. "Oh, and naturally as King, I get a Queen that's devoted to me in every way."
As if to make his point, he pushed his cock upwards, and Anastasia let out another loud moan.
"So," asked Harry Potter. "What will it be?"
Notes:
Find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Next Update is on 15th February.
Chapter 136: The Party
Notes:
I have a Discord server, Penthouse. If you are interested in joining it, following for more updates and snippets, and discussing SED in general, just hop in on the link.
https://discord.gg/jvzqqvHhr7
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 3 - THE INCUBUS AND NECROMANCER
CHAPTER 136 - THE PARTY
With a pop, Nymphadora Tonks appeared in front of the large building with the word Excelsior engraved upon it vertically downwards. It was not the first time she was coming to Harry Potter's building, but the nasty flipping in her stomach didn't lessen even slightly because of that.
Especially after everything that had happened recently.
Taking a deep breath, she took a step through the wards, feeling the tingling sensation as the ward scanned and registered her, verifying her against several set parameters. She'd not be surprised if there was one that sensed hostile intent, like the one that Madam Bones had set up in her castle, and no doubt, there were quite a few nasty surprises in store for her in case the warding system disagreed with anything. She wouldn't be surprised if those included pre-emptive lethal measures.
Tonks didn't panic. Panic got you killed. The last time, she had reluctantly agreed to ignore Potter's stint with Necromancy, choosing to believe that Hestia and Emmeline had not totally lost themselves in Potter's lustful haze, or whatever form of imperius he had them under. She didn't think they'd attempt to kill her brazenly, but that hadn't stopped her from taking precautions.
Taking a deep breath, she looked at herself. It was a glorious teal one-piece, complete with fuck-me heels, looking every bit of the party girl that she was dressed for.
The door opened, and this time, it was Granger that stood before her. Flashes of the silver-furred werewolf rose in her mind. It should've been enough to make her go for her wand out of sheer instinct, but she also knew that if not for said werewolf, she wouldn't have been alive now.
And neither would Charlie Weasley.
Memories of Hermione Granger in her bestial form weaving through the spellfire, stamping, slashing and killing the other werewolves while she rained spells upon the Death Eaters that had come for the Weasley family came to mind. Bill had been cursed heavily, and it was unlikely he would be able to continue being a cursebreaker any longer, and would likely settle for a desk job at Gringotts London, close to his family, something she was certain Bill liked as much as having to leave Egypt.
But at least Charlie was safe.
Safe from that killing curse that would've definitely killed him if not for Granger… Hermione snapping the Death Eater's neck from behind.
That alone was enough for Tonks to give Harry Potter a chance to explain himself. Because Hermione Granger believed in him.
"Auror Tonks," said the girl with a soft smile. "Please, come in."
Tonks did not swing the other way, but even she had to admit that the girl looked far different than the first time she had eyed her. Her bushy hair had been tamed straight and was flowing down her shoulders. Between the sex, the innate strength and the ferality that came with lycanthropy, Hermione Granger was oozing sex appeal. At the same time, there was a strange darkness marring her features, like a feral predator choosing to stay domesticated but could just as easily crush your neck at a whim.
"I hope I'm not too late…" she trailed off. "Here," she finished oddly, handing over a bottle of Ogden's Finest. It was frankly a bit too pricey for her salary, but this party would be quite the crowd, and she didn't want to end up feeling cheap.
Granger graciously accepted the bottle, and walked her into the interiors. As they made small talk, Tonks noted the incredible combination of charms that were out into effect inside the building. It lacked the spacious and momentous feel that walking in an ancient wizarding manor filled you with, but it definitely made up in the sophistication category, ensuring best of both magical and muggle worlds. While other muggleborns would definitely be in awe of this building, Tonks only felt her suspicion grow. After all, Harry Potter was the wizard kid that was supposedly sent to live with his muggle relatives for the summer, people that could be best described as middle class.
The foyer was already full of people. Tonks recognized most of them, some from her profession, some from the events of the past few months, and some from her jaunts at the Ministry. None could be trusted.
For a moment, she feared that Potter had so many high-ranking people charmed, but then she realised that this wasn't just a gathering for Potter and his sycophants, but respectable people from all over Britain invited to a private celebration of his ascension to the mantles of Lord Potter and Lord Black.
"Ah, Auror Tonks," came Harry Potter's voice from behind.
Speak of the devil, thought Tonks, feeling a shudder run down her spine. She controlled herself and turned around, spotting the Boy-Who-Lived. He looked clean-shaven, wearing a dark pair of pants and a white shirt, with the top button undone. Classy. He approached her, and she him. She offered her hand, as was custom, and he gave her knuckles a quick kiss but not breaking eye-contact.
"Welcome," he said. "To Excelsior. I wasn't sure if you'd accept the invitation but I'm glad you did."
He was still holding her hand, staring at her with an intensity that was beginning to unsettle her a little.
"Is there something on my face?"
He shook his head quickly. "No, uh, sorry. I just… I'm grateful you listened to Hestia and Emmeline and didn't prevent me from… saving the Director."
"We had a common enemy," she said stiffly. "And I'd rather believe that two of my most trusted people have not completely lost their minds and hearts to their lust."
He chuckled lightly.
"Mind you, I have questions, Potter. And I'm not leaving without them tonight. If you refuse, I will tell Professor Dumbledore, and then you'll have to answer to him."
More chuckling. "All good points. But you'll have to wait for the end. Like you, there are others that have questions of their own. I am hoping to settle everyone's doubts during the afterparty."
The afterparty?
"Now, please feel at home. Perhaps I can pour you a drink?" He pointed at the bar counter to her right.
"No, no thanks. Later?"
"If you are sure," said Potter, and slid away, easily slipping into the crowd that was too eager for his attention.
The next hour passed in a sort of easy transition from one conversation to the other. The Weasleys were all invited, and she could spot Molly chiding Harry about the sheer expense in maintaining such a fantastic construction. The twins were chattering excitedly with their friend Lee Jordan, while three other girls, who were reportedly on the Quidditch team with Potter being shown around by an enthusiastic Ginny Weasley. Charlie spotted her, and was quick to pull her into conversation.
"And this is Auror Tonks," said Susan Bones, who was also part of the hobnobbing crowd. "She saved me during the attack. If not for her, I'd probably have been eaten alive."
"Oh no, it was nothing like that," Tonks laughed lightly, while Hermione leered at the red-haired girl with mock disdain.
"Now come on, Susan,' said one of her classmates. "What's going on between you and Potter?"
"Yeah, what's the Gryffindor Golden Boy doing with the Hufflepuff Dorm Mom?" asked another.
Susan mock glared at both. 'It's —"
"Don't say it's nothing," said a third. "Everyone at Hogwarts knew you hated Potter's guts. And then Hannah said how Potter waltzed over to you at Fortesque to flirt."
Susan glared at her friend who blushed.
"My uncle's at the Wizengamot," said the second one again. "He told me how your auntie is now the Potter Regent. Like, what's going on, Susie? Next thing we know, you'll be an item."
"We might," said Susan seriously, making all of them gape. The red-haired Bones heiress laughed at their expressions. "Look, our families share history, alright? And that includes my aunt. I was annoyed at Harry for ignoring me— us, over the last three years, but he came to our place, and we discussed —"
"Discussed? Is that what they're calling it these days?" asked the first.
"Shut up, Gamp. And you were there when Potter came over to our table at Fortescue, Ernie."
The second, Ernie, grinned.
"I was surprised too," Tonks put her two knuts. "I mean, you didn't exactly feel close at the DMLE when we last met, so I was just curious, that's all."
"Don't worry, we get along pretty well now."
"I heard he visited her aunty directly," said the third, a girl with violet pigtails. "I heard the entire thing on the Wireless. Something about meeting her and giving documents proving Draco's dad's guilt."
"A right scumbag, that one," murmured Ernie.
"Language," Susan chided.
"I've heard it too," Tonks pitched in again. "It was surprising. I mean, I had never seen her take a holiday, ever, and then she took two days off, and now this news of her becoming the Potter Regent…and she seems quite fond of him too."
Susan smirked. "Bitter much?"
Tonks instantly backpedalled. "No, no, I mean, I have nothing to — I was just curious, that's all. Sorry if I crossed a line."
"Aunty and Harry share a special relationship," said Bones conspiratorially. "Enough to make me jealous at times."
Now all by herself, she considered raiding the bar and pouring something strong for herself. Maybe she would have, if not for the fact that she didn't like being drunk. Not among these people anyway. She was pretty sure she wouldn't get any more charming that way. More amusing perhaps, though not in a good way. There was music, and even though she could spot several familiar faces, they were all engaged with high-level Ministry personnel and social climbers alike.
"It is you, Nymphadora, isn't it?" came a familiar voice from behind. Nymphadora spun around, her instinctive declaration of not addressing her by her first name forgotten at the sight of the person standing there.
It was the face of someone that had your best interests at heart, alongwith a voice that filled you with genuine warmth and joy as it spoke to you. It was also a voice that Nymphadora had learnt to loathe and fear ever since she was little.
"Lady Malfoy, uh —"
"Oh, certainly not anymore. I go by Narcissa Black now." She smiled. "I was wondering if I could talk to you. As Lady Malfoy, there were rules I had to follow, rules about people I could and couldn't interact with. Now that I'm a Black again, I was looking forward to talking to my only niece. Tell me, how is my dear older sister?"
Tonks felt her stomach flip. Her mother was full of stories about both her sisters as well as the entire Black family, but one thing that stood apart from any other was her description of her younger sister.
Never trust Narcissa Black. She has a hundred reasons for doing what she does. Ninety nine of them, at least, are malevolent.
She spotted Hestia chattering animatedly with several people, a little distance away, and wondered if their mutual distrust was worth more than using her as an excuse to skip interacting with Narcissa Mal- Black. A little further, she could spot Emmeline Vance talking enthusiastically with Dennis Hawthorne, who Tonks recognized was working in Wizengamot Administration Services. There was Shelly Barebone, and Harold Crawford, both Hit-wizards, and finally, Amelia Bones, the DMLE Director. She looked utterly sensual and lively, a far cry both from her usual stiffness and being… well, dead.
She had talked to Emmeline before. The woman had made an act of being 'introduced' to her, while Madam Bones only drew a speculative eye at her presence. There was Penelope Clearwater, whom she recognized from the fiasco at Diagon Alley, who she had heard was working for Potter ever since. She was being constantly bombarded with questions from various reporters and was enthusiastically basking in the recognition, freely chattering about the newest developments in Potter's company that she was working on.
Then she realised that Narcissa Black was in fact, staring at her, waiting for her reply.
"Err, Mum is fine. She mostly stays busy with her work."
"And your blessed father?"
"He's engaged in business. With the Abbotts."
A glint of recognition flashed in her eyes. "Not Gideon Abbott, surely?"
"The same," said Nymphadora, wondering what the other woman's angle was. "Madam —"
"Call me Narcissa."
"Madam Black," Tonks insisted. "Can I ask you something? Why would you choose to support Harry Potter over your own son for the Black Lordship? I mean —"
"My son Draco is many things, but he doesn't have the temperament of a Black. He has always been raised by his father's ideals, considered himself a Malfoy above everything else."
"And Potter does?"
The woman smiled. "He is the Lord Black, is he not?"
'He —"
The rest of her words died in her throat as she heard Madam Bones call for Potter who excused himself from Augusta Longbottom and her grandson, and waltzed in, joining her conversation with the Minister of Magic and an official that Tonks couldn't recognize.
"Ah, Lord Potter, I wanted you to meet someone," said Madam Bones. "Allow me to introduce you to Hector Fawley, the current Lead Liaison Minister for Wizarding Britain."
Tonks narrowed her eyes. Why did that particular title feel so familiar?
"I have been wanting to meet you for a while, Lord Potter," said the man. He was an old, balding fellow, and looked close to retirement.
"Harry, please."
"Harry then," said the man. "The Boy-Who-Lived often came up in international trade talks, you know. Often, from their variation of the Department of Mysteries. But recently, all that the other representatives can talk about is you. Tell me, is it true that you roped the Bulgarian Minister into accepting the Triwizard deal by offering him a seat at the private auction of basilisk parts?"
Both Potter and Bones looked sharply at Fudge, who coughed loudly. "Err, let's postpone the official business until later, Fawley. It's a party. Let it remain as such. Uh, Harry m'boy, perhaps I could get some Ogden's Finest for me again? I think Madam Greengrass wanted to talk to me earlier about something."
Both Potter and Bones exchanged an amused smile.
The Boy-Who-Lived regarded the man thoughtfully. "If you don't mind me asking, sir, just what does the Lead Liaison Minister do?"
"Mostly deal with the representatives of other nations," said the man. "I work for the Department of International Magical Cooperation, under Barty Crouch. Well, Barty's assistant does the reading, Barty does the worrying, and I just go ahead and do the actual stuff."
All three of them laughed.
"Then you must have worked really hard on the Triwizard," said Potter.
"That's one way of putting it," said the man with a grimace. "I won't admit it out loud, but working with Barty is a chore. That man has his head too deep into legislation and pointless trivia to do any of the actual work. I actually miss seeing that young female secretary of his. Bright and charming and downright talented, that one was. Too bad she was a halfblood."
Tonks narrowed her eyes from afar at the insinuation.
"I imagine that must hurt when dealing with purists out there," said Potter offhandedly.
"Not really," said the man, shaking his head. "International Magical Cooperation doesn't work that way. The real problem comes with getting your point across. Those out there won't really value you if the ones in your house don't."
"But I hear she's working for you now. You got lucky, son."
Potter grinned. "Sure did."
"That said," Fawley went on. "I wanted to meet you personally to thank you, son. I'm retiring in the next three months, and it'd be catastrophic to see a year's effort go down in flames. We really need the PR that the Triwizard can give us. And after that attack…" the man shivered. "I had a nervous breakdown even, stayed at St. Mungo's for two damn days. France, Ireland, Bulgaria, the others… forget hosting the Triwizard, I was afraid the other nations would just drop us from the entire thing. But then, you brought forth a miracle."
Tonks arched an eyebrow.
"You should visit the ICW sometime. Sebastian Delacour is absolutely impressed with you. As are the Irish, Italian and Bulgarian Ministers. Your little stunt with that private auction also caught many interested eyes. I'm not supposed to tell you this, but Delacour has nominated your name for the La Croix Magique, Deuxième Classe."
"It's the French equivalent of the Order of Merlin, Second class," explained Bones. "Given to individuals for significant acts of bravery and heroism. The winner gains a single seat at the Tribunal Magique, their version of our Wizengamot."
"It's hard to believe, isn't it?" whispered Narcissa Black in her ear, her voice as seductive as the devil itself. "Thirteen years of living with magic-hating muggles. Three years of socially inept behaviour, left at the mercy of a polarised media. And now look at him, hobnobbing with Fudge and Bones and Fawley like a born politician. One might think he isn't Harry Potter at all."
Tonks tried to suppress her shudder.
"I know," she whispered. "I still think he's an imposter."
"I think you'll find that hard to prove," whispered the demoness of the Black family. "He took the Potter and Black seats."
"And yet I don't find Professor Dumbledore among this crowd."
"Of course not," said Narcissa. "He wasn't invited for tonight's event."
"And that doesn't strike anyone as odd?"
"The funny thing about people," said her aunt. "Is that people often look at the changes in people, but never at their own actions that might've led to those changes."
Nymphadora regarded her best friend who was still engaged with others. Hestia was truly in her element, and it was easy to see that.
Tonks looked at her, eyes narrowed. "Fine, then as cousins, how about we stop mincing words and get things straight. Why has Narcissa Malfoy, who looked at halfbloods and muggleborns like they were worse than scum beneath your pricey shoes, bends backwards to support a halfblood? What did he offer you to leave Lucius? You can't tell me it's just because he's a 'better' Lord Black!"
"Is it the part where you accuse me of manipulating him?"
"Are you?"
The woman threw her head back. "I like you. Collected, but clearly disdainful. Impressive, for one raised by my elder sister."
Tonks crossed her arms. Had this been any other place, she wouldn't have done it, since it would inhibit her access to her wand quickly, what with having to untangle her arms first.
"All I want is a straight answer."
"Alright, here's straight. I'm a Slytherin, and we support the winning side."
"And that is Potter?"
"Who would it be?" Narcissa whispered, her tone gaining a slight edge. "That old fool Dumbledore, who's held all the cards yet allowed the world to stagnate? Or perhaps the Dark Lord, when he returns to set everything ablaze?"
For a few seconds, Nymphadora stayed deadly silent. Emmeline had told her something similar back at the World Cup. Both women seemed absolutely certain that despite the irregularities, and despite the Necromancy he was performing, Harry Potter was truly himself. She didn't even stop Narcissa when the woman leaned in slightly, getting into her personal space as her edge in height made her loom slightly over Tonks.
Only, she wasn't quite looking at her, but rather, at Harry Potter.
"Harry is important," she whispered. "He is doing great things. Will do great things. If you have the sense, and I know you do, you have seen it. You have felt it. He is already Lord of two Noble and Most Ancient families, and has the Noble and Most Ancient House of Bones in his pocket. And soon…"
"And soon?"
Narcissa smirked. "You think he will stop there? You think a guy like that sticks his head out, deals with crooks, dabs in the dark arts, fights monsters like werewolves, dementors, basilisks and my former husband, and stops right after? Look at what he has accomplished in just a summer of hard work and tell me I don't know what I'm talking about."
Tonks felt a strong surge of irritation wash through her. She knew exactly what Potter had done. He had twisted two of the best women she knew and turned them into his personal sycophants. He had performed necromancy on the DMLE Director, and was currently politicking his way into gaining more political power for himself. And if those animated discussions between Hestia and those businessmen and women were any clue, economic as well.
"I thought we were keeping things straight."
Her aunt frowned, the first hints of anger showing in her expression.
"The straight point, dearest niece, is that you are, quite frankly, a loose end. I don't like loose ends. So my advice is, get onboard, or be crushed beneath his wheel."
The words shook Tonks, and it took her a few seconds to organise her thoughts.
"Is that a threat?" Tonks snapped, perhaps with more venom than she intended. "Did Potter put you up to this, now that I am a potential enemy?"
She expected the woman to sneer, get angry, or even potentially insult her. Instead she threw her head back and laughed. "It's funny you put things that way. Why, just yesterday, Potter said that he has friends to talk to, acquaintances to know and deal with, and then there is the rest of the world. And at the end of the spectrum, there are targets. Never enemies."
Tonks pursed her lips, inwardly seething at her words.
"So no, not a threat. An advice. For some moronic reason, Potter assumed responsibility to keep you sidelined and safe. I imagine it is this recklessness that makes him a Gryffindor. No, girl, I believe Potter would just want you to either join him, or he'd just let you fall behind. But me? The others? We won't be that forgiving if something happens to him. Because of you."
She pulled back, and ran her fingers through her hair.
"You should go try the drinks. Mind you, I'd suggest keeping yourself sober enough to attend the afterparty though. Harry has promised me it will be… enlightening."
And then she turned around and left.
Notes:
Find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Next Update is on 20th February.
Chapter 137: A Not-So-Full Disclosure
Notes:
I have a Discord server, Penthouse. If you are interested in joining it, following for more updates and snippets, and discussing SED in general, just hop in on the link.
https://discord.gg/jvzqqvHhr7
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 3 - THE INCUBUS AND NECROMANCER
CHAPTER 137 - A NOT-SO-FULL DISCLOSURE
Seven people sat sprawled around on the couches and chairs on one side, as I casually studied them. Emmeline and Amelia looked composed as always, while Narcissa had her haughty mask on. Hermione sat, utterly content, next to Nymphadora Tonks who kept eyeing the door, probably anticipating an attack any moment. Hestia had frowned when Tonks had politely refused to sit next to her, looking almost amused before her Occlumency clouded her features once more.
As the group took their places around the table, I contemplated the peculiar situation I had found myself in. On one hand, I was quite exhilarated at having foiled Voldemort's plans for good this early, not to mention sealing him away in a place that not even he'd have thought of. On the other hand, my latest stint had raised several questions among my anchors and lilims, questions that needed answering if I was to get their cooperation for the foreseeable future.
I could count on one hand the people I trusted implicitly at this stage and have a thumb left over. Hermione, Hestia, Emmeline and Amelia, the last one to an extent, at least until I had time to explain the complexities and answer all her queries about my recent meanderings on the political and personal stage. Narcissa and Anastasia… I did not trust completely. Both had agendas which were congruent to my own at this stage, and while the anchorage did provide a degree of control, they were by no means, my Lilims, and hence, it was impossible to tell when their interests might drop and turn to the other side of the line. Of course, I had to trust Narcissa to a degree, since she had taken oaths to be loyal to myself as the Lord Black, so long as I steered clear of hurting Draco intentionally.
And then there was Tonks. Nymphadora Tonks. The metamorphmagus that had her heart in the right place, and was fighting the good fight. She looked at Dumbledore and saw the good, old, omniscient old man that defeated one Dark Lord, stalled another, and was probably their best chance at fighting a third. I didn't know exactly what this Dumbledore was feeding the Order, but there was a high chance that Nymphadora Tonks might potentially look at me and see a rising fourth.
On the other hand, she was going to be privy to my deepest, darkest 'time-traveller' secret, something that not even Amelia knew. I was quite sure that Narcissa too suspected something fishy with me, as did Anastasia, even though the latter's agendas were rather murky to me right now.
And then Emmeline stood up.
"Before we begin, I would ask everyone to swear to a secrecy vow exclusively geared for tonight's events. A high-level, carefully worded oath that will strike you down with an extremely debilitating curse if you reveal anything you learnt during tonight's meeting to any outside party without Harry's direct consent. If you attempt to trick this oath, or even think of betraying Harry over this, the magic will know and start reacting. At the end of this meeting, if you wish to continue working with him… with us, then you will have to submit to another set of vows, and this time, it will be Unbreakable. If not, you will have to willingly submit yourself to permanent obliviation for the entire period of the meeting. As a licensed Obliviator and seventh-level Legilimens, I can assure you there is no way you will be able to regain the memory of this meeting afterward."
She paused and let everyone digest that for a few seconds.
"So anyone that is not comfortable with this, kindly leave this room right now."
She waited for another long ten seconds, eyeing the right side of the room where Tonks was sitting, with Narcissa and Anastasia sitting a little further away.
"Is that an admission that he's actually committed something so dastardly that it will land him in Azkaban for the rest of his life?" Tonks accused.
Before Emmeline could respond, I did. "You're partially right, Tonks. What I have committed is so dastardly that if the right people were to know about it, they'd just fling me through the Veil."
Amelia narrowed her eyes to slits.
"Veil?" Anastasia perked up.
"If you don't know what it is, you're probably better off not knowing," I clarified, before looking back at Tonks. "So, what's it gonna be?"
"Isn't that a question for the DMLE Director?" Tonks sneered, and I had to admit, she did a fairly good job of it.
Amelia looked at her lazily. "Assuming the crime was committed during the period Martial Law was upheld, I will ignore it. Otherwise, if he did something that's even half as horrendous as he describes it to be…" She met my eyes. "Then regardless of our association, we will come to blows."
She glanced at Tonks again. "Does that satisfy you, Auror Tonks?"
"Sure," Tonks drawled. "I am most eager to find out what secrets you have been sitting on that require such high levels of secrecy and also involve such… esteemed people."
I smiled. "I'll hold you to that. Now, any other questions, or shall we proceed to the vow?"
Fifteen minutes later, the vows were all taken care of. Between Emmeline and Hestia and Hermione, I had to trust that they had counted for nearly everything one could think of to safeguard the contents of this meeting. But knowing how things worked, I decided there was always a chance of the information getting out, which was why I was going to stick to my 'time-travel' story, and target my audience's emotions, without going into the actually relevant bits.
I stood up again.
"I know that ever since the start of this summer, things have been quite different, at least as far as I am concerned. My behaviour, skills, knowledge, actions — none of them have truly fitted in with the profile you have derived about me based on the last three years. Some of you might think I was simply hiding myself, a snake in lion's clothing. Others might think I am an imposter. And then there are those that simply believe I have been sitting on a great secret. I have too much respect for all of you to even try to claim that I am, in fact, the same Harry Potter you have known, read or heard about over the past years."
I met Nymphadora's eyes. "I am not."
Something like victory shone in her eyes. Probably at my admission.
Silly girl.
"Whatever I am about to tell you is true to the best of my knowledge. And no, I am not willing to go through silly Veritaserum checks just so that you can satisfy yourself. You will find that the knowledge I have is more than enough to prove my facts."
"An interesting preamble," said Narcissa. "It sounds like whatever you're about to say will shake our existing paradigms."
I smiled. It won't shake them. It will shatter them.
"Let me get straight to the point. My name is Harry James Potter, and I'm from the future of a different world."
"Damnit," said Amelia, glancing at Emmeline. "I really shouldn't have taken you up on that bet."
Nymphadora just stared at me, clearly wondering if I was just lying or plain crazy.
"A different world," murmured Emmeline. "You certainly omitted that bit out when you revealed everything to me."
I gave her a not-smile. "I told you that not everything was the same here. Sirius dying at the lake, Hermione turning into a… speaking of," I met Hermione's eyes. "Do you know what a Time-turner is?"
The lack of the usual spark of recognition only confirmed my words.
"There is a device in the Department of Mysteries, and Hestia can verify that for me. A time-turner, a device that allows a person to go back in Time by six hours. Or at least, that is how things were, back from the world I came from. In the Time Chamber of the Department of Mysteries, in that room full of clocks and a large, antiquated grandfather clock, was a glass box containing time—"
"Harry!" snapped Amelia. "That's Omega-level classified information you're just casually giving away!"
"I quite literally stumbled upon that Omega-level classified glass-box back in my fifth-year, while running from Death-Eaters,' I shot back. "Plus, everyone here is under oath. Also, does that mean you also acknowledge it exists?"
Amelia scowled. "It's a prototype device that the Unspeakables are still working on. It was supposed to be put into experimentation this year, but the Seers suggested against it. It's still stuck until the Divination Board gives them a green signal."
I didn't know crap about a divination board, but that certainly explained why Hermione didn't get hers in this reality. Was I truly the outlier that set dominoes in motion, or was this world already preparing to fuck things up and away from Canon, regardless of my presence?
It bore thinking upon.
"I guess in my world, the Seers thought differently and it was allowed for experimentation. Hermione got one, under the pretext of getting to take all five electives, with several of them often having classes at the same time. I'm not sure even Hermione knew she was being a labrat for the DOM."
That I can believe," said Hestia, with a laugh. "Hermione is exactly the sort to play with Time just to take some extra classes."
Hermione stuck her tongue out.
"I imagine Harry confided about his past to you, Emmeline and Miss Granger?"
"Actually, it was Hestia that accused me of being a time-traveller," I answered. "She's smart that way. Hermione overheard me when I was revealing things to Hestia. Emmeline's a special case, which I'm not going to disclose right now."
Emmeline blew me a kiss.
That seemed to pacify Amelia. For now.
"Go on," she said.
"Like I said earlier, some things in this world are very different than in my world. And yet, a lot of the events are the same," I said, knowing this wasn't likely to be an easy explanation. "And no, I am not quite certain how I ended up travelling through time. All I know is that I was fighting Voldemort, and something happened, and the next thing I knew, I was waking up at the hospital, only to find that Sirius Black was dead, and Snape had rescued me."
"Professor Snape, Harry," said Hermione.
I rolled my eyes.
"Fighting… the Dark Lord?" whispered Anastasia. "But he's — he's gone for good."
"Not as much as you think," I said dryly. "As the Director can herself vouch for, she paid an up-close and personal visit to the Dark Lord just yesterday, along with me and Emmeline."
Every single one of them, including Narcissa and Tonks, went from gaping from me to gaping at Amelia.
"It is true," Amelia murmured.
"How — how are you still alive?" asked Anastasia.
"It's a long story," I responded. "One we can get to after I'm done talking about my own secrets. And I'd like it if I can just share it all without having to play twenty questions."
Over the next hour, everyone listened with growing horror and dread as I outlined for them in broad terms what I had 'faced', from the Triwizard tournament, my name coming out as the Fourth Champion, outflying a dragon, swimming in the lake to face off mermen, and finally the third task that led to Voldemort's resurrection. I thanked my lucky stars that I had gotten the 'Library of Knowledge' Perk from Hermione. Without it, I couldn't recollect the book content with that degree of accuracy.
Lord knows, the movies did a bang-up job of banging things out of context all the time.
Anastasia threw up when I described the ritual that regained Voldemort a body, as well as Cedric Diggory's death. Dolore Umbridge; Azkaban breakout — which Amelia practically shot up to her feet upon hearing; alluded to the secret 'weapon' that the Order was keeping from Voldemort by posting Ministry officials to guard the Department of Mysteries, my eventual stunt at the place; Sirius Black falling through the Veil because of Bellatrix's curse. I kept things vague at several points, using words like we and they instead of giving particulars, just so that they might not capture any inconsistencies.
Different world or not, I didn't want to reveal any such information that would make them sceptical of my words.
"That's a horrible idea," said Amelia sourly. "Are you really telling me that Dumbledore — your Dumbledore — decided that Arthur Weasley or a rookie auror like her," she idly pointed at Tonks, "would provide better resistance to the Death Eaters than the highly-trained Unspeakables and the debilitating enchantments placed inside?"
Tonks went bright orange. Quite literally.
"You uh—" she began sheepishly.
"Auror Tonks," said Amelia archly. "All modesty aside, I own the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. So I know when my Aurors, especially someone like Kingsley Shacklebolt…" she paused, and I remembered that the man had perished in the attack, "or yourself, kept asking for leaves. You are free to follow whatever ideology you believe in, but I cannot condone Albus Dumbledore using my Aurors for his personal use."
"It's not his personal use," Tonks defended. "It's uh, to fight against the Dark Lord and the Death Eaters."
"The last time the Death Eaters attacked Wizarding Britain, I nearly perished. And it is thanks to Harry Potter, and not Albus Dumbledore, that I was able to rejoin the fight and win. Understand this, Auror Tonks, it was not Albus Dumbledore that gave us victory against the Dark Lord when he vanished in 1981, and it wasn't because of him that Wizarding Britain still has a DMLE Director sitting on her chair."
Tonks looked like she had been slapped.
"Harry warned Dumbledore about a vision he had about the Dark Lord planning something with Lucius Malfoy at the World Cup, asking him, no, he begged him to take action, even going ahead to claim that if they didn't act, then all those lives would be on his head," said Emmeline, anger vivid in her tone. "I was there, Nymphadora. I saw it all. I heard it all."
"Fat lot of good it did," muttered the metamorph. "We still lost —"
"We still lost because we didn't have information," snapped Hestia. "Me, Harry, Emmeline, even Madam Bones — all of us had been working tirelessly to ensure things didn't go wrong. But neither of us had any idea about the attack on the Quidditch World Cup."
"Why?" Tonks sneered. "You forgot to tell them that bit from your future escapades?"
That rankled.
"No," I said coldly. "That bit did not happen in my time. Back then, Lucius wasn't involved in these plans. It's another reason why I say this world is different from mine."
"And mind you," said Hestia. "If not for Harry, we'd not be able to save Madam Bones. If not for Harry, we'd never have the spirits of the fallen helping us and turning the tide. If not for us, all of us in this room would be dead, and just so you know Nymphadora, it would've been your fault. You were the one that just attacked him out of nowhere without even bothering with the information."
"He was using Necromancy!" Tonks snapped.
"To save the Director's life!" Hestia snapped back.
"Can we uh, get back to the topic?" asked Hermione softly. She looked at me. "Uh, Harry, I think we still have a batch of the Draught of Peace you had me prepare earlier. Maybe if we all just…"
"That won't be necessary," said Tonks, growling, not meeting my eyes. "Please continue."
"I will say this though," said Amelia imperiously. "There are several inconsistencies with what you are describing, and what I know is."
She met my eyes. "A group of school-kids entering the Ministry of Magic late at night without adult supervision? They wouldn't be able to get past the atrium without triggering the automated defences."
"Unless someone neutered those enchantments, perhaps?" Hermione ventured.
Amelia snorted. "Going all the way to disable the Ministry wardstones just to allow someone, or many, I suppose, to trespass at night like that? If that is what truly happened, I'm not sure whether to commend Lucius and his ilk for their dedication, or their foolishness. If the idea was to ensure that Harry here went to the Department of Mysteries to pluck a prophecy orb—" She met my gaze, as if challenging me to refute her. "There are far easier methods to get it done."
I met her gaze, expecting a Legilimency intrusion.
There was none.
"Yes. Voldemort's plots are often stupidly convoluted. I'm not sure if that's just his paranoia, or his experience from years of dealing with Dumbledore."
"Hmm, so there is a prophecy," murmured Narcissa. "I recall something like that back in the last war."
"For obvious reasons, I shall be redacting the exact wording of the Prophecy, and continue the story," I said, leading them through my description of Voldemort's rise to power in Harry's sixth year, followed by the war at the end of the seventh. I alluded to horcruxes without mentioning details, and after another hour and a half, I finished giving them a rough idea of the war that happened in Harry's seventh year. I alluded to the scar several times, improvising midway to suit my aims. My throat was getting parched and my voice was growing hoarse from speaking constantly.
"The Dark Lord… attacked Hogwarts and destroyed it," murmured Narcissa. "All those… All those students… my son…"
Ah yes, that little titbit. I might have twisted the canon seventh-year battle slightly, describing that it was Malfoy and not Goyle that fell into the Fiendfyre he had cast to kill me.
"Show me!" She said, an undercurrent of steel in her tone. If not for Occlumency, she likely would have panicked by now. "I demand you to show me! Show me that memory!"
"I… can't."
"Why?" she barked. "If what you're saying is true, if you lived it then — unless — unless you're—"
"He cannot show it," said Emmeline loudly, surprising me. "I have been in his mindscape. Whatever this incubus power is, I don't quite understand it well. But it has kept his memories of his previous time locked. I cannot even fathom what sort of magic did that."
"Perhaps something to do with time-travelling?" suggested Amelia quietly. Unlike the others, hers was thoughtful and calculating. It was obvious that she didn't think me to be delusional, and it was equally clear that she was matching the changes she had observed in me during his visit, versus what she knew of me originally, versus whatever she was hearing from me right now.
"...Perhaps," I said, shrugging. "Emmeline has looked into it, and I'll defer to her expertise."
Emmeline preened. Truly, the woman was as proud as they came. No wonder her patronus was a swan.
"There is something I don't quite understand," said Emmeline after staying silent for a long, long time. "You survived the Dark Lord's killing curse again? Are you… immune to it?"
"No," I admitted. "There's more to my relative immunity to that curse, but I ain't going into details."
"Nor should you," said Amelia. "As it stands, you are divulging way too much."
Anastasia frowned. "Can you at least tell us what happened afterwards?"
I barked out a laugh. "Yes. I lost. We lost. Horribly. Albus Dumbledore's great plan of pushing me to suicide against Voldemort backfired spectacularly. Knowing him, he probably wanted me to repeat the feat that my mother did for me, granting the people of Great Britain immunity from Voldemort."
"That's…. That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard," sneered Narcissa. "I'll be the first to claim the superiority of sacrificial magic against standard spellcraft, but one life, even if it is the famous Boy-Who-Lived, cannot make everyone else immune to the Dark Lord's magic. Perhaps he could've replicated his mother's actions for the person he loved most, but everyone else… No fucking way!"
"That's Albus Dumbledore for you," grumbled Hestia.
Tonks gave her a sharp look.
"What happened to us?" asked Amelia. "From your tale, it's evident that you were nowhere near as close and connected to each of us back in your original timeline. How did we… end up?"
Dying, she didn't say. She didn't need to say it.
I met her eyes. "You were killed in your own manor in sixth year. Susan survived, but the Bones manor was burned down to the ground. Corban Yaxley rose to the Director position soon after."
Amelia sneered, though it was likely not meant for me.
"Rufus Scrimgeour had been elected war-time Minister back in my sixth year after Fudge resigned. Voldemort killed him, placed an imperiused pawn on the High Chair, and took over Britain in a single day. With Dumbledore dead, you gone, and the other Order members either hiding, captured or dead, there was literally no resistance. The Death-Eaters set up a Muggle Born Registration Commision, routed up all the halfbloods and muggleborns, and sentenced that they were stealing magic from the purebloods."
I met Tonks' eyes.
"All of them were fed to dementors by Voldemort's Ministry."
Shock flitted through the metamorph's eyes as she registered what I was alluding to.
It made me smile.
I should probably try to be a nicer person.
"Hestia and Emmeline were killed in a Death-Eater attack back in my sixth year. I didn't know either of them well, and I won't go into details, but let's just say that Dumbledore knew of the attack, but did nothing to maintain the security of his spy inside Death Eater Camp."
That broke the camel's back.
"HE WHAT?" Emmeline roared, shooting up. I winced, realising that I had omitted that little bit back when I had given the Cliff's Notes version of my 'struggle' to Emmeline at Greengrass Manor.
"This — this can't be true!" Tonks murmured, her eyes white with terror and denial. "This — it cannot be—"
"Be what? True?" It was my turn to sneer at the obnoxiously stubborn metamorph. "You have been in the Order for what… a year? Two? Tell me what your blasted Order has achieved in all this while! Aside from setting up dossiers to distribute to fellow members about the Boy-Who-Lived they're constantly tracking!"
"That's for YOUR OWN PROTECTION!"
"Yes, you gotta protect the pig before you can slaughter him!"
Tonks reeled.
"You've probably grown up with stories from your mummy and daddy about what it was to live through the last war. I? I've been in a war like that, only worse than the one they talk about. You know what I've seen, Nymphadora Tonks? I've seen families destroyed, houses burned. I've had friends stay awake night after night, listening to the Wireless, hoping that they don't hear news of their friends and families being summarily put to death by the people they elected to power. Kingsley Shacklebolt! Alastor Moody! Remus Lupin! The weasley twins, it goes on and on. You yourself were tortured for a month before they dropped you naked, defiled and dead in the middle of Diagon Alley. And at Hogwarts, muggleborns were captured, raped in the dungeons, and then discarded like useless lumps of —"
"ENOUGH!" Tonks screamed, shutting her eyes and ears. "STOP!"
"Why?" I sneered. "Don't want the truth anymore? Or maybe you just don't want to believe that your great infallible Dumbledore isn't so infallible? It's been sixteen years since my parents were slaughtered by that madman and a fluke allowed Britain respite from him. Sixteen years! And yet, nothing has changed! Nothing! So many were able to escape punishment for their crimes by crying the Imperius defence! Free to continue causing the same problems in society."
The audience was obviously in several stages of shock as they tried processing what I had shared with them over the past two and a half hours. It was obvious that they believed me, even Tonks, and it was equally obvious that my tale had shook them to the core.
"You have a single Ministry-controlled media outlet in focus that prints whatever the Ministry likes. The same people were in power! The same bias towards muggleborn, with the same people sitting at the Wizengamot with the same beliefs as their predecessors! Tell me, just what has your fucking Order of the Phoenix done for this country?"
Narcissa looked distinctly uncomfortable.
And you know what? I can't even blame that man! He just does what he thinks best because of morons like you that put him on that pedestal, let him pretend he's Merlin reborn, and follow him like sheep!"
'And now you want everyone to follow you?" Anastasia asked curiously.
"I don't need anyone to follow me," I said, my expression cold and distant. "I have only one goal, to crush Lord Voldemort, destroy Wizarding Britain and rebuild it."
"Destroy —" Tonks began, alarmed.
"Destroy!" I repeated. "You wanted to know what I was doing at the Quidditch World Cup, right? Here's the truth for you. I am connected to Lord Voldemort through this scar. I was able to draw out his knowledge and skill in Necromancy to resurrect the DMLE Director back to life. That's why you have her sitting right here, instead of being just another statistic in the list of those dead in the World Cup. I forced the spirits of the dead and used their wrath to bind them into transforming them into an army to hunt their killers."
"I had heard rumours," began Anastasia softly, eyeing me and Amelia. "Spectres of the dead fighting the werewolves…"
"Without them, we would all have perished," said Amelia without hesitation. "Without Harry's intervention, we would have already lost."
"Lucius Malfoy is dead," I said, and Narcissa looked alarmed. "I killed him, with my own two hands, and forced him to write off the Malfoy fortune to Draco, making it look like he's out in the wind."
"You — you —" Tonks began, unable to accept the surreality of what I was saying. "But the Director —"
"Dead people are notorious at not leaving evidence of their death," Hestia quipped. "I imagine the Ministry can pull off the fugitive status for a year or more."
"More," said Amelia dispassionately, giving a harsh look at Narcissa who happily ignored her.
"It's just the beginning," I said. "I'll raid and destroy Azkaban. I'll tear down the Wizengamot, take the bigotry festering deep within its dark heart and rip it out. When I am done, there won't be any conservative, moderate or extremist factions left. Just magic and those that can wield it. And from the ashes, I will build a new world. One that knows not what it's lost but only what it's been given. A grateful world."
"You'd —" Nymphadora stammered. "You're talking about throwing this world into another war! You — you are —"
"No, just ending the previous one," I sneered. "This time for good."
Notes:
Find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
I'm getting married on 25th, so I'll be pushing the update to 26th instead.
Chapter 138: Inside Track
Notes:
I have a Discord server, Penthouse. If you are interested in joining it, following for more updates and snippets, and discussing SED in general, just hop in on the link.
https://discord.gg/jvzqqvHhr7
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 3 - THE INCUBUS AND NECROMANCER
CHAPTER 138 - INSIDE TRACK
'You could just stay here for the night, you know," said Hestia, as Tonks got ready to leave. "We haven't exactly talked about… things since…"
"You mean that time when you cast exploding curses at your bestie?" asked Tonks.
Hestia looked stricken. "It was — "
Tonks waved it away. "You don't need to justify it. I understand. Things had gone nuts, and I would've stunned or injured Potter, and you didn't have the time to explain."
"Explain?" Hestia snorted. "Would you even have listened?"
Tonks grinned. "I probably wouldn't."
Harry had finished giving what he called his 'prelude' to things, and anything beyond this would be shared between those he trusted explicitly, with several more oaths involved in the process.
Naturally, Tonks had gratefully taken the 'time-out' to leave and think about things. All that she had learned was pretty much world-shattering, and she needed time to digest it all before deciding her way further.
"That thing you did back then… morphing yourself mid-battle like that… It was amazing. I didn't know you could do that. Makes me wonder what else you've been hiding."
"Eh.. call it instinct, I suppose. I was disarmed, and I had two competent witches attacking me."
"Didn't feel like instinct though. We both know how long it took you to get past your clumsiness during Auror training."
Tonks shrugged. She hadn't exactly given it much thought. She had just done whatever had come to her naturally then. She was a metamorphmagus, Change made manifest. It was only natural that her body would change to adjust to situations.
"So… should I ask Dobby to set a room for you?"
"Nah," Tonks shook her head. "It's better I go home. Need some time to digest all the curveballs your lover has thrown my way."
"He can be yours too."
"Subtle, Hestia."
"You sure I can't convince you to shack up with me?" asked her best friend. "Harry's going away with Hermione to Hogwarts, and he'll be there for the major part of the year. It will be lonely here."
"There's still Clearwater."
"Pfft!" Hestia sneered. "Not my type."
Tonks rolled her eyes. "You'll survive, Hestia. Plus, you even have a new job ready."
She was alluding to the new Assistant position that Amelia Bones had offered Hestia.
"Uh, I haven't exactly —"
"You're going to accept that job and you know it," said Tonks. "Anyway, see you later, I guess."
Hestia said nothing and was not smiling.
She was probably just being a good friend, but there was always the possibility that something sinister might befall Tonks by staying the night there. It was entirely possible that Potter's grand statements about walking away after that vow might just be a ruse, and he might just be attempting to kill her off for good.
Or maybe she was just channelling her inner Mad-eye.
Constant Vigilance for the win.
The two-minute walk from the conference room, down the hall and past the outer gates to the closest apparition point outside the wards was uneventful, a silent contrast to the tumultuous storm raging inside Tonks's head as she mentally reviewed everything she had heard Harry Potter, the time-traveller make.
The harsh reality he had shown her. Even now, she couldn't control the sudden tremors, nor did his ominous narration didn't stop ringing in her ears.
Her heart buried itself in her throat. The coldness of her palms and the tightness of her lungs made it hard to breathe. For the longest time, she, like the other members of the Order — everyone threw their all into making things better. They trained daily, risked life and limb, broke bones, and regularly risked their jobs in an attempt to gain information, spy on relevant people, and create strategies to ensure that the Death Eaters weren't gaining power. Members of the Order periodically visited the giants, ensured that the vampire clans were not terrorising the local folks in the extremes of the continent, offering betterment for werewolves to motivate them to shift from Greyback's control into becoming more peaceful and living a happy, civilised life in Britain. Of course, such changes took time, so patience was the key. They believed that because of them, the corruption in the Ministry was being kept in check, that Harry Potter, beacon of the light, was growing up safe.
Tonks wanted to believe that the Order, that she was making a difference. Yet, like Potter had pointed out, the situation was still the same. The same murderers were in power. Occasionally there would be good news, like Arthur getting a successful raid in Malfoy Manor. Information would be collected, evidence gathered and placed in a way to make it look like Kingsley and herself were doing excellent work, allowing them to rise in the DMLE, and gain more support. Make things better. But then Lucius Malfoy or some other Pureblood bigot would come in, throw their gold, and all their good work would go down in the drain. The people in prison would be released, and the DMLE would go back to collect evidence for a new case, attempt a re-capture and the cycle continued, seemingly without end.
And then Harry Potter happened. He twisted Lucius Malfoy's littler plan onto itself, and decimated over three-fourths of the rogue werewolf population troubling Wizarding Britain for decades in a single night. Lucius Malfoy was dead, yet the DMLE was now keeping him 'alive' and a fugitive, just so they could use the advantage and scour the entire country for the other criminals and capture them. Several of the blood purists that were following Lucius's path were imprisoned and sent to Azkaban. Those left were too scared to go back to crime. Diagon Alley was breathing again. The apothecaries were actually happy to do business. Even Knockturn Alley felt more excited to do business.
Harry Potter, one who had admitted to murdering Lucius Malfoy, and practised Necromancy to commit unspeakable actions, had done more for Britain than the Order had done in decades.
How was that fair?
Hestia probably thought her too egotistical, too blind in her unshaken belief in Dumbledore's ideology and way, but Tonks wasn't. She noticed things too. Ever since Potter had taken over Sleekeazy, there had been a lot more hiring of halfbloods and muggleborns in the company. Penelope Clearwater, the talented muggleborn that had been forced to waitressing at Fortescue, was actually the head-researcher, leading Potter's company Moonforge into new developments, and hiring muggleborn, pureblood and halfblood alike, without the least bias.
And as horrified as Tonks was about whatever had transpired with the Director, she preferred her alive than dead. That Bones could utilise the Malfoy fortune to bolster her army after years of Lucius Malfoy being a thorn on her side was both ironic and amusing.
The real question was — whose army was it? The Ministry's, or Harry Potter's?
Truth be told, Tonks was still flabbergasted and traumatised at the idea that the Boy-Who-Lived, time-traveller or otherwise, was preparing to go offensive against the current government. That he already had the defensive and offensive wing under his influence was a horrifying fact. Potter's desire for vengeance was too raw, too distinct, too exposed for it to be false. He was no child, he was a war veteran that was now acting out of sheer paranoia of what was to come, alternate timeline or otherwise, and was willing to throw the tentative peace everyone was enjoying into the brutality of war. No matter how valid his points were, no matter how well-intentioned his plans were, it was the stark truth that wars meant tremendous collateral damage. While Potter might not be a magical titan of Dumbledore or the Dark Lord's league, he showed tremendous potential to be there in due time. But more importantly, his insidious ability to charm ladies occupying prime positions in society was far more dangerous than his raw power.
Amelia Bones, Director of the DMLE. And Susan, her niece and the future Lady of House Bones.
Emmeline Vance, Head-Obliviator.
Anastasia Greengrass, Lady of the Greengrass clan, and according to the recent reports, the brain behind the Company's success with greenhouses. Not to mention her connection with the Selwyn dynasty.
And finally, there was Narcissa Black. Even without the Malfoy name, she was a viper, one that potentially knew of hidden skeletons in the closets of those Lucius worked closely with. If nothing else, she'd be a veritable source of blackmail material for Harry to use at his whim.
And it was just a couple of months into the summer.
Tonks had paid attention to the news. Harry Potter's actions had earned him commendations in France and Bulgaria and other nations. Given his current political and economical standing, if he were to establish connections with House Delacour, and others, he could very much influence matters on a world-level.
He would become a titan.
And when these titans fought, it was the common populace, the grass, that suffered the most.
Unacceptable.
Not for the first time, Tonks cursed herself for taking the vow. If that hadn't restrained her, she could've reported his heinous crimes and intentions to her senior. Auror Robards shared her zeal for justice, and the fact that his own boss was working with Potter wouldn't make Robards pause. But even if she could have done it, would it really be the right thing to do?
Potter was a criminal, and he was going to commit even more crimes. But if she stopped him, unveiled his actions to the public, perhaps even sent him chained to Azkaban for lifetime, what would she accomplish?
She'd uphold the law. Yes. But would it serve justice?
People like Nott would take advantage of Potter's actions and cause unrest in society. Potter's companies would be denigrated, their registrations cancelled, their employees sent back to the streets, to the life of unemployment or worse, slave labour like they were enjoying before this summer. Amelia Bones, who had been the backbone of the DMLE, would have to resign, and the DMLE would be crippled in her absence. And in the middle of all of it was the Dark Lord….
One that Madam Bones had apparently encountered very recently, together with Emmeline and Potter himself.
What had happened then? Since they were alive and fine, either there was no clash, or the Dark Lord was weak, or they managed to escape before the monster could kill them. Tonks realised she wouldn't get any answers until she swore the necessary vows.
Vows that would mean betraying the Order, betraying the Ministry, betraying Albus Dumbledore, and working with a paranoid sociopath that was hell-bent on bringing war to the nation.
Would she do it?
Could she do it?
Hestia had deserted the Order. As had Emmeline Vance. It was obvious that Potter was aiming for an all-women cabal for himself, probably something to do with his sexual powers. No doubt that was why he was angling for her. Her metamorph powers would be dead useful for intelligence gathering, putting false alibis, and spreading misinformation. She would —
Halfway down that thought lane, Tonks paused suddenly, for up ahead, she noticed two suspicious blue-robed, hooded figures at the edge of the alleyway that led to her house. They didn't seem to notice her at first, and out of instinct, she paused, and shifted slightly to the right to see them from behind a pillar. Then, one figure turned to look in her direction, and instantly camouflaged themselves against the yellow wall behind them.
Amateur.
Tonks instantly morphed her eyes, her eyeballs turning flatter at the back, and more rounded overall. Her vision shifted from the usual 20/20 to a 20/5, generating a 340-degree visual field, with far superior depth perception, allowing her to see things twenty-feet away with absolute clarity.
Pulling out her wand, she instantly disillusioned herself. As a metamorph, illusion spells came deadly easy to her. She cast an anti-gravity charm at the two camouflaged figures. The sensation of suddenly losing one's footing was extremely disorienting, and Tonks took advantage of that by firing consecutive stunners. She stayed for a moment, waiting for potential attackers that were still hiding, and when nothing came out of the shadows, spellfire or otherwise, Tonks cancelled her disillusionment, and walked towards her incapacitated attackers.
"Disappointingly easy," she said. Restraining them with a quicksand spell, and relieving them of their wands, she revived them.
"Now, who sent you?"
"I did."
Tonks whirled behind, her eyes widening in shock at the person's identity, her wand almost halfway raised, before the familiar voice whispered.
"Sleep."
Sometime later, Tonks woke up with a pounding headache. A brief glance told her that she was lying on her bed, in her apartment, and that there was someone, or more, in the very room with her, watching her. For a moment, she wondered if her worst fears about Harry Potter attempting an assassination on her had come true, but then the memory of the last face she had seen swam before her eyes.
No! She told herself. It couldn't be him! It couldn't be him! There were endless possibilities! Polyjuice, transfiguration, illusion spells, and so on. Shaking her head slowly, she realised she was unharmed, a fact that actually surprised her in light of how such encounters usually went. Then, she stiffened in worry. Her wand was not in her holster, nor anywhere in her immediate vicinity.
Then she turned around and found her attacker sitting in the same room, patiently waiting for her to wake up.
"Who are you?" she demanded.
"Albus Dumbledore," said the old wizard sitting peacefully in the chair before her. "And while I could go through the list of passphrases to prove my identity, I'm afraid time is of the essence. Hence —"
He flicked his wand, and Tonks felt her eyes sting, as something that was apparently placed there was switched with empty air, and two pairs of magical lenses appeared on the man's open palm.
That — was that thing in my eyes all this time?
"What's —"
Another spell hit her, petrifying her for good. Tonks watched, shocked, surprised and a lot more intimidated than she'd have liked as Albus Dumbledore placed the lenses upon another contraption the size of a cup, which let out strange noises. One of the blue-robbed individuals conjured a vial and held it at one point of the contraption. Tonks watched with growing dread as a memory-thread began to fizzle out of the contraption, collecting at the base of the vial. The figure handed the vial to Dumbledore who inserted it into the pensieve floating next to him.
A memory? Of — Of what had happened earlier? Her feet went cold. She had taken oaths to not say a single word. That device, if it had been planted in her all this time, if it could truly generate the memory of the event, then she — she —
"You must be wondering what this is," said Dumbledore in his usual jovial tone. "This is the Neuronest, an invention that the BRAIN division of the Department of Mysteries have been working on for quite some time now. You should know that you are, in fact, its first official volunteer."
"I… am?"
The Department of Mysteries? What was going on?
"Yes. It must sound confusing to you, but I promise it will make sense once I say the words."
"...what words?"
He met her eyes, and with a weak smile, said. "Taskforce for Observing and Nullifying Known Scourges."
Tonks frowned. "Was that supposed to mean something?"
"It should kick in any minute now, my dear."
Tonks opened her mouth to shout at the man for spouting nonsense, accuse him of being an imposter, and demand why she was stunned and where her wand was. Instead, she paused midway, blinked her eyes repeatedly, and nearly screamed in pain as a headache greater than anything she had ever felt in her life slammed her down. Images, millions of them, rushed through her mind.
No, not images. Memories.
Her memories.
Memories of her growing as a metamorph, raised by parents with no clue what to do. Being a point of curiosity for the people of Diagon Alley as they came to her mother for treatment.
Memories of her being taken to the Department of Mysteries under promises from Albus Dumbledore to be trained to use her powers properly. Of her developing a secondary personality to fool the entire world.
Memories of her being in school and being bullied and fighting with others, often saving other bullied students from those bullies, all the while trying her best to control her metamorphmagery that never seemed to stay in her control.
Memories of her being trained by the best of self-transfiguration experts in the DOM, including another metamorphmagus from Sweden.
Memories of her applying for Auror training. Getting selected for private training under Auror Moody, yet for some reason, left at Rookie stage despite passing with top marks.
Memories of her being ordered to go through standard Cadet training despite being a fully trained Operative. Agent Flux.
Memories of her being flustered as a Cadet Auror, unsure about what to do with the mystery of Harry Potter.
Memories of her being ordered by Dumbledore to work on Harry Potter to figure out his mystery through whatever ways she finds useful. About their plan to infiltrate, and find out whatever his secret was, without him getting any wiser.
The memories burned themselves into her brain and Tonks began to scream. She had the distinct sensation that she was being restrained by those hooded, blue-robed people. She couldn't care about them, for her skull was several sizes too tight. A chisel was making its way into her brain, carving and slamming away at her core, with reckless abandon.
She squeezed her eyes shut, and slowly began to make sense of all she was seeing. The horror came first, then slow, methodical understanding followed.
Almost as quickly as it began, it ended.
The blue-robbed figures — her Unspeakable team — let her go as she sat on the bed, breathing heavily, letting the memories settle.
"Your plan worked," she said at last, rubbing off a trickle of blood oozing down her left nostril. "Agent Flux at your command."
"Good," said Albus Dumbledore. "I was waiting for any warnings and context that might apply before I view it."
Flux frowned. "...Nothing I can help you with. Whatever happened at Potter's party is strictly between us, and you've no business knowing any of it. Now, can you kindly ask my overly dramatic boss to stop camouflaging himself first? He's not fooling anyone by standing against the wall to your left."
The disillusionment faded, and the man came into focus. He was short, with greying hair, and a neatly trimmed beard. His dark eyes worked well with his impressive moustache, adding weight to his gaze where his stature failed. That, and the fact that he looked very much like a large teddy bear without the moustache, she recalled.
"Hello, Croaker."
"Agent Flux," said Wilbert Croaker, her trainer and Voice of the Unspeakables. "It's about time you returned to work."
"I suppose your age is finally getting to you, Croaker. In case you forgot, I was working all this time."
"Noted," said Croaker. "Now Albus, shall we?"
Dumbledore flicked his wand, and instantly, Flux's world went white.
When her senses returned, she found herself lying on the bed, with an extremely grim-faced Albus Dumbledore and an equally worried Croaker sitting next to her bed. Several of the other Unspeakables were standing at different places in the room, while two healers were busy performing diagnosis on her.
"What's… going on?" she asked, trying her best to ignore the headache tearing through her skull.
"Something unexpected," said Dumbledore. "The moment I activated the memory, you were instantly afflicted with a debilitating psychic attack, one that took me and two of our healers to mitigate."
"To a degree," said Croaker,scowling.
Flux stared at her senior with growing trepidation. "...just what happened to me?"
Dumbledore sighed. "It killed Nymphadora Tonks."
Her eyes went wide. "You can't possibly —"
"The curse was aimed to complete information control, I'm afraid," said the Headmaster. "It did not leave any lasting impacts upon your psychic architecture, but it did, however, utterly eliminate your other personality. You, as you are now, are the only one left. I suppose it's lucky that you have access to all of your other's memories. Indeed, whoever cast this must be quite skilled, and equally sadistic to come up with something insidious like this."
"Emmeline —"
"Lady Vance is many things, my dear, but a collector of obscure psychic curses, she is not. If I had to wager a guess, it would be a spell from the Black Family Library."
"I… I took an oath to —"
"I know," said Dumbledore, stopping her. "You saw me extracting the lenses, and the memory thread from it. The moment I activated the projection, you must have acknowledged that I got the secret from you, and the oath's magic punished you. I'm afraid if you weren't already injected with Felix Felicis before you went to the party, we would've completely lost you."
She took several seconds to register what Dumbledore had just shared with her. Emmeline had used a lethal psychic curse that would have definitely killed her the moment she babbled before someone else. One so insidious that it was able to affect her so lethally despite all the precautions taken by Dumbledore and the Department, as well as being dosed with Liquid Luck.
The sheer ruthlessness both terrified and impressed her.
Wait. She was dosed with Felix. The liquid luck potion caused the drinker to have good luck for a limited period of time, during which they were likely to succeed in all endeavours in which success was possible. The more of it the drinker ingested, the longer their good luck would last, but once the lucky phase was over, causality would catch up and more often than not, could inflict massive misfortune to the individual in a multitude of ways.
And if the liquid luck had lasted her the entire party and afterparty and everything that had happened afterwards then…
"Prof—fesor, what will happen to me once the effects vanish?"
Dumbledore frowned, looking despondent. 'As much as I would like to keep you dosed on the Draught of Living Death for the next few weeks, I would not dare to cheat causality like that. It is entirely possible that the curse might act out in an unexpected way, and interact with the draught to produce unexpected results."
"You could die," said one healer. "Or perhaps land in a coma for a long while. Or it could severely affect your main psychic personality. The possibilities are endless. Thankfully, we have managed to mitigate the curse to a great extent. Whatever happens, we will be ready."
The healer's words did little to ease her. Still, risking her life was part and parcel of being an Unspeakable.
"What are we going to do about Potter? I imagine you… have watched…"
She hissed out loud, feeling her head burn. Quite literally.
"It's best if you do not even mention anything at this point," said Dumbledore. The man looked every bit of the hundred and sixty five years that he was. "And no, we haven't. We were too busy trying to ensure your survival."
"But I'm certain you won't be affected by it now," said Croaker.
That sounded better. Having two personalities in one body was a tricky thing to manage. Especially with her 'Rookie Auror Tonks' personality being utterly unaware of her other self, while the latter watched and observed everything through her eyes. Normally, this was never a problem, except for those specific situations when the skills and instincts of one bled into another.
Like at the night of the World Cup.
Not that she'd have to concern herself with that any longer.
"Okay,' she said at last. "I'll keep that in mind."
"Fine," said Dumbledore, standing up. "I suppose it's about time we decode the mystery of Harry Potter for good."
Notes:
Find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Got married. It took way more time to get back to work. Next update comes on 5th.
Chapter 139: Seducing Destiny
Notes:
I have a Discord server, Penthouse. If you are interested in joining it, following for more updates and snippets, and discussing SED in general, just hop in on the link.
https://discord.gg/jvzqqvHhr7
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 3 - THE INCUBUS AND NECROMANCER
CHAPTER 139 - SEDUCING DESTINY
For the next three hours, the Unspeakables and Albus Dumbledore watched the entire memory, with a few Unspeakables even taking note of facts. Occasionally, Dumbledore would pause the memory at key moments, and replay a particular portion over and over until he got what he was searching for, and then it would play on. Meanwhile the healers kept Agent Flux… or Tonks, given that there was no difference now — under complete observations, actively legilimizing her time and again, to check if her psychic architecture was showing any activity from the secret's revelation without Potter's active consent.
"No sign of psychic breakdown," a healer evaluated. "Still, it might be better to keep her under complete observation for a week, just to be sure."
"That isn't an option, Helena," said Dumbledore. "I'm afraid Auror Tonks needs to be in touch with Harry Potter." The man frowned heavily as he uttered the Boy-Who-Lived's name. "If she is unavailable, it might cause suspicion. It is unlikely that Narcissa Black and Anastasia Greengrass would betray him, in which case, I imagine the full suspicion would fall on Auror Tonks."
"You think… I'll be attacked?" asked Tonks.
"Not by Harry Potter, I imagine," said Dumbledore, conjuring a plush seat next to her, and sitting on it. "From what I have seen, he is fiercely protective of those who fought the good fight against Voldemort, and that includes you. The raw emotion he displayed was not faked, that much I can ascertain, at least from this memory. And as much as it pains me, Miss Jones and Lady Vance might be less forgiving, but even they would not attempt to kill you. And Amelia Bones is a woman of an unbreakable moral code. They would attempt to obliviate you, perhaps even restrain you in some private custody. But not kill."
"But Narcissa Black would."
Dumbledore stayed silent.
"You are unusually tolerant about a war-crazy time-traveller that intends to wreck the nation apart, Albus," said Croaker. "A contrast compared to someone that supposedly led the boy around like a… how did he put it? A pig raised for slaughter. I have to ask, Albus, just how much of that is potentially true?"
The Headmaster of Hogwarts closed his eyes. "More than I would like to believe, I'm afraid."
"So you did lead him like a —"
"I certainly did not want to sacrifice Harry Potter!" thundered Albus Dumbledore. "Certainly not for the Greater Good! I have seen countries razed down to the ground because of the Greater Good. But yes, whatever Harry Potter claimed to have happened in this memory, is definitely in the list of possibilities. It feels like… a version of Me went out of his way to make several erroneous judgements and then acted upon them with the zeal we share. And while I can excuse some of it given that it is an alternate universe, and an alternate version of myself, there are certain parts that I find extremely troubling."
"Like what?" Tonks asked.
Dumbledore raised his wand, and quickly cast a complex privacy charm, concealing himself, Croaker and Tonks inside it.
Then he met her eyes.
"My mother Kendra was Cassandra Trelawney's first cousin. And while she was no Seer, she was blessed with a unique precognitive ability, one that allowed her to manipulate probabilities, to a very small extent. My brother Aberforth never manifested it, and my sister…."
He trailed off for a moment, looking out of the window at the dark night outside. "My own ability with it is slightly stronger than my mother's. It allows me to have very precise hunches about things. I might not know what lies around the next bend, or the right moment to strike or retreat, but occasionally, my instincts demand that certain things must be done, certain actions be taken, even if those actions or things might not make any sense at any given moment. But somehow, those actions always, always end up with outcomes like I predict them."
That… was trippy, Tonks decided. Being a walking-breathing self-altering being was a spectacular thing, but what did that matter when you were dealing with someone that always knew to make the right moves? In fact, the more she thought about it, the more sense it made. Dumbledore had allowed 'Auror Tonks' to stay flustered and be ensnared in the whirlwind that was Harry Potter. At one point, she was even so addicted to the idea of being loved and fucked by Harry Potter that she had pleasured herself for nights on end.
It had been… distracting.
He had allowed Harry Potter to make moves of his own, and never interfered in anything, even when Potter used Lucius Malfoy's plot to gain significant power for himself and his little coven. And yet, he just happened to summon Tonks, prepare her with magical enchantments, and set her up to spy on Potter for this one meeting.
How much of that was his foresight, and how much, the influence of his prophetic condition? Unless, both things were the same?
"Unfortunately, like all impressive powers, the faults that lie within it are equally impressive," said Dumbledore. "My precognition is not monitored by any moral codes, nor does it grant me any degree of omniscience. If my understanding of a situation is flawed, I'm afraid it leads me down a spiral path of even greater flaws, while granting me the desired outcome."
"And you believe this is what happened in his time?"
The elder wizard nodded.
"As horrifying as Harry Potter's intentions are, I truly cannot blame him for acting out as a result of what transpired in his time, any more than I can blame my other self for pushing him through those particular circumstances. Mind you, I am very much in opposition to what he intends to cause, but I cannot, in all honesty, blame him for thinking that way."
"Then… you believe that he has truly travelled through Time? That everything he said is… I mean, it might happen?"
"Might, might not," said Dumbledore, caressing his beard softly. "His was a different world than ours. I would go out on a limb and say that things were…. Simpler, for lack of a better word, in his reality. For instance, consider the event when Cornelius Fudge appointed Dolores Umbridge as the Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor, and I… I somehow, allowed that woman to torture students using a Blood Quill of all things, simply to avoid confrontations with the Ministry."
"Oh, I don't know Professor," said Tonks casually. "You did choose to ignore Potter's warnings when he informed you of Lucius Malfoy's plans to cause trouble at the World Cup."
Even Croaker was looking at him speculatively.
"It was… necessary," said the elder wizard softly. "Though in hindsight, his words do make sense. As does something else."
He pulled out two memory-strands from his temples, and inserted them into the pensive.
These are two of my memories of my encounters with Harry Potter recently. You might find something incredibly interesting in these."
Tonks joined the other two into the pensieve memory. The venue was, unsurprisingly perhaps, Hogwarts. An unused classroom, littered with destroyed remains of chairs, tables and cupboards. Harry Potter was standing there, with his wand lying on the floor, looking utterly defiant and yet lost at the same time. A far-throw from the confident politician she had just visited.
"This is my memory of Harry Potter, just a day before the term finished," said Dumbledore.
"I'm just trying to do something I'm naturally good at before my time goes out."
The memory-Dumbledore frowned.
"I'm afraid you have me at a loss, Harry."
"Tell me professor, say you wake up one morning, and find yourself transported into your favourite story."
Tonks narrowed her eyes. Favourite story?
"My favourite story…"
"You wake up. Maybe even as a character you like. Or dislike. Doesn't matter. There's an almost guaranteed fact that you are never getting out. So what do you do? You know the story, and you know how things end. So do you try to make the best of it, despite knowing very well what happens in the end? Or do you laugh at the stupidity of it all, and just do whatever the hell you want?"
Memory-Harry picked up his wand from the floor.
"Because that's what I feel, Professor. Professor Trelawney said the Dark Lord will rise again. So whether I fight him, or run away and save my life, it doesn't matter. No matter what I do, he will rise again. And he'll come for me. You know he will. So what does it matter? When everything is prior ordained through prophecy?"
Prophecy. Both she and Croaker mouthed at the same time.
"Just keep watching," said Dumbledore.
Memory-Harry chuckled. It had no mirth in it.
"Except this isn't a story, and yet, I'm aware of how things end. The Dark Lord will rise once again, and he'll be more powerful than ever. And I, like an idiot, let his servant go free. If it were just my fault, I'd understand. But if it's prophesied, then that means– that means that I don't even have free will. That my successes and my failures only exist because someone up there wanted it to happen, and nothing I say or do will change that."
Tonks could actually taste the bitterness in his voice. It was the same as the one he displayed through his words earlier during the meeting.
"And if that is indeed the case, then am I really to blame for whatever wrong I do? Is Voldemort? If all our actions are the product of some higher force, making us do things– then are we even responsible for our own actions? Should I instead not… hate this higher force that decided it was necessary for my parents to die just so Wizarding Britain could get a Boy-Who-Lived?"
"And STOP!" said Dumbledore firmly, giving Tonks a deep look. "It's time we look at the other memory."
With a flick of his wand, the setting changed, and this time, it was inside Harry Potter's apartment. Excelsior.
"This is right after Harry informed me of the dream. Where he saw Voldemort planning something with Lucius. He displayed extreme hostility against the Order and accused me of multiple things back then, but we only need to focus on one specific thing."
"Is it really a good idea to study just one selective part of the memory, Albus?" asked Croaker. "We might be missing the necessary context."
"Feel free to watch the entire thing later at your leisure, Wilbert," said Dumbledore. "But for now, we need to focus on the essential bit."
He twisted his wand, and the memory began to speed through the entire scene until it paused at one particular point.
"Professor Dumbledore, you are a Legilimens, are you not?"
"I am."
"I was wondering…" said Memory-Harry slowly. Cautiously. "If you could help me extract that dream. It would give us knowledge into Voldemort's mind."
"I doubt that is the wisest or the safest thing to do, Harry," said Memory-Dumbledore. "Dreams are crafted by the subconscious, and tampering with them with legilimency is an intricate and dangerous thing to even contemplate. If you make the slightest error, you could very well be damaging your mind."
"So you're saying I should just let go?"
The sudden shift in his posture had Tonks go alert. She knew this behaviour. It was the same displayed by her mentor Mad-Eye when talking about Death-Eaters.
"I have other means of gaining information about his activities, Harry. I cannot, in good faith, bring you harm while doing that."
"But sir, surely this is a pressing concern. You told me that on the night Voldemort tried to kill me, he left a part of himself in me—" Tonks noted the way Memory-Dumbledore stiffened. "You told me he gave me powers, a future and this scar. That I can speak Parseltongue because Voldemort can speak Parseltongue. And now I have this ability to control Necromancy through this scar. What if — what if Voldemort is trying to make me like him?"
"Harry, having an ability does not make you evil."
"That's bullshit!" Memory-Harry slammed the table between them in indignation. "I've felt that power, professor. It's cold, alien and wrong. I felt like I was growing detached from the entire world, from life itself. It was trying to control me, to corrupt me. Whatever is in this scar, it's evil, and if you don't do something about it…. I will."
"What… will you do?"
"It's like you say, Sir. Do what is right, not what is easy. I have access to the Black townhouse. The Blacks have one of the largest libraries when it comes to the Dark Arts. I'm sure I'll find something there. And even if I don't find anything about how to get rid of this scar, I'll find some way to control this power. I refuse to let Hermione, or anyone else suffer if it acts out again, regardless of how unsafe it might be for me."
"Well, he is committed, if nothing else," said Croaker softly. "I can respect that dedication."
"I do not disagree with your sentiments, Harry. But I cannot stress on how dangerous it can be, for you. And yet, you have raised excellent points. Allow me some time to sleep on it, and I will get back to you. The Quidditch World Cup is later this week, and I hear Arthur has gotten tickets for you. How about we resume this talk once you reach Hogwarts?"
"You're deflecting again, sir. Every year I ask you why He's after me, and every year you shut me up with non-answers. How long? Why don't you just tell me why he's so obsessed with killing me? Why did he try to kill a baby on Halloween 1981? Why did I survive? How did I survive? And what by Merlin, is in this freaking scar?"
"Uh, Professor," said Tonks, pausing the memory. "If he has travelled back in Time, then he already knows it all. This was just… a way for him to get you to change your ways."
"No," Dumbledore breathed. "It was his way of confirming that I am just like the Albus Dumbledore of his reality."
"I know you will not accept my decision, but regardless, I will stick to it, Harry. Give me some time. You have given me a lot to think about. But I promise the next time we have a talk, we will talk in detail about the scar, and what we can or cannot do about your dreams."
"So you'll just let it go? Voldemort mentioned something to do with the Quidditch World Cup. What if he's planning something? What if people die?"
"Harry. The Quidditch World Cup is an international event. The Ministry of Magic has called in every single Auror, Hit-Wizard and Trainee to maintain control."
"The same Ministry that let my godfather rot in prison while Pettigrew roams free? You're talking about the same Ministry whose Head takes his cues from Lucius Malfoy! The same Ministry that arrested Hagrid instead of finding the Chamber of Secrets because it needed to be seen doing something."
Even Tonks was taken aback by the sheer vitriol in his tone.
"Listen to me, Harry," said memory-Dumbledore quietly. "I understand that you want to act. And believe me, I know what it is like. I was in your shoes, subtle and quick to anger. I too was annoyed by the indecision and slowness of the Ministry, and the magical world, and wanted to take a radical approach to things. And it shattered my life. It lost me everyone I cared for."
He exhaled. "When that happened, I promised myself something. I promised myself that I would live my life on my own terms. That I knew the difference between right and wrong, and that I would not cross the line. I wouldn't allow myself to become like…"
"Like whom, Grindelwald?"
Memory-Dumbledore pursed his lips.
"...Yes."
"You're not like Grindelwald, Professor. I've read all about the last war. Grindelwald was a man of action. You, a man of procrastination."
"He's attempting to make you angry," noted Croaker.
"And he almost succeeded," said Dumbledore slowly.
Tonks agreed. She could sense the sudden surge of magic from the man, before his phoenix let out a soulful trill.
"You are a strong wizard, Harry. Just like me, you feel it. The allure of power. In your own words, you know how wrong the power of Necromancy is, and yet, you state that you will not hesitate to learn to tame it, despite knowing how dangerous it is. But these are treacherous waters, Harry. If you try to navigate them, you shall lose yourself."
"Then help me and I won't."
"I'm not an expert in necromancy, Harry. But what I do know is that nothing good ever came out of it. Some things are more valuable than power, Harry."
"Yes, like those people who might die if we don't take timely action."
Tonks and Croaker exchanged sharp looks.
"Take the high road if you want to, Professor. Choose to walk away from this opportunity to delve into Voldemort's mind and help me control this power. Call it your principles, call it doing the right thing, as you're so fond of. But after all that, when the people lie dead, people that could have been saved if we acted on this information… every one of those lives will be on your head."
Tonks flinched.
"You're the greatest wizard in Britain, Professor," Memory-Harry was pleading now. "And I like to think that I'm no slouch either. I might not have your knowledge or your control, but I have power. We both know it. I don't know why I was given this scar, and why I have access to Voldemort's knowledge, but if I turn aside this power — power that only I can take up — then I abandon my commitment to protect those I love. People that are not strong enough to do it themselves."
"It isn't your responsibility, Harry —"
"Is that what you told yourself when Grindelwald was massacring thousands while you were teaching in the safety of Hogwarts halls?"
Memory-Dumbledore flinched, and for once, just stared at Memory-Harry.
"I'm not you, Professor. I am not going to walk away, and give myself excuses about right and wrong just to make me feel better about it. That's an act of a coward, and I am not one."
"No Harry. That you are not. But if you open that door, you might not be able to close it again."
"I will. When the darkness was pouring into me, I tried to defend myself, but clearly, I was weak. But I won't always be. If you won't, I will ask Madam Bones. If she denies, then someone else. Someone, somewhere will agree with me and teach me Occlumency. Teach me to gain control of my mind just in case the darkness tries to engulf me again."
"I believe we have reached an impasse, Harry," said memory-Dumbledore at last. He pushed the chair back and readied himself to leave. "I cannot, in good faith, condemn you to a future of darkness, and you clearly have strong feelings on the subject. My advice is that you develop a neutral perspective to things, choose the pragmatic approach instead of going ahead with your emotions. We will talk about this after the term begins."
"I suppose we will, sir."
A flick of his wand, and Tonks was back in her room, with a despondent Dumbledore and a silent Croaker, throwing speculative glances at the former.
"I'll admit this," said Croaker. "The boy gave you enough chances to work with him. And when you refused, he acted in a manner compliant with what he's experienced in his own time. I have to ask, Albus, exactly why did you pay no heed to his words?"
"I did," said Albus. "I made inquiries, and I found that Lucius was away from Britain for quite some time. I concluded that if Lucius was the one that was serving Voldemort, then chances of anything happening at the Quidditch World Cup were low. That man has spent way too long working his way up the political hierarchy to give it all up in a suicidal mission. It is a role that he is quite unsuited for."
"And yet, he enabled a genocide so traumatic that not even the Dark Lord, even at the height of his power, had ever accomplished," Croaker pointed out.
"Again," sighed Dumbledore. "I am not omniscient, and when I make mistakes, it tends to be worse than most."
"You know what else I noticed?" asked Croaker. "Potter said he would not abandon his commitment to those he loved. Those that couldn't protect themselves."
He looked at Tonks.
She took a backstep. "Uh… you can't possibly —"
"We have seen that he has displayed a great degree of attention on you," said Croaker. "He offered you a place to stay in his building the first time you met him, did he not? Your friend Miss Jones has also attempted to manipulate you into joining him, and your other self almost was. Even now, he let you in on his deepest, darkest secrets. You have to note that there is a serious degree of trust that Harry Potter is showing towards you."
"You cannot possibly mean —"
"That he has feelings for you?" asked Croaker. "Of that, I cannot be certain. However,I did note the amount of work he has done on you — a rookie auror. Metamorph or otherwise, I don't believe he is truly after your skills. A man of his power, wealth and connections has enough ways to gain intelligence without needing a metamorph."
He turned to Dumbledore. "All three memories point out one single fact: Potter is quite skilled at triggering strong emotional responses in his target audience, just by alluding to things instead of saying them out loud. It is an excellent bait, no doubt, but I also sense the mind of someone that hoards secrets with the same grip as a swordsman does with his blade. Just like you."
"You mean to say he learnt from the best," murmured Dumbledore sadly.
"What do you want me to do, Professor?" Tonks asked. "I don't think Potter would be willing to divulge any further information, not without subjecting me to even greater and more stringent oaths. And this time, I won't have a second mind to hide behind. If Potter's charms get to me then…."
"And yet," said Dumbledore, looking utterly grave and every bit his age. "There are questions. How did he gain the powers of an Incubus, something that has been long lost from this world? How did he turn back time? How does he enchant these important and powerful women, and just how much of that is motivated by the demon within him? These are important questions that need answered, and you, my dear, are indeed the best option we have to further decipher his mystery."
"That's a terrible idea," Croaker spat. "You're vouching for letting one of my best voluntarily walk into the lair of someone that, apart from having all sorts of unexplained powers, also knows her in the future? Preposterous! I say we let the Unspeakable teams grab the boy and let the SI unit have their way with him. Perhaps we could even offer him a choice between graciously volunteering and being thrown through the Veil?"
Dumbledore glowered at Croaker. "We are not doing anything to Harry Potter, time-traveller or not. I don't believe I need to educate you on the Department of Mysteries Charter, Wilbert. No matter what Harry claims, no matter the mistakes my other self might have inflicted upon him, I am not him. We do not tangle with Prophecies. Ever."
"He's not our Harry Potter. For all we know, the prophecy might not even apply to him anymore."
"I truly wish that was true, Wilbert," said Dumbledore. "But it isn't. Perhaps our Harry Potter was indeed subjected to the Dementor's Kiss alongwith Sirius Black. If that has happened, then I have truly and inevitably failed him, albeit in an entirely different way. Perhaps the time-travelling soul was able to inhabit the soulless body at that particular point. Or perhaps, the real Harry Potter simply merged with his alternate form. The possibilities are… well, diverse. Whatever his history, he is our Harry Potter. That and… there is one more thing."
Both Tonks and Croaker looked at him curiously.
"The Prophecy that has marked Harry Potter claimed that he would have a power the Dark Lord knows not. I have often claimed that Love is that power, for it was his mother Lily's love that prevented Voldemort from killing him. That he has gained the powers of, and I'm not sure how — an Incubus, is quite telling. The incubi of old were lust given form, but their followers loved them and treated them like gods. And at the same time, his raw hatred for Voldemort, for the current system, and for me, arises from his failure to save those he loved. It's an interesting inversion — that Voldemort chose the path of Death, while Harry Potter is evolving on the path of Love."
"You are forgetting one thing, Albus," said Croaker. "He is also capable of performing Necromancy. The boy has both stated and demonstrated that he is able to tap into Voldemort's—"
"He has," said Dumbledore, interrupting the man. "But you forget the other bit of the Prophecy."
"And the Dark Lord will mark him as an Equal," Tonks repeated. Harry had, almost carelessly enough, repeated the Prophecy verbatim before all of them. She didn't know if he was simply that overconfident of his control over his information, or Emmeline's skill to ensure the vow couldn't be circumvented, or if he simply didn't care.
"Yes," said Dumbledore softly. "His equal."
"A fellow necromancer," she concluded. "Harry Potter would be born with a power the Dark Lord knows not, while the Dark Lord would ensure he became his Equal."
"There are parallels," said Dumbledore. "Both are halfbloods. Raised by muggles. Parselmouths. Powerful in their own right. Voldemort, through his ability to instil fear in others, and Harry, because of his mother's protection and his Incubus powers. Both wield phoenix wands, whose feathers came from Fawkes. Both have gathered a group of powerful individuals with plans to infiltrate the Ministry and are absolutely ruthless, amoral and precise with how they want to go about doing it. And while Voldemort himself has gained immortality through Necromancy, Harry might just show us what an Incubus is truly capable of."
"He might have already shown it," said Croaker.
"He what?" demanded Tonks and Dumbledore.
"I did not bring this under consideration earlier, but in the light of recent events, I think I might have underestimated the situation," said Croaker. "There is something that you might not have known. Lily Potter, originally Evans, was hired as an Arcanist for the Department of Mysteries, in the Hall of Prophecies, also known as the Chamber of Destiny."
Tonks blinked. "Lily Potter was… an Unspeakable?"
"She was," said Croaker, and Dumbledore nodded too.
"The fact is," Croaker went on. "Ever since the middle of June, there has been a strange force operating in our world. The Unspeakables operating in the Hall of Prophecy have claimed that several prophecies have gone blank, meaning that the foretold future, which is indeed set in stone, is now altering itself. And this phenomenon has only drastically increased from the moment Harry Potter shifted to his house in London. It seems to me that the more people he interacts with, the more… associations he develops with his Incubus powers, the more he is unwittingly affecting Destiny in unknown and unpredictable ways."
Tonks snorted. "You're telling me that Potter is what… seducing his way to alter Destiny?"
Croaker did not laugh.
"...Fuck."
Notes:
Find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Observation: Post-marriage bullshit is a real thing. Devours your time for days on end.
Next update comes on 11th.
Chapter 140: Taint In My Blood
Notes:
I have a Discord server, Penthouse. If you are interested in joining it, following for more updates and snippets, and discussing SED in general, just hop in on the link.
https://discord.gg/jvzqqvHhr7
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 3 - THE INCUBUS AND NECROMANCER
CHAPTER 140 - TAINT IN MY BLOOD
I watched Tonks leave.
A part of me knew that I was taking a big risk. Nymphadora Tonks was a member of the Order, and utterly loyal to Albus Dumbledore. My experience with Hestia and Emmeline had taught me well that the more complicated the oath, the more the chances of trickling one's way out of things. It would take considerable skill, but no one had ever accused Dumbledore of ever being foolish. Plus, with that terrifying perk of his, chances were he would find a way to extract the information from her without her breaking her oath and suffering whatever consequences would befall her afterwards.
There were like a hundred and forty-six different reasons to restrain her.
But it didn't.
Tonks was an Order member, just like Hestia and Emmeline. The latter two had joined me by their own accord, and compelling Tonks using my charms would tarnish the image I had worked so hard to cultivate. If I compelled her like Death Eaters did with their victims, it would only paint me in a darker light than I was comfortable with.
More importantly, letting her go just felt right.
I know, I'm speaking bullshit. I had been quite careful not to drink from anything other than my own glass, and would have instantly noted if someone spiked my drink or worse, switched it for something else. Yet, there was something at the back of my mind that told me that things were far from simple.
At least, with Nymphadora Tonks.
And then the Screen hit me with the strangest of notifications.
Your Perks have clashed against Fate
You survived!
I blinked. In the background, I could sense others talking in the background. My letting Tonks walk away like that wasn't appreciated by many. Nor was my idea to include people like Narcissa and Anastasia inside this secret group. All of that fell into white noise, as my mind raced, wondering what this new status was about.
Clashed against Fate? What the hell's that supposed to mean?
Perks — Child of Prophecy, Library of Knowledge, Subversive Activist, Culpability, Lording Around clashed against Fate.
You survived!
Perks - Lording Around, Subversive Activist and Culpability have been upgraded. Would you like to combine them with Perks — Child of Prophecy and Library of Knowledge?
For the second time, I went blank. Three perks upgraded out of nowhere? Just like that? For clashing against Fate? How? When? And they'd all combine? Was that even possible?
Library of Knowledge - a manifestation of Hermione's eidetic memory.
Subversive Activist — a perk from Hestia, allowing me to see through conversation patterns and hypothesise precise results out of them.
Culpability — a perk from Susan, operated along similar lines, and allowed me to guilt-trip others the right away to generate the right reactions by triggering the right emotions.
Lording Around — a perk I had gotten courtesy of taming the power of the yenaldooshi spirit and absorbing it into myself.
And finally, Child of Prophecy — being the prophesied one destined to face off the Dark Lord in a final clash? Wait… this brush against Fate. It couldn't be because I had effectively sealed Voldemort away, could it? No, the other perks had little to do with that. Unless, the clash with Fate wasn't a single event but multiple? What had even happened?
Nothing made sense.
In the middle of this, my mouth ignored my parched throat and decided that the rest of me was taking way too long to come to a decision and went ahead with a —
"...yes."
Your Perks have been combined to create an Omniblend.
OMNIBLEND — LIVING THE ROLE
"In the theater of existence, where stories shape reality and belief molds the world, some performers do more than act—they become. Living the Role is the art of stepping beyond the veil of identity, weaving yourself into a persona so convincingly that the audience—and even the universe—accepts it as truth."
EFFECTS
The performer adopts the persona's appearance, voice, mannerisms, and aura with perfect accuracy. He can project immersive, believable illusions based on the story being told, and thus, alter perceptions, memories, and minor physical realities temporarily through narrative conviction.
He can amplify the emotions in the audience, influencing their actions and beliefs. The stronger the performer's emotional connection, the greater the effect's potency.
Living the Role is not just storytelling—it is storytelling made real, a force as inspiring as it is dangerous.
DRAWBACKS
Vulnerable to skepticism; self-doubt, and emotional exhaustion; overuse risks losing the wielder's sense of identity.
I don't know what's more surprising. The fact that this was perhaps, the greatest perk — Omniblend — I ever had in my arsenal, an artful and subtle power that was ideal for manipulating without direct control, leaving even the best of people convinced that I was speaking the truth?
Or that this was the first time I was gaining something that also listed drawbacks?
But most importantly, was this why I had every single one among the audience completely fooled and utterly convinced with whatever bullshit tripe I was feeding them, including Narcissa Black.
No. Especially Narcissa.
The fact that the majority of them were powerful Occlumens was telling.
On the other hand, if this was right, then I was also risking myself, my sense of identity in this manoeuvre. The more convincing the act, the greater my chance of falling into the Role I was playing. If I wasn't careful, I might as well start believing that I am a time-travelling Harry Potter.
Talk about trippy!
" —Arry!"
" —RRRY!"
Someone shook me hard, and pulled me out of my musings.
It was Hestia.
"...Sorry, what?"
"I was just telling you that letting her go like that was a terrible idea."
That surprised me. Regardless of everything else, Tonks was her best friend. Hestia was the last person I expected to agree to restrain Tonks until she was completely and unequivocally mine.
"Frankly Harry," said Amelia. "I'm downright appalled at your complete disregard for secrecy. You might not have cared for them, but your tale contained knowledge of several important Ministry secrets." She gave a withering look in Narcissa and Anastasia's direction. "Secrets that weren't yours to give away."
"I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Your cheek won't make a wrong right, Harry Potter," said Amelia sternly. "The oath might keep her from deliberately revealing your secrets, but we both know that oaths have ways around them if we're being clever about it. And more importantly, it does nothing to keep my secrets. There is nothing stopping Auror Tonks from blabbering about my secrets, or that I know about your deeds and am in support. I practically told her that I knew of her and Kingsley's association to the Order. Do you think Albus Dumbledore won't be able to add two and two together?"
"He probably will, and to a degree, I am expecting her to reveal what she knows to Dumbledore."
"What?" demanded Amelia and Emmeline.
"Why?"
"You should remember that Tonks already knew about your resurrection, Amelia," I told her calmly. "She has been suspicious of me right from the time I first met her in this very house. It didn't help that her best friend and fellow Order member decided to change teams, sleep with me and choose me over their friendship."
Hestia looked away.
"Tonks has had a long list of things to add to her list. Me letting Draco go despite him casting an unforgivable. My deal with Narcissa. That bit about you taking two days off just for me. Emmeline. Tonks was on the roster when Auror Robards was investigating Broderick Greengrass, so she knows of my involvement there as well. And I'm not stupid enough to not realise that she didn't feel my allure back when the Bulgarian veela decided to band together and come for me. Throw in the detonation and everything that followed. If she really wanted to spill your secrets, Amelia, you'd be facing multiple accusations by now."
Amelia had nothing to retort to that, so she settled for a glare.
"As much as I hate to agree, Director," said Emmeline. "Harry has a point. Whatever Harry has shared until now, are the barebones of what happened. This was… how do I put it? The bare minimum needed to get everyone involved onboard without us second-guessing him to be some sort of imposter."
"Even so, that's an awful amount of risk for something so blase,"Amelia scoffed. "I'm certain there were other avenues to pursue if information-sharing was all this was about it."
"You are the Director of the DMLE, Amelia," I said, the first stirrings of annoyance rising within me. "I don't have to tell you that there are plans and then there are plans. There are plans where you must succeed, where you keep the core idea as simple as possible and take every precaution. There are also plans where it is acceptable to fail, and with those you can indulge yourself, and test the limits of your ability to handle complications."
"And you decided that dangling my secrets is the best way to test your ability to handle complications?"
"Yes. Better to dangle a bit of what she already knew and could infer. She ain't stupid."
Amelia was giving me a stink-eye.
"Look," I said, exhaling. "I'm not saying that she won't be a problem. But she's a factor that I know. One I can gauge. Yes, she might just find a way to report everything to Dumbledore, and maybe she even has, but she will also try to limit casualties, if not to protect her known people from getting hurt," I glanced at Hestia, "then at least because she doesn't want to draw attention and complicate her operations. Even if she agrees to selling out my secrets by tricking the oath someway, she'll ensure that things remain peaceful. Not because she wants to protect me, but because the alternative is a terrible madness gripping our nation if they find out that their national hero and the DMLE Director are both involved in something so dastardly. She'll attempt to keep things as they are, and involve the others to a minimum, because she knows that doing so will only help her in the end."
Even Emmeline and the others were nodding slowly.
"And that's all there is?"
That rankled. What the hell kind of question was that?
"What other reason could there be?"
"You might be the Incubus, Harry Potter, and I'm not an accomplished Occlumens for nothing. And it's a no-brainer to see that despite all the reasoning you put forth, you have chosen to display a surprising degree of patience and concern about this one person. It definitely isn't because she is Miss Jones's friend, or because she's an Order member, a Black by blood, or even a metamorphmagus. Psychically, she's a Level-2 Occlumens at best. I guess I'm wondering why you're being so lenient with her, when you've had no compunctions on using your charms on every single one of us present here."
"I only used it because you wanted me to."
"Yes, and it was for a wager. This? This is for something far more dangerous. Do not pretend you're Albus Dumbledore, you're not. You might have saved the nation from crumbling, but it doesn't make it untrue that you committed mass genocide on the Death Eaters and delved into magic most black."
"Well, he is the Black Lord," said Narcissa airily.
Amelia sent her a glare that told everything she thought about her contribution.
"Not helping, Narcissa," I said.
"Was I supposed to?"
"At this rate, we'll probably solve world peace before we arrive at any helpful conclusion," muttered Hestia.
"Why don't you go ahead and just tell me what you think, Amelia," I said. "Why not be frank, like before?"
"Alright, here's frank. Regardless of whatever we share, we all know that none of us in this room, excluding Hermione Granger, shared any kind of emotional attachment with you in your previous life. That much is evident from your description. Me? The DMLE Director that was scorched to death inside the mansion of my forefathers. Hestia Jones and Emmeline Vance? Killed in a Death Eater ambush. Greengrass? You didn't even know that she existed. Malfoy over here? She was playing for the opposite side. And the way you spoke about Hermione Granger suggested that you shared a platonic relationship with her. So who does that leave? Who was the one that you spoke in the most visceral of tones? Who was the one that made you yell out in impotent rage? Every single one of us could see the frustration bleeding through your body language. It was too raw, Harry Potter, like a boiling cauldron.'
"You can't possibly suggest —" Hestia began.
"There is nothing to suggest," said Amelia. "It's easy to see for anyone with the eyes to do so. In his last life, Harry Potter shared something deep and personal with Nymphadora Tonks, and that is the real reason why he refuses to be heavy-handed with her."
A sudden silence dropped in the hall.
"...Harry?" asked Hermione slowly. "Is that… true?"
There comes a time, a single moment in your life, when things simply start to make sense. You gain a certain sense of clarity and you look back at life with wiser eyes as things that were once obscure and incomprehensible become painfully clear. Monks would refer to such a feeling as enlightenment and would dedicate their entire life in pursuit of it. Yet every now and then completely ordinary people going about their daily lives would stumble upon it by pure chance. Just as I did. And in my moment of enlightenment, when the world made infinitely more sense than it had just this morning and the truth was as clear to me as the sun blazing in the sky, I came to a startling conclusion. I realised…
This… All this was because of Living The Role.
My perk, it worked. It had worked so successfully that not only had every single person listening to my tale wholeheartedly believed it, they had read too deep into things. My story had targeted Nymphadora Tonks, and so, I had given the most heart-wrenching performance geared towards making her react. Somehow, that had turned out into Amelia thinking that I harboured deep affection towards Tonks from my previous life and honestly, I couldn't blame her for thinking so.
The signs… they were all over the place.
Talk about serendipity overload.
"Amelia, I —"
The rest of my words perished in my throat, and I screamed, as if someone had just slammed a row of staples into my skin. Pain soared back into my body, inflamed tissue crying out, my bruises throbbing, the edemas beneath my skin pounding with a horrible tightness. Fatigue hit me like a truck. The sensations were so intense, the only way I could tell that I had fallen to the floor was by looking.
And my body abruptly went numb and useless from my stomach down.
That scared the hell out of me.
"HARRY!" yelled several of the women around me, and rushed towards me.
I was on the ground like that for a subjective week, but it could have been only a few seconds before Hermione reached my side, with Hestia and Amelia on the other, with the others right behind them. I knew they were there because I could see them, but their voices swam down to me from what seemed like a great distance among the cacophony of raking sensations scouring my nervous system. They lifted me to a sitting position—my legs started moving again, jerking in a single, gentle spasm.
"Harry!" Hestia asked, anxious. "What happened? What's —"
"It's okay," I said in a ragged voice. "Just suffered from weakness, that's it. Help me up."
"Must be because of the battle earlier," Amelia reasoned. I nodded without meeting her eyes. As skilled as I was, I didn't think I could meet her eyes and smoothly lie. Not as I was right now. Not when I was unable to feel any sense of pressure from them holding me.
Or the temperature.
Or the pain.
All that existed was a numb floating sensation pervading my form. I had been in a similar state when I had run myself into magical exhaustion back at Bones Manor. It meant anything but good news.
The magical screen expanded in front of me, displaying a magnificent status window listing my current affinities and other details. Skimming down the known points, I found my way to the one I was looking for.
Meta-Luck — 35
Still there. That was good. My Meta-Luck, the power to bypass the rules of Cause & Effect and alter Reality upon my own whims, had gone up by 30 units after attempting to save Amelia had brought it down to a measly five. If things went sideways, at least there was that to save my arse.
Just like the Tether perk had promised, every World Anchorage that was fifty percent or greater would gain me 5 units of Meta-Luck. The only exceptions were those that had hit 100%, in which case, I'd get 10 units.
Sadly, the recent 100% anchorages I had gotten from Amelia and Emmeline were all less than a month old, or else it would have boosted my Meta-Luck by another thirty points. And then fifteen more from Susan, Anastasia and Narcissa. Penelope was still an ongoing study and somehow, her natural masochism downplayed my significance in her mind, which was why she was still down at a measly 33% anchorage. Susan would gain a 100% sooner or later, but breaking her mentally had also made it a lot more difficult to enhance my significance more than it already was. I would have to develop my relationship with her further to slowly raise it all the way to a hundred.
And Narcissa was well… Narcissa.
My gaze shifted at the immediate next line and the grin vanished, forming a large scowl.
World Anchor — 820
Required World Anchor — 535
World Anchor 820. I needed at least 300 more points of world anchorage to activate Lecherous Shrine and break even. But despite everything, I was still down by 15 points. And unless I wanted to go back to that night with Romilda, I needed to fuck someone new and get a boatload of anchorage right off the bat.
Tracey, Hannah and her mom were potential options, but I easily dismissed them. School would start in two days, and Tracey was already in a dangerous position working as my spy in Slytherin House. Besides, our relationship was purely transactional, which reduced chances of a rapidly rising anchorage. I already had plans for Hannah and she was going for Neville, so it was best not to soil that particular plot, and Hannah's mum was well, away, and honestly, a boring fuck.
Bottomline. It was time to start searching for new prey.
An easy prey that would shoot up anchorage faster than Hermione guzzling through the History of Magic text.
I winced as my heart spasmed briefly and caused my vision to go white out for just as long. Unlike with all my other injuries I had taken before, this particular one had nothing stopping the painful jolt that went through my nerves.
…Correction. Search for a new prey after I took care of whatever affliction I was suffering from first.
Really, it probably said something about the kind of life I was living. That and the fact that the Screen would inform me if things went seriously wrong.
And for God's sake, why was I feeling so thirsty?
The others helped me to the bedroom right next to the hallroom where we were having the afterparty. I was still able to walk somewhat, if only by mimicking the general movements of walking and breathing.
Muscle memory was convenient like that.
So thirsty…
"Wa… water," I croaked.
"Right away," said Hermione, and rushed out to get some water. Like any other food, drinking conjured water was a terrible idea, especially since it would dissipate soon, causing all kinds of reactions inside the body. Distracting myself, I checked my vitals.
Race — Incubus Lord
AFFINITIES (13)
Transfiguration — 74%
Charms — 91%
Martial Magic — 89%
Dark Arts — 84%
Psychomancy (Occlumency) — 69%
Psychomancy (Legilimency) — 49%
Alchemy — 41%
Spatial Magic — 57%
Magical Analytics — 25%
Magical Sensing — 34%
Runecraft — 33%
Phytomancy — 43%
Eidolonics - 50%
TITLES (3)
RULE-BREAKER
THE ROAD NOT TAKEN
BLACKENED PRIEST
DOMAIN: LECHEROUS SHRINE (Dormant)
AFFLICTIONS: INDOMITABLE LUST (Dormant)
LILIMS (2)
HESTIA JONES
EMMELINE VANCE
PERKS (9)
Tether. Horcrux. Defiant. Devil's Charm. Orgasm Binding. Eye of the Incubus. Decadence Link. Curses Without End. Magical Animagus.
OMNIBLEND (1)
Living The Role
Nothing out of the ordinary. I let out the breath I was holding, convinced that this was something normal. Probably the after-effects of having multiple perks fused together and me performing the role of a time-traveller to perfection.
It would be fine.
Inevitably, I suppose, the Screen showed up right then with something alarming on it.
Spiritual Imbalance Detected!
Necromantic content in blood far exceeds existing balance
Contorting Soul Matrix… Activating Horcrux…
FORCE STOPPED!
…
Necromantic content in blood active
Contorting Soul Matrix… Activating Horcrux….
FORCE STOPPED!
…
And just like that, I knew I was in trouble.
I opened my mouth, or at least tried to, but something was melding my lips together. No, it wasn't that. My mouth was missing. Gone. I searched my face for it, and it was gone.
Just… gone.
Aghast, I searched for answers. This… whatever was happening, it wasn't because of the new Omniblend. Something was triggering the Horcrux to activate courtesy of the necromantic energy in my blood. The same energy that I had absorbed from —
Holy fucking shit —
The answer tore through me like a serrated blade.
Voldemort.
Spirit or not, trapped or not, he was very much connected to me, courtesy of this horcrux. And with him now devoid of a physical body, my incubus powers would no longer affect him, whereas his —
Necromantic content in blood active
Contorting Soul Matrix… Activating Horcrux….
FORCE STOPPED!
…
FORCED RESTART!
Damned Voldemort! Was the dark bastard actually attempting a reverse possession through this damned scar? Why? Why now? Nothing of this sort had happened in the book.
No wait. It had.
Voldemort had sent Harry dreams back in fifth year, and back then, he was ignorant of the true nature of the scar. Had things changed?
System is being overridden!
New functions are being added into the system courtesy of HORCRUX
Base Host is under spiritual possession.
Activating Horcrux….
NO! I yelled inside my mind. This couldn't be happening! Voldemort… He couldn't — there was no fucking way he could —
Unless —
My mind went back to the fight where I had transformed to Necromancer mode to devour Voldemort's energies and keep him from killing Amelia and Emmeline. Killing the Snake had resulted in an explosion unlike anything I had ever expected or seen before, and certainly nothing the books had ever covered. That level of energy carried within it a grudge that could level an entire village if left unobstructed.
I had done the only thing I could.
I had absorbed it all, believing that the Necromancer mode would be able to deal with it.
And it had.
But in my hubris, I had forgotten one simple thing.
I wasn't facing another random wizard. I was facing the greatest necromancer alive.
Lord Voldemort.
Had the worst happened? Had Voldemort realised that I was in fact, his horcrux? Or was the horcrux within me reacting to Voldemort's potent magic in my bloodstream and acting out?
I didn't know! I didn't know!
I panicked.
'Path-Switch to Incubus Lord!' I thought as clearly as possible.
Activating Voluntary Path-Switching
Overriding Existing Anomalies
Rewriting Configuration Baseline
…
Activating Incubus Lord
Path Incompatible with existing magical constitution
Altering magical constitution requires Lecherous Shrine
Lecherous Shrine found Dormant
Quitting…
NO! I screamed inside. Path-Switch! Path-Switch to Incubus Lord —
Anomaly agglomerating..
Forced Activation of Incubus Lord
Path Incompatible with existing magical constitution
Altering magical constitution requires Lecherous Shrine
Lecherous Shrine found Dormant
Lecherous Shrine is being forcefully activated…
Try not to die!
…Shit!
My world went white.
Notes:
Find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Next update comes on 18th.
Chapter 141: Chains Of The Hollow
Notes:
I have a Discord server, Penthouse. If you are interested in joining it, following for more updates and snippets, and discussing SED in general, just hop in on the link.
https://discord.gg/jvzqqvHhr7
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 3 - THE INCUBUS AND NECROMANCER
CHAPTER 141 - CHAINS OF THE HOLLOW
"Biognosis," Narcissa whispered. It was a basic diagnostic charm that identified what was wrong with the victim's body. Instantly, ghostly symbols appeared floating in the air over Harry's body.
"Hmm… according to this, unconscious, yes, but he's fine physically… except for the part where he's dying."
"WHAT?" Several of them erupted all at once.
"Exactly what I said," said the woman, taking a little too much glee at his discomfort. "There's nothing physically wrong with him. But his vitals are fading for no reason. It's like… his life is draining out of him. Events from the afternoon, I assume," she said, giving Amelia Bones a sharp look.
"This afternoon," said the DMLE Director, looking distinctly uncomfortable with all eyes on her. "Harry, Emmeline and I went to hunt the Dark Lord."
"You WHAT?" demanded Granger, who had just come in.
Hestia fisted her hands.
Emmeline Vance fidgeted.
Narcissa's lips curled. "And?"
"And… we took care of him. He's trapped away, for good measure. I don't foresee a situation where he'll be able to free himself any time soon."
"You're tempting fate, Director," murmured Vance.
"Either way," said Amelia Bones sternly. "Point is, things went out of proportion. All three of us should've been dead, but then Harry did his… thing."
"His thing?" repeated Narcissa.
"He saved us," said Vance. "I'm not exactly certain how, but he used Necromancy or something like that against the Dark Lord, and absorbed all that dense energy into him. Of course, how he's able to perform necromancy is another question but —"
"Merlin!" whispered Hestia Jones, her eyes going wide. "It's like how it was back again." She looked at Emmeline in shock. "Remember that night —"
"You can't possibly mean," said the Obliviator, catching on quickly. "All that power is…."
"For those of us that aren't privy to what might have happened before, a little clarification might be better," drawled Narcissa. "It might just help in, oh I don't know, saving his life?"
"Harry is connected to the Dark Lord through his scar," said Hestia. "Just before he went to the Greengrasses, his scar showed him visions of what the Dark Lord was doing."
"So that's how he knew Lucius was involved," Narcissa murmured.
"His scar went out of control, and it started exuding tremendous amounts of necromantic energy. Hermione bore the direct brunt of it."
"Yet she's perfectly alive. And functioning." And uppity.
"Yes," said Jones. "Because Harry pulled it out of her. He was able to summon all that power out and… channel it elsewhere. But if he's absorbed all that energy from the Dark Lord then…"
"It's reacting," said Narcissa. "If it's the Dark Lord's power, and the man himself is sealed away as you say, he might as well be using the power to corrupt Harry through the scar."
"Is that even possible?" asked Anastasia.
"Quite," said Narcissa. "I'm assuming that time-travelling, dark-lord defeating hero or not, Potter is no necromancer. He's too… soft to have what it takes to be a true necromancer. The necromantic powers belong to the Dark Lord, and Potter is somehow channeling them through this scar of his."
Narcissa paused, and cast several more spells at the scar, but to no avail.
"The Dark Lord can use the principles of Contagion to form a link between himself and the power that is definitely his, and use this scar as a medium to influence the energy's current host. You-Know-Who has always been a gifted practitioner of the Dark Arts. I wouldn't put it beyond him to attempt a long-distance possession if he was at the peak of his power, but as he is now, he could very well attempt to devour Potter's power from inside."
"Killing him by proxy," Anastasia concluded.
"Precisely."
"What are we doing about this?" asked Vance.
Narcissa looked at her, a sneer already forming in her features at the idea of working with someone so… puritanical in taste. Then she remembered that the woman was married and yet fucking a boy her Draco's age, and she felt a little better.
Pausing, she cast several more spells at him. If he wasn't her liege Lord, she'd have definitely considered her actions as a suitable life-debt to hold over him for the near future.
"Hmm, yes. I was right. His body is consuming itself, and there is little we can do to help him."
"Surely that's an exaggeration?" demanded Amelia Bones. "If it's magical exhaustion, we can just infuse more magic and —"
"Wouldn't help," said Narcissa, shooting her plan down. "Supplying him with foreign magic will only exacerbate the situation. Even if his body somehow accepts the foreign magic in this situation, the necromantic power will just guzzle through it. It wouldn't make a pint of difference."
"What about potions?" offered Granger. "I think we still have Potent Exstimulo Potion leftover."
Narcissa was caught between sneering at the mudblood for thinking she could contribute to anything constructive when she herself couldn't, and being awestruck at the information she had just thrown at her face.
"Potent Exstimulo Potion?" she repeated.
"It's a potion that —"
"Don't try to teach me what potions are, girl!" she snapped. "Now just answer what I asked. Are you certain it's Potent Exstimulo Potion?"
"Yes," it was Anastasia that answered, meeting her gaze. "I would know. I brewed it."
She —
No, Narcissa told herself furiously. She could get to the bottom of things later! Addressing the mudblood werewolf, she said, "Can you get me blood replenishers? And restorative draughts?"
"We have them," said Granger and Jones together.
"Good," drawled Narcissa, pointing her wand at Potter's body. "Vitalis Arrestum."
She looked at the others. "This is what's going to happen. I'll attempt a blood transfusion, and hope that between the potion and the blood-replenishers, his body will be able to produce some blood quickly. It should clear his blood from the residual necromantic taint, but it will also push him into a coma until he's acquired enough brain function. It's really the best I can think of at this point. So if there's anyone with any brilliant alternatives, I'm open to ideas."
"You're ignoring one tiny thing," said Jones.
Narcissa's right eye twitched. "And what, pray tell?"
"The necromantic energy's trying to activate whatever's inside the scar, that is true. But Incubi and necromancers are opposites, aren't they? It means that by boosting his incubus side we can also keep boosting him while we all prepare for the transfusion."
"Wait," said Anastasia. "Potter's an Incubus? But I thought Wizarding Britain doesn't have any incubi lineage left."
"Yes. I suppose there's more to Lily Potter than what meets the eye."
"Evans!" Bones snapped, looking oddly annoyed for some reason.
"Same difference," said Narcissa. "I was eventually planning on researching her lineage, but other issues rose up my to-do list. Assuming Potter lives the night and actually goes to Hogwarts for the next ten months, I'll put it on my schedule."
"I already have," said Amelia. "She doesn't have a trace of incubi blood in her veins. Not in her last five generations."
"I… see," said Narcissa, eyeing the Director, wondering the reason behind her sudden interest in Potter's mother. The woman was proving to be quite the study in contrasts. On one hand, Harry had supposedly resurrected her from death, and there was no doubt that she would stand with him if push came to pull. On the other hand, she had openly challenged his words and provoked him in front of the others when she should have put up a more agreeable mask.
At least for the time being.
Agree in public, disagree in private — that was the motto of Slytherin House.
Guess her Hufflepuff sorting existed for a reason, Narcissa thought, sneering.
Still, it was weird. Maybe she should look into Bones's own history with the Potters and the how-and-why behind her ending on Potter's dick.
Something for later.
"Either way, I think it's for the best if we attempt to… well, boost his incubus form."
"And… How do you plan on doing that?" asked Anastasia.
"Sex, obviously," said Narcissa. "I am assuming if both sides are co-existing within him, an impossibility that needs research later…. But I suppose if the Dark Lord is influencing one half, then bolstering the other might help restore the balance."
She eyed the young secretary. "You plan on doing what? Hopping on Potter's dick and hope he'll fuck you while unconscious?"
"Hasn't stopped him before," murmured Emmeline Vance.
"What was that?" asked Narcissa.
"Vance?" Bones asked, curious..
"It's… it's a long story," she said. "Complicated."
The Director sighed. "I suppose when it comes to Harry Potter, we all have our long and complicated stories. But I don't agree. Already his lifeforce is plummeting. The last thing we want is him exerting himself even further. Perhaps sticking to the transfusion is a better idea."
"I agree," said the mudblood werewolf. "Who knows what kind of effects that might have on him."
"Do I need to remind you he's already being devoured by the necromantic energy?" Hestia Jones challenged. "Even if — and that's a big if — we successfully transfuse his blood, his two parts need to be in balance."
"No," said Granger, and for the first time, Narcissa noticed something feral in her eyes. A sliver of something shiny, like a predator growling at you. One that wasn't leaping at you because it was afraid, but because it wanted to avoid a confrontation and end up killing you.
"Um," said Anastasia, raising her hand like a student in the classroom. "How about we work on all three ends at the same time?" At the surprised look on everybody's faces, she said. "The Director is an expert on runes, isn't she? How about she attempt a spiritual cleansing on his body? That should at least halt, if not cleanse the necromantic energy from taking over, right?"
"Meanwhile we can boost his incubus side," said Hestia excitedly. "Yes, while Miss Black here can work on getting things ready for the blood transfusion. Yes, that would most definitely work."
"I'm a runesmith, not a shaman," Bones snapped, and Narcissa noticed an oddly hostile demeanor in her. And by the looks of it, Jones and Vance had noticed it too.
"And even if that might have worked," said Granger, nodding at Bones agreeably. "Harry's from the future, and he claimed that he was infected while killing demons. There's no saying what a half-arsed effort could do to him, especially in this state."
"News flash, Hermione," Jones all but snapped. "He's already dying."
"Which is why we need to work on the transfusion," growled the mudblood. "The risk is still too great. Maybe we should take him to St. Mungo's and see what real certified healers have to say, instead of half-arsing our way through this. I… I think we should contact St. Mungo's."
She turned around towards the Floo, but Hestia grabbed her hand, shaking her head.
"If you do that, and they find traces of necromantic activity within him, it will raise all sorts of flags."
"I think the girl has a valid point, Jones," said Amelia, staring intently at Potter's unconscious form. "I mean, other than him already being on a quickly exhausting time-limit, we have very little idea on his exact magical constitution. Even Malfoy —"
"Black!" snapped Narcissa.
"Whatever," said the Director. "Even you claimed that his situation is unprecedented, did you not? A magical impossibility! Maybe we should at least and see if things change. Harry might be an Incubus, but the Necromancer is too a side of him. Perhaps he might… oh, I don't know, morph is signature to the other side and things might go normal. He has done so multiple times in the past, hasn't he?"
"I cannot articulate how stupid an idea it is to actually wait and see if he can shift magical constitutions to save himself while already dying," Narcissa spat out.
"You would know, wouldn't you?" Bones growled angrily. "You were the one that put him on the path to killing Lucius Malfoy and everything else spiralled from there."
At this point, everyone in the room was beginning to argue about what and what not to do with Harry, only Narcissa was distracted by the feeling of someone staring at her. She turned to her right, and found Emmeline Vance looking at her with a laser-sharp focus. Catching on, she observed the crowd around her, noting exactly who stood on either side of this increasingly angry debate. If they did nothing, it would devolve further into a spellfight, and nobody knew how that would turn out.
"ALL RIGHT, ENOUGH!" she yelled, a wandless sonorous ensuring that every single person got the message loud and clear. "Fine. I agree, we'll just do the transfusion."
"But —" Hestia began.
"Silence, Hestia," said Emmeline, meeting the girl's eyes intently. "We know what we're doing."
That halted the halfblood in her tracks.
"Now,' said Narcissa, grabbing her wand. "I'll begin the transfusion, so I need everyone to give me some space right NOW!"
"STUPEFY!" rang two voices, as streaks of crimson rushed out from her and Vance's wand, hitting the Director and the mudblood werewolf.
Both of them dropped like a stone, while the others were immediately taken by surprise. It probably said something about Jones that she didn't display anything apart from the slightest flinch, while Anastasia fumbled with her wand in shock.
"Don't worry," said Narcissa to the Greengrass matriarch. "There's nothing to fear!"
"Nothing to fear?" the woman sputtered. "You just attacked the DMLE Director! What the bloody hell is going on? If you didn't agree, you could just have —"
"Wouldn't have worked," said Narcissa. "Out of all of us, only Bones and the werewolf were vocal about the dangers of attempting anything to do with boosting Harry's incubus powers."
"Which is right," said Anastasia, nodding vigorously, shaken by the sudden turn of events. "None of us are experts on incubi, not to mention —"
"Yes, and that would be very interesting," said Vance. "Except that out of all of us, only the Director and Granger," she sent a scowl at Narcissa which was easily ignored. "—were also affected by Harry's necromancy. The director, when Harry resurrected her at the World Cup after the explosion killed her, and Granger — who was exposed to a shockingly potent degree of necromantic energy herself back when the scar first reacted."
"You're telling me…" murmured Hestia, white with fear. "That because both were exposed and corrupted by Necromancy, so infecting Harry would automatically infect them too?"
"Duh," said Narcissa. "I did mention Contagion, did I not? The power Harry uses to perform Necromancy, the power he infected the girl and used to resurrect the Director… they all came from one source."
"The scar," said Hestia. "And thus, the Dark Lord himself."
"Precisely,"said Narcissa.
A chill descended over the room as the remaining women realized to their horror the subtlety of the Dark Lord's insidious powers. That Amelia Bones, the Director of the DMLE and the most powerful woman of the country, and Hermione Granger, a werewolf and the most physically powerful member of their reluctant group were being influenced courtesy of the power flowing through them sent a shudder down everyone's spine.
"But…" Vance murmured. "The Director is a seventh-level Occlumens. Granger, I understand, but the Director…"
"She was resurrected using Necromancy," said Hestia. "It's part of her."
"The one thing you can't protect yourself from is yourself," said Narcissa. "Same goes for the werewolf, I suppose."
"The werewolf has a name!" snapped Vance.
Narcissa shrugged her off.
"Well," said Anastasia. "That's bloody creepy. That's what it is."
"Indeed," said Narcissa. "But on the bright side. We managed to stop it from devolving into a spellfight. Now then, girl, with those two out of the picture, can we return to that earlier suggestion you made?"
For the longest time, I just floated aimlessly in a sea of darkness, unchained by physical restraints. Yet somehow, my limbs were paralysed and I couldn't move. I struggled against the invisible, immaterial bonds until futility dawned and I sagged back into them.
What was going on?
What happened?
Who was I?
Harry.
That was my name, wasn't it? Yes. Harry. Harry Potter.
There was a slight suspicion in the back of my mind that whispered that I was wrong. That I was someone else. Someone other than Harry Potter. Someone that had worn the flesh mask of Harry Potter so much that I was forgetting who I actually was. I was —
I was —
Who was I? I couldn't remember.
As the rest of my memories oozed back in, my mind felt clearer than before. The cracks in my mind vanished, and everything booted back into focus.
And I stared.
And stared.
And stared in apprehension and wonder.
This was…. I don't know, surreal, fast-paced? Hyper-real? I couldn't find the right word to describe the futuristic landscape before my eyes. From the people, to the casinos, to the nightclubs and the blaring vehicles travelling at extreme speeds, there was something very familiar about it, a sharp contrast compared to the Victorian civilization that Wizarding Britain was intent on stagnating forever at.
But that wasn't all there was.
I looked up and saw it.
A cloud, no, a sea of darkness. I had almost missed it with the bright lights and magnificence, but now that I saw it, I couldn't help but see anything else but it. A wall of shadows. Titanic would be a good way to describe it. And the worst part? There was this eerie feeling that this was only a part of it.
Its eyes were crimson. Its flesh, the darkness itself. A maddening, primordial light was glaring out of its sunken sockets for eyes. Dozens of little mouths lined with serrated teeth opened along its extended flanks, gasping at the world. Shadowy tentacles protruding out of its outer form were undulating in weird unison, the motion becoming more and more energetic, as the nasty thing moaned with a sound that felt both loud yet incomprehensible at the same time. An ocean of twisted protrusions were constantly branching off from its endless form, spreading into the grand city below. Malignant growths, like the diseased skin of a plague victim, they kept falling down to the unsuspecting nightlife below.
The noises it made… it was something no human should ever have to hear.
I realised what I was witnessing.
Armageddon. An Apocalypse. The end of the world. Whatever that thing was, it was feeding upon the city. Tearing it apart. Corrupting it to its very core.
"I wouldn't exactly say it's tearing it," said a very familiar voice from behind me. I turned around and saw….
Myself?
"It's like looking in a mirror, isn't it?" It said, "Oh well, almost."
I stared, slack jawed at my doppelganger as he —it? — whatever gazed back at me, with not an ounce of hostility in his features. No displays of power, no evidence of rage or any negative emotions. Yet, something about the exuded calmness invoked a primal feeling within me.
Fear.
"You are…. You are…."
"Greetings," it said, smiling at the utter, utter silence pervading my mind. "I am the Incubus Lord, Master of Lecherous Shrine. And you are the bacteria that wears the name of Harry James Potter. It is about time we had a talk."
"You know, part of me feels that I'm being way over my head, but another part of me is whispering in my ears that if a time-travelling halfblood half my age with some silly abilities can kill Lucius, take over his mantle, and turn Wizarding Britain's economy upon itself, all in a summer vacation, then I should at least be able to do a magical blood transfusion successfully, right? Or else, I might just kill myself out of shame," chatted Narcissa as she mixed multiple draughts and added complex incantations to prepare for her magical surgery. "I mean it would really suck if I failed."
"Perhaps… there's something you're — ugh! Uhm — missing?" suggested Anastasia.
"Could be, I mean, given the entire unprecedented case of dual incarnation of magical opposites inside the same body, but hey, I am an expert on the Dark Arts for nothing, right? So I suppose you are right. I can't really blame myself, And even if things go horribly wrong… well, Harry would never know."
Hestia's right eye twitched.
"I'm telling you. It just doesn't happen. Necromancers and Incubi have as much in common as thestrals and abraxans. I'd bet on Salazar Slytherin waking up from his grave, dancing, wearing a tutu that claims 'Gryffindor is the Greatest' than believe that it's possible that Incubi magic and Necromancy can abide in the same being. It's like expecting water to catch fire. Not only are they different, they are exact opposites!"
"But Potter is — ugh! Both! Oh! Oh! Oh! Shake that! Shake that vial!" Anastasia whimpered as she pushed herself up and down on Harry's cock. And no, no amount of unconsciousness could keep it down from standing up in salute the moment a woman's hands began fondling it.
Truly a mystery greater than the Fidelius charm.
"We need a 0.6M solution, I know," said Narcissa offhandedly. "I'll manage. I'm not a Potions Mistress like you, but I am a dab hand at healing, and the Dark Arts. And this requires both. You just keep jumping on that cock, and maintain steady speed, will you?"
"I — I can't — I don't know how longer I can — ugh! Merlin! He's so thick!"
"Not Merlin, Harry," Narcissa corrected. "Though I can't fault you for that comparison. As far as cocks go, his definitely qualifies for the Merlin-standard."
"There's a Merlin-standard?" asked Emmeline.
Narcissa shrugged. "Should be. For cocks anyway. Not that he's got anything to fear. Even when he was just a middling, he had enough stamina to last me for hours until I was full of cum."
"And… where was that?" asked Vance.
"Twilfit & tattings, if you really must know. I walked in to see Potter about to explode inside that mud— oh, sorry, the apparently muggleborn Tracey Davis. I already knew he was a Black, and I couldn't just let him waste his cum on lesser borns, could I? Only a Black has rights to another Black's cum. Quite naturally, I took it for myself."
She noted the stupefied looks everyone was giving her.
"What?"
"Only a Black has the right to another Black's cum?" Vance repeated.
"Why yes," said Narcissa. "Aunt Walburga had plans for me to marry Sirius after all. Then he got himself sorted to Gryffindor and sought to become Potter's minion. Still, I had little Reggie with me in Slytherin. He always was such a sweet cunnilingus. Nothing compared to Harry of course, but you know what I mean."
More staring.
"You're… you're such a bitch."
"And you work for the Ministry. Nobody's perfect. And come on, Ana, clench your pussy harder. And make some bloody noise! I'm sitting next to you and even I'm forgetting you're even present here."
"Ugh!" exclaimed Anastasia, and put her hands on Potter's chest and began riding his dick harder. She had already cum twice and was still going great. Narcissa wondered if she would be able to go for three or would fall apart, given all the heavy breathing.
"Why — ugh! Why did I get selected for this?"
"It's called a team effort," said Narcissa sagely. "I have to do the transfusion, and Vance here needs to legilimize Harry constantly. Jones here is playing errand girl. That just leaves you and the clueless ones on the floor."
"They're stunned," said Hestia.
"And hence, clueless. Honestly, I couldn't give a fuck about the were…" she paused, noting Vance's glare, "the girl, but I'm most fascinated by Bones. I should probably put that on the backburner until Harry goes off to Hogwarts. Honestly, it's a terrible shame he's got to spend ten months in that castle, with nothing but silly girls with barely a fuck or two under their belt. He'll be wasted there."
"And what do you suggest?" asked the girl.
"Why, be home-schooled, of course. I'm a Charms Mistress, and the only reason I don't have a mastery in the Dark Arts is because I'd be oath-bound to list down every bit of Dark Arts trivia I know. And no, the Magisterium Arcanum cares not if you learned something from the Master you're apprenticing with, or your own family libraries. That and the stupid oaths about silly abuse of my skills."
"That's a singularly biased way of telling it," scoffed Vance. "There are ways around those oaths."
"Eh, too much trouble for the little old me. Not that Lucius would let me have a career or anything. I was to be his pretty little trophy housewife, never to touch, only to stay all dainty and fresh and fragile like a china doll."
Then she realised she had probably spoken a little too much. The entire room had fallen silent except for Anastasia, who for some reason, was steadily increasing in volume and speed, pushing herself up and down with an almost trance-like fervor.
"Either way, Potter would be better off home-schooled. He's a Potter, so transfiguration is in his blood. Between myself, Vance and perhaps… Bones, he would be well-rounded in Charms, Ancient Runes and Arithmancy, and the psychic Arts. And he's already way more gifted in Defence than is needed for his OWLs."
"Hogwarts education is important," said Vance.
"Yes! Yes!" said Anastasia.
"See, even she agrees."
"For first-time goers, perhaps," scoffed Narcissa. "But he's doing it twice this time round, remember? He has to stay in Dumbledore's castle, under the geezer's spying eyes, constantly having to look for potential enemies. That and more sex. He'd have a better time here. And more sex too. And we'd be able to find out what that blasted scar is. Maybe even find a way to end the Dark Lord for good. And did I mention the sex?"
"Yes! Yes! Yes!"
"She agrees too," Narcissa quipped.
"Yes! Yes! Oh Merlin, Oh! Anastasia sighed, her thighs colliding with his loudly. Her body was glistening with perspiration from the intense fucking she was inflicting upon herself. "It's coming! It's coming! It's CUMMMING!"
It came.
Only that wasn't the only thing it did.
One moment Anastasia screamed out at the top of her lungs, her body practically thrumming, her legs kicking upwards, as if trying to push herself off and impale herself deeper with his cock at the same time, when the dynamite of power exploded out of Harry Potter's body. A visceral, intoxicating surge of raw, unrestrained dominance and allure was blasted all across the room and probably beyond, a shockwave that altered the very fabric of the room, leaving no one untouched.
"Ugh! What the hell was — Merlin's beard!" exclaimed Narcissa, who had fallen on her butt. Everything else on her mind vanished, replaced by the sudden surge of awe, lust and fear as she stared at Anastasia's eyes — now turned a hot, bold scarlet with a glossy sheen. The woman was rapidly jumping on his cock at inhuman speeds, like it was the only thing keeping her alive and entrenched upon this world. Her face was saturated with ecstasy as she kept nailing herself up and down, over and over and over, on top of a glowing Harry Potter.
"Would you look at that?" She breathed. "She's —"
"His," said Emmeline Vance, her own eyes also replaced by the same smoldering orbs of liquid desire. "Just like I am. Entirely. Utterly. Forever."
"He is Desire incarnate," said Hestia Jones, her eyes just like the other two. "And we are blessed to be consumed by it."
Their clothes vanished from their bodies, and they jumped at Harry Potter's unconscious form, ready to serve him with their lust, their bodies and their everything.
"Huh," said Narcissa. "Didn't see that coming."
Notes:
Find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Next update comes on 25th.
Chapter 142: Where Desire Becomes Dominion
Notes:
I have a Discord server, Penthouse. If you are interested in joining it, following for more updates and snippets, and discussing SED in general, just hop in on the link.
https://discord.gg/jvzqqvHhr7
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 3 - THE INCUBUS AND NECROMANCER
CHAPTER 142 - WHERE DESIRE BECOMES DOMINION
I wasn't prepared for this.
Standing in the center of my mindscape, the very ground beneath me shifted — undulating, as if alive. I could feel it pulse under my feet, like a heartbeat echoing through my soul, and I knew, without a doubt, that this creature standing before me was me. Me. The Incubus Lord. The side of me that I've only tasted, but never truly grasped. Never understood.
This was no male veela. No vampire with shining skin. Not an upgrade on some mystical Screen either.
It was the real thing. Real.
"Greetings," it said, smiling at the utter, utter silence pervading my mind. "I am the Incubus Lord, Master of Lecherous Shrine. And you are the bacteria that wears the name of Harry James Potter. It is about time we had a talk."
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuckety fucking fuck!
And here I was thinking that I had just gotten some breathing time after gift-wrapping Voldemort and sending him away for the foreseeable future.
Instead I had… Well, this.
The figure standing in front of me was me, but also… well, more. For one, his eyes burned with an intense, unnatural hue — green so bright that even the killing curse paled in comparison, with a ring of potent scarlet, an eerie mixture of seduction and danger. They threatened to pierce my soul, the weight of his gaze able to pull my very essence to the surface, leaving me naked, and utterly exposed, revealing me as the imposter that I was. Bacteria, he had called me earlier — a bacteria wearing the name Harry Potter.
How truly apt!
"Why am I here?"
The Incubus Lord's lips twisted into a smile. And it was a dark thing, predatory, a perfect blend of charm and menace, with teeth just a little sharper than human, a hint of the monster lurking within. It contrasted sharply with that unnaturally pale features.
"To show you just how much you don't know. Harry Potter must know, if and when he makes the choice."
"What… choice?"
"To claim my mantle, or choose the abomination that haunts your scar. To give in to its twisted powers and seek to become a mockery of everything alive."
He was referring to the horcrux, to the power within it — power that came directly from Voldemort himself, power that could make me ascend into a full-fledged Necromancer and then, into a Necrolord Primus.
The other end of the spectrum.
"Hmm. I knew something was weird when the Horcrux-Voldemort offered me that neat little package to absorb himself into me. And now the Incubus Lord himself has come down from his mighty throne with another sales pitch. Guess I'm an important customer, you know, for bacteria."
What? I'm a wiseass, and if you are surprised by that, I guess you haven't been paying attention.
"Levity. Good. You will need it. Come."
But I hesitated. There was something I needed to know first.
"You know what I am, right?"
The Incubus Lord arched an eyebrow.
"I feel there are things you should know before I go with you."
The Incubus Lord tilted his head slightly.
"I'm — I'm not Harry Potter. I'm — I'm an imposter."
I didn't know why I just did that. This was the Incubus Lord, the ultimate manifestation of the path I was striving to reach. And I had just sputtered out my deepest, darkest secret. But if the Horcrux — if Voldemort had access to my true memories, if it knew of my true identity, it was probably wise to balance both sides of the scales.
"I am aware. You will find that there are few things that have happened since your arrival that I do not know."
I got that sinking feeling that reminded me of the time I first got called before Dumbledore back in second year.
Or well, Harry did.
Was there even a difference at this point?
"You, uh, you know?"
He gave me a very mildly long-suffering look.
"Right," I said quietly. "You are me. Of course you know."
"Just so. Although, not completely. I am an anthropomorphic manifestation of the end of your path. Or perhaps, one of them anyway. You would have done better by getting rid of that abomination when you got the chance back at Bones Manor."
Yeah, I've been thinking along similar lines too. It would have saved me from a lot of headaches. On the other hand, that dark power was the sole reason I even got to know about Lucius serving Voldemort. Without it, I'd have lost Amelia for good, as well as everyone else in the attack.
"One cannot have everything, as you will most assuredly learn."
Great. More cryptic talk. Wonderful.
"Now, come."
"Uh, where?"
The Incubus Lord raised his hand and pointed behind me.
"That."
I turned around to see what he was pointing at and…
…couldn't look away.
Literally.
I saw towering spires, crooked yet magnificent, coiling upwards like claws, each embedded with fragments of memories — faces of people I knew, people I had fucked. Narcissa, Amelia, Hestia, Hermione…. I saw chains of light and shadows writhe around the spires, whispering in a language I couldn't understand yet could feel deeply. I saw pillars, entwined with veins of pulsing light, and in that illumination, I saw my deepest longings, images of lovers, and threats, all twisted to serve my whims. Pools that were red like liquid desire, reflecting fractured scenes of myself engaging in carnal pleasure with my anchors. Each ripple was like a stab of truth, forcing me to confront my own history.
There was a strange, sickening yet irresistible drag about it. An immense gravity that made the Shrine the center of my senses, its impossible looming form, its towering spires reaching into infinity, twisting and warping with every passing moment.
It was calling out to me. Not with words, but with feelings — desire, ambition, domination. The whispering voices of countless souls echoed in my ears, begging, pleading, exalting…
"Do you see it? Do you feel it? Every flicker of desire, every glance, every touch — it feeds our power. They are already yours, they just don't know it yet."
He was right. I could feel them. Lust and yearning in their rawness, not just my own, but the others tied to me — my anchors, my lilims, their desires were rushing into this thing. And with that was an ever present sense of domination, the knowledge that I would own anyone who entered the Shrine, twist their wills to mine. There was guilt too, guilt that whispered that all the bonds I had forged, none of them were real.
It was wrong.
It was monstrous.
But it was… beautiful.
"What? What is… what is this?"
"This," came a seductive whisper in my ear that sent shivers down my spine. "Is Lecherous Shrine."
"Not a shrine," I whispered back. "A prison."
"Yes. And it has chains for everyone. Including you. Including me. Now, come. Welcome home, Harry Potter."
"I… I'm not Harry Potter!"
My words came out weaker than I had expected.
It made him smile.
"You might as well be. It is the role you have chosen for yourself, after all."
"The… role?"
'Living The Role," whispered the Incubus Lord. "Your Omniblend. You do not just narrate a story, do you? You become the role you are playing. All those tales you spun for your audience, all of that emotion, where did you think that came from?"
The bottom fell out of my stomach.
Living The Role. An Omniblend that granted me the art of stepping beyond my own identity, weaving a persona so convincingly that the audience — and even the universe itself — accepts it as truth.
The universe accepts it as truth.
My lie, crafted to fool Hestia and the others, was becoming — had become — reality?
The power was supposed to be a gift — all perks were gifts that I gathered by fucking others, and each of them added something to my arsenal or my repertoire. It was supposed to be a clever tool, a bit of flair to help me survive by convincing others, based on my knowledge of the books. But only now I was seeing it for what it was: a lie so perfect that it was devouring the truth, leaving behind only the version I chose to show.
"It's intoxicating, isn't it? To speak, and the world reshapes itself to believe you. But there's a price to wielding this seductive power. Do you know what it is?"
His eyes glinted. "Ask yourself. You are not Harry Potter. You are an imposter. You have lied and cheated and misled your way, using every bit of knowledge, skill and people's belief in Harry Potter to reach where you are now. And yet, when I offer to show you the greatest power of all, you choose to step back and reveal yourself for what you are. Seems rather… contradictory, does it not?"
His words hit me like invisible punches, and I staggered back. A sensation of ice-water trickling down my spine gripped me, and my stomach did a horrible twist. I wanted to yell at him, claim his sweet words to be nothing more than lies and falsehoods, yet I couldn't. The Screen was many things, but wrong was not one of them. It had thrown me plenty of curve-balls, but it had never, not even once, attempted to derail me with false information.
The universe accepts it as the truth.
The universe….
Had I, unknowingly, used a version of Meta-Luck upon myself? Had I… unintentionally, recast myself as a time-travelling Harry Potter? After repeating the same story so many times to so many people, had my latest stint somehow turned it into reality?
Repeating the fact in my head that my lies had somehow transformed me into a time-travelling Harry Potter, one that had lived through it all, suffered through the losses, the emotions, the frustrations, and the battles… and the worst part? Nobody other than me was going to be affected by it, except for myself — I did the only thing I could.
I giggled.
The Screen was clear on this. The storyteller had to firmly believe in his own version of the story for it to take root in the minds and hearts of the audience. Was that what activated the Child of Prophecy perk? Because I had unwittingly attempted to convince reality itself? And succeeded?
"Yes, that is the part that has me floundering too, I admit," said the Incubus Lord, looking at me with a half-amused, half-worried expression. "Enthralling the audience should not have devolved to enthralling Reality."
"I didn't use Meta-Luck either," I said out loud.
I hadn't used Meta-Luck by mistake, because apart from that being a voluntary choice, the Screen would have instantly warned me, and then registered the amount of Meta-Luck points consumed in the process. And yet, Living The Role had been crafted because my own Perk — Child of Prophecy clashed with Fate. And like Meta-Luck, there was only one other thing capable of bringing Fate into the equation.
"Nymphadora Tonks, she did something. She…."
Maybe it was the shock, maybe it was the Subversive Activist's powers within Living The Role omniblend, or maybe my mind was finally connecting the points together, but the answer came easy enough to me.
"Felix Felicis," I snarled. "Liquid Luck. She…. she had the gall to use Liquid Luck on me."
Liquid Luck. Even in the books, the potion was practically sentient. It didn't just create good luck for the drinker, it went ahead and actually prodded the drinker to act out in all sorts of ways to make their desire come true.
And if the Fate-altering effects of Liquid Luck clashed against Living the Role's power to bend one's perception, to twist their personal sense of truth into whatever the storyteller wanted….
Fuck.
And the worst part? I didn't even know if I succeeded in making her believe my tale. But if I stopped believing in it, then it would have an adverse effect, both on myself, as well as the rest of my believers. Living The Role… it didn't just bend the other's perception, did it? It carved them to stone. And not even the storyteller can escape it.
I pushed through the shock, through the deliriousness, and laughed. Laughing at the absurdity of being impaled by my own skill. Relentlessly and hysterically, I laughed and laughed at the mad irony of it all. I laughed to the point that the Incubus Lord clearly wondered if I had gone insane.
"I…" My voice croaked. "...messed up…. Didn't I?"
"Do you fear losing yourself, Nameless one?"
Nameless One. How apt! From the very beginning, I hadn't been able to remember my name. And now, I was slowly losing my identity as well.
"Do not fret, Nameless One. Nothing in this universe is eternal. Not even the Universe itself. In the end, when the last star dies and the universe dives into an ocean of darkness, the End shall put the chairs on the tables, turn out the lights and lock the universe behind it when it leaves."
"And because nothing is eternal, losing my identity shouldn't matter?" I half-asked, half-growled.
"You have become, are becoming, will become Harry Potter. That, Nameless One, is your identity."
"The Harry Potter I've read about was nothing more than a wizard drawn by the nose by Albus too-many-names Dumbledore," I said bitterly. "He wasn't an incubus, or a necromancer for that matter."
"Just like he never dived into the horcrux's power, or ever sought control over the bestial powers of the yenaldooshi. "Strange are the ways of Fate, Nameless One. This power, this Shrine…. It is yours, Harry Potter's home."
"This isn't my home," I voiced loudly. "Lecherous Shrine lies dormant. I haven't even gotten the needed anchorage to activate it."
"Ah, denial. You mortals cling to it as if it will save you. But you feel it, don't you Nameless — No, Harry Potter. Do you not feel the way this place calls to you? The way they call to you?"
He gestured towards the Shrine. As if in response, the spires flared with light, and the whispers intensified.
"Look closer, Harry. Every spire, every chain, every glimmer of light—it's all them. Every soul you've touched, every heart you've ensnared. You built this, whether you meant to or not."
Harry's eyes are drawn to the spires, where images flicker like ghosts: Hermione's determined gaze, Ginny's twisted longing to be possessed and used, Amelia's piercing stare. Each face is warped, their features twisted with longing, devotion, and submission.
A sense of horror overtook me. "This isn't real. I… I haven't forced them! The anchorage doesn't work that way. I can't just… force someone to like me! Twist their emotions, yes. Challenge them sexually, even give them pleasure like they've never experienced before. But I didn't ensnare them. They came to me by their own accord. And they can always just leave."
The wispiest shade of a smile formed on the incubus lord's lips. "That, Harry Potter, is the funniest joke of all."
During the course of the entire meeting, as Harry Potter narrated his entire tale, Narcissa had watched, curious, spellbound, shocked, afraid, even horrified. There was simply no question of doubting the veracity of his words — Narcissa had always been an excellent reader of people and their body language, and Potter showed absolutely no signs of any falsehoods. Whatever he said, truth or fiction, he utterly, utterly believed in it, and if the Head-Obliviator was willing to claim the authenticity of his mindscape and memories, Narcissa could fall behind that.
But between all of that, there had been one single question troubling Narcissa's mind.
Lucius was gone.
Draco had forsaken her.
She was Narcissa Black again, and more importantly, was independently wealthy to maintain her lifestyle until her death.
She didn't have to do anything with the House of Black. She could even just say goodbye to Harry Potter, give him the copy of the blackmail Lucius had on other people as an incentive to let her leave the British shores for good. Aunt Melania had a nice manor in the outskirts of France, where she used to spend the summers with grandfather Arcturus. She remembered being there with Andi and Bellatrix and the boys. She could just leave and be done with it all— Lucius, the Dark Lord, Potter, Dumbledore, everyone, and begin her life anew.
Unfortunately there was just one little issue to that.
Narcissa could have claimed that it was because of her son Draco. By staying in Britain, she'd be able to ensure that other interested parties didn't use her son as a tool to exact their vengeance on Potter. Or even worse, Draco might just turn up wearing his father's Death Eater regalia someday to fight Potter, and on that day, Potter would not hold back. Draco would die, perhaps not in the fiendfyre that consumed him in Potter's tale, but he would die nonetheless.
It would have been an appropriate reason, just not the exact one.
The true reason was standing right before her. The reason, she was certain, was not Harry Potter.
Narcissa had had Harry Potter several times before. The young man was talented, powerful, well-endowed and most importantly, knew how to use his tool well. Easy on the eyes, especially with his ruggedly handsome features, and his constant efforts to rein himself and stay within the limits of morality, even when he knew perfectly just how much chaos he could cause if he just allowed himself to… indulge a little while. Working together to get rid of her former husband had shown Narcissa exactly how ruthless Harry Potter could be, and at the same time, demonstrated that his power of necromancy made him both vulnerable at the same time, absolutely fitting as the next Black Lord, with her standing at her side. Oh Narcissa had no dreams of marrying the young and virile Lord, as entertaining as it would be. No, she was perfectly happy to stay on as a lover, as a woman of House Black, and possibly, its Regent. It would be child's play to get Potter to pump out a baby with her, given his incubus powers. A baby, Narcissa was certain, would become a perfect Black.
But this entity that was currently standing in front of her? This… this wasn't Harry Potter. This was… something else.
Oh he still wore the face of Harry Potter, but with slight distortions — sharp, angular, and hauntingly beautiful. His hair, dark and black with deep raven-like hues, slick and smooth with a slight wave that shifted and moved with the shadows around him. The hair exuded an unnatural magnetism, almost as if it could entangle the minds of those around him. The texture felt soft, as if made from the threads of the night itself.
His skin was unnaturally pale, as if borne of white marble, glowing white marble. Every movement caused it to shimmer, absorbing and reflecting the darkness at the same time. An otherworldly aura irradiated out of him, a mix of danger and temptation, an intoxicating pull that was making it very, very hard for Narcissa to not just tear her clothes away and jump him like the others. His eyes glowed with a bright shade of scarlet, similar yet utterly different from the malevolent crimson in the Dark Lord's eyes like she remembered. His muscles rippled, lithe yet solid, as though he was capable of unimaginable feats of strength and agility, exuding the kind of effortless authority that made it clear that he didn't need to assert dominance — he simply was.
All of those things were enticing enough by themselves, but what stood out more than anything else were the pair of wings that span out, dark as the starless sky. Featured but sleek, sharp like obsidian, and they moved around like a grace of prey, casting a shadow that somehow wrapped around the entire room, a perfect cage of seduction and fear.
And kneeling right in front of him, were Hestia Jones, Emmeline Vance and Anastasia Greengrass.
Narcissa watched as the entity grabbed Hestia's head and pushed it against his cock, the miserable girl barely managing to handle his width, the length feeling impossible despite being pushed into her mouth all the way till her throat. Vance, the closet deviant, was on her knees, licking the part that was still outside Hestia's mouth, while making a grab for the balls. Anastasia was all over his resplendent form, licking every bit of his body and kissing it with an almost religious fervor.
But, whether it was Potter, or some kind of preternatural power possessing him as was the fashion these days, Narcissa would be damned if she didn't get a first-hand experience of it.
"Oh for fuck's sake," she said, vanishing her robes, and grabbed Hestia by her hair and pulled her back, and instead forced herself upon his cock. Harry Potter pulled her head further towards him, and bucking his hips, he began facefucking her, stretching her throat roughly, holding her with in place as he fucked her mouth. Each brutal thrust forced more of his cock down her throat. Within ten seconds, Narcissa was gagging loudly, her eyes watering and tears dripping out, but Potter kept up his ferocious pace. He was breathing loudly and grunting, enjoying the feeling of her mouth around him.
And the best part? It actually felt good to serve him, but to be used like this felt even better than that. Physically, it hurt, but being treated like a slave was turning her hands clamped hard against his cock, and Nacissa couldn't breathe. But that didn't matter. Needed more of him. Darkness was creeping into the corner of her vision. The last of his cock rammed into her mouth, and his swollen balls slapped against her chin. Her body quivered, and a furious orgasm surged through her.
Narcissa shook, and in that one moment of euphoria, she saw it.
Saw golden halls, saw a massive throne, ornately designed in a room just as grand, studded with enchantments and jewels that exerted gravity of their own, entrapped the gaze of the observer. And on that throne, seated like a god, was Harry Potter.
Females surrounded him. Hestia Jones, standing to one side, right behind the throne, an advisor. Vance stood on the other side, while Amelia Bones sat genuflected to his left, his loyal knight in service. Granger, transformed in a half-lupine transformation, sat on the right. But most of all, she was shocked to find herself — naked, lying down on the floor, entwining herself around Potter's legs as she rose and licked his balls and cock, as if her life depended upon it.
And the worst bit? She was loving it.
The sight burned itself in her eyes, and Narcissa knew right then what she would do.
She would stay. She would stay for him. She would stay on his side, on her knees, sucking him and being fucked into the throes of ecstasy by him, while he twisted everything and everyone in his image.
And that, Narcissa decided, would be glorious.
Notes:
Find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Next update comes on 30th.
Chapter 143: Indomitable Lust
Notes:
I have a Discord server, Penthouse. If you are interested in joining it, following for more updates and snippets, and discussing SED in general, just hop in on the link.
https://discord.gg/jvzqqvHhr7
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 3 - THE INCUBUS AND NECROMANCER
CHAPTER 143 - INDOMITABLE LUST
The air sizzled as I stepped into the Shrine. It was suffocating, and yet it fed me. Every breath burned and soothed at the same time, like plunging into boiling water only to find it cradled me instead of scalding. My mind reeled. I had expected something sinister, something dark and dripping with malice—but this? This was… intoxicating. Terrifyingly beautiful. Alive.
The walls pulsed like a living thing, scarlet light radiating in waves, synchronized with my heartbeat—or perhaps it was the Shrine's heartbeat. I couldn't tell where I ended and this place began. The floor beneath my feet wasn't stone; it had felt like satin, smooth and warm, yet solid enough to hold me. Every step sent ripples of crimson fire across the ground, vanishing into the distance. It was endless, yet contained. Infinite, yet personal. A temple of Me.
This is what I've built? The thought caught in my throat, half awe, half horror. I didn't remember crafting this, yet it felt so… right. So familiar. But why? The very first time I even knew of this place was after I upgraded Incubus to Incubus Lord. and I hadn't gained the required anchorages to get it past every corner had hummed with power, raw and unrelenting, as if my very essence was stitched into its foundations.
The Throne dominated the center—a seat of pure scarlet and gold, swirling like molten desire, and it was empty. Waiting. For me.
"Sit," a voice whispered. It was mine. It wasn't mine. It was him—the Incubus Lord.
My feet moved forward of their own accord, but I couldn't stop looking. The air was heavy with whispers—not words, but emotions. Desire, yearning, hunger. Each one pulled at me, dragging me deeper into this intoxicating haze. Faces flashed in the walls—my anchors, their expressions twisted with devotion, with longing. Amelia, who was now a lyctor, was here. As was Hermione. A distorted reflection of Fleur Delacour was there too.
But why?
The answer came easy enough on my lips.
Because Magic, especially powerful dark magic, leaves traces.
Yes, dark. Dark Magic was fueled by strong emotions, and what was the Incubus allure if not emotion itself?
I could feel their hearts pounding in unison with the pulsing light, all of them connected to me, through me. They weren't just here; they were the Shrine.
"Is this power?" I wondered aloud, my mind buzzing. "Or is this madness?"
The Incubus Lord's laughter filled the space, rich and deep, vibrating through my very bones.
"Not madness," he had purred. "It's Truth. It's what you've always been, what you would always end up becoming, even if you didn't know it. This is your kingdom, your temple. And you—you are its God."
The weight of his words crashed into me, but I couldn't stop moving. The Throne loomed closer now, its glow wrapping around me like a lover's touch. My hand had trembled as I reached for it, and for a moment, I hesitated. What would happen when I took my place? Would I become him? Would I lose what was left of… me?
"You're afraid," the Lord sneered, stepping out of the shadows, his wings unfurling. He looked like me—no, like a perfected version of me. Taller, stronger, more everything. The embodiment of power, of temptation. And he knew it.
"You should be."
I wanted to argue, to deny him, but the truth was, he was right. As much as I craved this power, as much as I had fought for control, standing there—facing this, facing him—I hadn't known if I could handle it. If I even deserved it.
And yet…
I sat.
The Shrine had erupted in light, scarlet flames engulfing everything, and for the first time, I felt it—the full weight of what I had become. Of what I was becoming. It was overwhelming, consuming, but beneath the chaos, there was a strange clarity. A purpose. A hunger.
"So this is what I'm supposed to be? A tyrant ruling over puppets?"
He laughed, a mockery of the original thing. "Puppets? No, Harry. Worshippers. And why shouldn't they worship you? You saved them, didn't you? You gave them purpose, pleasure, power. And in return, they give you their everything. Their love, their hate, their will—it's all yours."
"This is who you are," the Lord said, his voice softer now, almost gentle. "Accept it, or be consumed by it."
Despite myself, I agreed with his words. Not the 'be consumed' bit, but the part about accepting it. Back when I had first found myself in this world, I had three options open to me — fuck someone and travel the path of the Incubus, create horcruxes and become a necromancer, or perform Sanctum Invocation — a fanciful way of saying forming a bond with a ley-line, and strive along the sorcerer route.
Back then, I had three paths, but the sudden emergency left me utterly short of potential options.
I chose the easiest.
You know the rest. I fucked Romilda Vane, and anchored myself in Reality. Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger, Hestia Jones, Tracey Davis, Narcissa Malfoy — the list went uphill from there. Come to think of it, the Incubus Lord route would leverage the Living The Role perk, which, I was certain, was sure to dominate my future actions and plans. Incubi were creatures of manipulation, charm and seduction. For myself, the imposter that thrived on deception and charisma, the powers of the incubus were naturally aligned. Unlike the cold, isolated path of the necromancer, or the equally self-confining limits of the sorcerer, being an incubus would let me revel in my capacity to connect and dominate others.
Hestia Jones. Amelia Bones. Susan Bones. Emmeline Vance. Anastasia Greengrass. Narcissa Malfoy — all were proof of that. Why abandon my greatest strength for something so alien?
Besides, my opponents were already masters of their craft with decades if not centuries to hone their skill. The horcrux definitely allowed me a headstart into Necromancy, but that wasn't equal to experience. The power it offered was immense, and frankly, exhilarating, but it demanded isolation, demanded sacrifice, and a chilling detachment that clashed against everything I had been working on since Day One. did I really want to become Voldemort's heir, steeped in death and despair, having to rend my soul apart and be fearful that someday someone would eventually destroy them and I would fall? Especially when I could be something greater, something alive?
Accepting the horcrux would mean accepting Voldemort's legacy and playing catch-up in a game that had been on for the past seventy years. And becoming a sorcerer would mean growing powerfully, steadily perhaps, but still, all by myself. Only the incubus path would allow me to forge a new role, one where I was neither saviour nor villain but sovereign.
My anchors were already bound to me, to Lecherous Shrine. And with Voldemort and Dumbledore secure in their domains, I had to create something utterly different to stand out. Be in a place of power. And the Shrine, with its vivid, pulsing allure — its promise of absolute control over desire, it would provide me a power that was immediate and undeniable.
The flames had surged again, and I had realized there was no turning back. The Shrine was me. And I was the Shrine.
Unless —
"What if I choose the other side?"
My voice echoed in the Shrine, mingling with the whispers of desire that constantly pulsed through the air. I felt the weight of my words. They weren't just a question — they were a challenge. A test.
The Incubus Lord cocked his head, his radiant wings shifting as he studied me. For the first time, there was no smirk, no mocking laughter. Only a cold, calculating look that sent a shiver through my spine. "What if you choose the other side?" he repeated, his voice low and laced with curiosity.
I forced myself to meet his gaze. "I'm not the real Harry Potter. I'm something else—someone else. It's like you put it — I chose the role to play. I can play the role of a time-travelling Harry Potter bent on vengeance, just like I can live yours. Or Voldemort's. If I follow the other side, the Necromancer path. I could consume the Horcrux. Take his knowledge, his power. Be something more than this—more than you."
"You are spoiled for choices," laughed the Incubus Lord, but I sensed little mirth in his tone.
"The other side," he drawled, his voice silk and sin. "Yes, the Necromancer's path. The allure of Death, its power to command, to transcend the living and the dead alike." He stepped closer, the Shrine dimming slightly as he moved. "You think it's freedom, don't you? To cast off this…" he gestured vaguely at the scarlet surroundings, "…and embrace something darker. Colder. Eternal."
The silence that followed felt like a weight pressing down on my chest. The air itself seemed to darken, the crimson light of the Shrine dimming as though the walls themselves recoiled from my words.
When he spoke next, his tone was dripping with disdain. "You think you can walk the Necromancer's path? That after bending souls to your will, after feeding your soul with the emotions and essence of others for all this time, you can ignore this taste?"
"It was just one summer —"
"Say that to your thralls," he said imperiously. "Those whose lives have forever latched to yours during this one summer. Foolish boy! Did you think it was that easy to escape this lust? Escape Me?And if you did, do you truly believe Voldemort's power—his essence—will bow to you so easily? That his Horcrux won't devour what's left of your precious soul?"
I clenched my fists, refusing to back down. "And what if it doesn't? What if I take his darkness and twist it to my will? What if I become something neither of you can control?"
The Lord's wings flared, their scarlet glow casting jagged shadows across his perfect face. "You speak as though you have a choice," he snarled, his voice echoing with a hundred layered tones. "Imposter or not, you have no choice but to play the game. You are me. You are him. You are all the paths you've walked, all the roles you've lived. You think you can shed one for another? No. You will always be both. The Incubus Lord and the Necromancer are two sides of the same cursed coin. But that coin is weighted, and one side will always come out as the winner."
I stepped forward, defiance burning in my chest. "And if I embrace that curse? If I take both paths—"
The Lord laughed then, a sound that resonated through the Shrine like thunder. "Yes. Yes I see. That's what you were angling for. Truly, you're madder than I thought. To embrace the Incubus is to revel in life, in desire, in connection. To walk the Necromancer's road is to forsake all of that for death, isolation, and control. You can't have both without destroying yourself."
"Wrong answer," I said, a defiant grin on my face. "I can't not have both. You said it yourself, Incubus Lord. You and the Necromancer are two sides of the same coin. Just because the coin is weighted, it doesn't mean the other does not exist or influence me. The only way to truly go ahead is to master both and reach a stable middle ground."
To my surprise, his expression softened. "You think you're the first to dream of uniting opposites? Of blending life and death, passion and power? Many have tried. All have failed."
And wasn't that interesting?
"Did all those before me also know how to become the Twilight Walker?"
"How?" He asked.
I had the answer ready this time around.
"A certain degree of affinity in Incarnum, and Psychomancy. And the activation of the Shrine."
For a moment, he just stared at me, his eyes glowing like molten gold. His gaze felt heavy as chains. Finally he spoke. "Yes, that would do it. Or at least, that would have done it."
A shudder ran down my spine. But before I could voice the question, I quickly summoned the status window, demanding the status for the Title under question.
It did not disappoint.
The Incubus Lord, that is.
Title — THE ROAD NOT TAKEN
Where desire meets death, and only those who dare to merge passion with oblivion can walk the path of eternity.
Status: INACTIVE
Prerequisites
85% affinity for Psychomancy (general)
85% affinity for Incarnaeum
Activation of Lecherous Shrine
Activation of Omniblend ██████ ██████████
Levelling Up to Necrolord Primus
Activation of Omniblend ██████ ██████████
I staggered. Activating the Shrine also had been a daunting prospect, especially with dealing with the after effects of the horcrux. Maybe even life-threatening, since Incaraneum was pretty much the deadliest discipline among those I had siphoned off the horcrux. But this? This was…
The weight of the sudden revelation hit me like a physical blow. The Road Not Taken — its conditions had changed. How? Why? Something like this hadn't happened before.
So why now?
"Still think you can do this?" asked the Incubus Lord, his face laced with amusement.
But the silence that had followed wasn't one of jest, it was the silence of inevitability.
"You are correct," said the Incubus Lord. "Becoming an Incubus and a Necromancer, and achieving certain affinities certainly qualify you for that tumultuous position. But that chance is long gone, Harry Potter. The moment you sought more from the horcrux, the moment you created your first Lyctor, the moment your greatest enemy twisted your power through the horcrux… everything changed."
His grin grew feral. "The Necromancer grows. It grows by leaps and bounds. And as it does, so does the influence of that madman grow upon your psyche. Your sole option is to embrace the powers of this Shrine, and rise even further, Harry Potter. Manifest the powers of the Incubus Lord in all its entirety, defeat your enemy for good, and ascend to Necrolord Primus. And then, when you have reached this point where no one has ever reached before, come to me, so that I might laugh at your futility."
The Shrine pulsed, its crimson light flaring around us, as if echoing his words. And deep in my chest, I felt a flicker of uncertainty. Not fear, not doubt—just the faintest whisper of something I didn't yet have a name for.
As the shadows coiled and the Incubus Lord began to fade, his smoldering scarlet wings folding into the ether, he turned to me one last time.
"You think this is free, Harry?" he purred, the words curling around me like a serpent. His voice was low, velvety, and laced with a knowing amusement that sent a shiver down my spine. "Power is never free. Every choice chains you. Every power shapes you. You asked me why would we want to make you? We don't. Not when it's so much more delicious to see what you'll make of yourself."
A low, mocking chuckle echoed as he vanished completely, leaving me with nothing but the ghost of his presence and a deep, gnawing unease.
"Every choice chains you. Every power shapes you. But tell me—why would we want to make you? When it's so much more delicious to see what you'll make of yourself."
A low, mocking chuckle echoed as he vanished completely, leaving me with nothing but the ghost of his presence and a deep, gnawing unease.
And then it hit me.
It settled over me like a second skin, an unshakable presence that I've both craved and dreaded. My heartbeat hammered in a rhythm that wasn't mine, but deeper and more primal, like a drumbeat echoing in a cavern of shadows and flame. My blood didn't just feel warm; it burned, surging with a molten heat that I had tasted just once before.
When I had first upgraded myself to Incubus Lord.
Every breath was thick, charged with an unbearable tension, as if the very air around me had come alive, aware of the hunger coursing through me. I felt it creeping into my thoughts—no, dominating them—twisting desire into a force that demanded release, an ache I could neither suppress nor satisfy.
And the pull… it was painful. It was like my soul itself was vibrating, resonating with an energy I couldn't control, much less direct. It wasn't just desire—it was need, raw and absolute, a ravenous void threatening to consume me from within.
I might as well attempt to hold a storm back with trembling hands.
This wasn't just hunger. It was lust.
Indomitable Lust.
And the status window popped in again.
A hunger that cannot be quenched, a yearning that consumes reason. Once ignited, it spreads like wildfire, leaving only smoldering desire in its wake.
Will you endure… or succumb?
The choice is yours — if you can make it.
The next thing I knew, everything was a blur.
A blur of skin. A blur of boobs. A blur of pussies. A blur of butts.
I was standing right there, with two massive wings of crimson and obsidian erupting right out of my back. The power, the desire, the need for lust, it was overwhelming. And all over me were women.
Narcissa had taken first dibs on my cock, and was pushing it deep into her mouth all the way till her throat. Emmeline, always the closet deviant, was on her knees, shifting between licking the part that Narcissa had failed to cover, and sucking my balls with an almost religious fervor. Anastasia was all over my body from my right, kissing and licking me from my neck to my hands and rubbing her hand and the rest of her body all over me, while Hestia had all but entwined herself, and was pushing the fingers of my left hand into her pussy and moaning out my name like a mantra.
Really, if I had any doubts about my choice, they just erased right there.
And then the status window popped in again.
You have unshackled the Shrine's primal force. Now, pay its price in full, and embrace the consequences of your awakening.
Condition for Abatement
Accept Quest.
I blinked.
A Quest? Since when did my screen feature Quests? At my metaphorical nod, the window displayed more information.
Quest — ALL OR NOTHING
Every thrall, every touch, every craving—fulfilled simultaneously. Miss a beat, and it all falls apart. Fail, and the shrine crumbles.
DETAIL
Embrace your Role as the Incubus Lord. Every single thrall, every Lilim, every orgasm forged — satisfy them all in perfect harmony.
REWARD
100 Meta-Luck Points
Deactivation of Indomitable Lust
Permanent Activation of Lecherous Shrine
One surprise Omniblend
UPON FAILURE
Complete loss of sanity and surrendering to Incubus instincts for the next 48 hours
I could feel it, then—something deep, coiling in the pit of my stomach, unfurling like a snake. The realization hit me like a sledgehammer, too heavy, too suffocating. I'd known about the affliction, but I hadn't truly understood. Not until now.
The power, the affliction—it was real.
And I wasn't prepared for it.
My heart raced as the full gravity of the situation slammed into me. I had failed before, sure. But this? This was something else. If I didn't act—if I couldn't hold myself together—everything I had built, every bit of control I'd clawed into existence, would slip away.
The terror was raw, jagged. It clawed at my insides. This quest — it wasn't some random curve-ball in a game. By invoking the Shrine to purge the corruption from Voldemort's trap, I had bypassed the prerequisites. This was the bill coming due.
If I didn't satisfy the Shrine's demands—if I couldn't make it stop—I'd lose my mind.
I could already feel it creeping in, that madness, gnawing at the edges of my sanity. If I failed, I would descend into nothing but a writhing, uncontrollable monster. Lust would consume me—devour every scrap of my will until I was nothing but a feral beast. I'd be a slave to my desires, a puppet to the Shrine's dark pull.
And the worst part? I wasn't sure how long I had before I'd start to break. Forty-eight hours. One wrong move, one moment of weakness, and I'd be lost to it—lost to myself.
I could already feel the pulse of it, thrumming beneath my skin, like fire rushing through my veins. The fear wasn't just in my mind—it was physical, gnawing at my body. My breath came too fast, my muscles taut with the urge to act, to give in, to let go.
But I couldn't. I wouldn't.
Not if I wanted to survive what was coming.
The thought of losing myself, of losing control, made the fear even worse. The terror clawed at my chest, but there was no choice but to keep going—to find a way to hold my ground.
If I failed... I wouldn't be Harry Potter anymore. I'd be something far worse. Something broken.
But what to do? What could I do? I already have four women close and sexually pleasing me. Amelia and Hermione… they ought to be somewhere close too. Penelope was in her room. All it would take is one call. But it wouldn't solve a thing. All the thralls — the quest demanded. All of them. Every single person that I had seduced, directly or indirectly — Tracey I could call over, assuming I could reach her. Susan? Amelia could go and get her. Ginny too was just one Floo call away. And I hadn't even started on the actual difficult parts yet.
Hannah Abbott. Her mother Cynthia. Romilda? She wasn't an anchor anymore, so would she count? Thrall, not anchor — I told myself. I didn't know where Romilda Vane lived, and chances of just calling her over right away were pretty much zero.
Daphne wasn't tied to me by any way, but she had drunk my cum. For whatever reason, I hadn't gotten a world anchor out of it. Stupid Empath powers always fucking around my back! Best to get her too just in case. Who's next? Fleur Delacour? She was bound by an Orgasm binding contract. Damn it. How the fuck was I to reach over the country and grab the Delacour heiress and bring her over for a quick fuck? Yeah, that one would be so easy! And then… and then…
My stomach twisted.
Holy buggering shit! I thought, remembering exactly what had transpired inside the Quidditch World Cup stadium.
The veela! The bloody veela! Their unified call, they were all directing their efforts at me, and in return, I had raised my own allure back at them. And the girls, the women at the World Cup… no, no, not all of them. The explosion killed a massive number of people, which meant the ones that survived were those in the Ministry boxes and pretty much everyone that left before the detonation.
People that were affluent, and held important positions all over the world.
People I didn't even know.
How the fuck was I supposed to connect to them all at once?
Accept Quest?
Yes? No? Was there even a choice? If I accepted it, it demanded the impossible. If I rejected it, I would lose myself, turn into a mindless rapist with the allure to turn even the most pious and loyal woman into a quivering whore that wanted to join me in my world of endless orgies. One that would last for forty-eight hours.
Bugger if I took the deal. Bugger if I dropped it.
By the end of it, I would lose everything — my connections, my reputation, my everything, assuming someone didn't already slam my skull with the proverbial rock and drop me unconscious.
… There's an idea. Would it —?
Terrible things happen to those that deceive Quests.
Okay, now it was just being obvious. Still, every problem had a solution. And despite everything that happened, I doubted that the Incubus Lord, or the Lecherous Shrine — assuming they weren't the one and the same, just wanted to thrust an impossible problem at me and see me suffer. If that was the case, I'd simply shift sides to the horcrux and accept that deal.
No. There had to be a solution, and it would probably mirror the Shrine's own existence in some metaphorical way.
Frowning, I considered the problem. Obviously, I couldn't solve it all at once. The parameters were too wide, the number of variables too vast, unknown, both in name and location, and varying in terms of the social strata. Attempting to solve this overarching problem — the big target, would end up with me obsessing over its enormity, and I would lose.
Better start small.
Focus on solving problems I could answer. Build some dry ground to stand on. And after I've put in the work, and if I was lucky, the mystery of the overarching question becomes knowable. Like stepping slowly back from a photomontage to witness the ultimate image revealing itself.
I needed to separate myself from the fear, the paranoia, the terror, and simply attack this problem as if I were in a lab—one small question at a time.
Build some dry ground to stand on.
The overarching question was —what could I do? What did I have?
The full power of the Incubus Lord for one. And four anchors — two of them Lilims. Neither Anastasia nor Narcissa were at their hundred percent anchorages, and if I played according to their whims, it might take a long time before they became devoted to me.
Penelope too was nearby, and a source for a much larger anchorage rise. It would, of course, not solve the bigger problem, but a gain in anchorage automatically meant a gain in Meta-Luck, and that was always useful.
All I needed to do was stop seeing them as people and more as thralls.
My thralls.
It was time to play the game.
I raised both arms wide, and power flowed through me.
Available Meta-Luck Engaged.
Lecherous Shrine Active
Achieving Synchronicity with existing Anchors and Thralls…
Adjusting Reality to suit your whims… or ruin your day. Let's see how this pans out!
Huh! What do you know? The status window's sense of humor was getting sarcastic by the second.
I chanted my first command.
"DECADENCE LINK!"
Notes:
Next update comes on 5th.
Chapter 144: Unravelling Intimacies
Notes:
I have a Discord server, Penthouse. If you are interested in joining it, following for more updates and snippets, and discussing SED in general, just hop in on the link.
https://discord.gg/jvzqqvHhr7
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 3 - THE INCUBUS AND NECROMANCER
CHAPTER 144 - UNRAVELLING INTIMACIES
Perk: DECADENCE LINK
Because who said group therapy can't double as a party trick? Share one sensation in multiple locations—just brace yourself for the communal hangover.
When I tried this with Fleur Delacour, things took a rather interesting turn. There she was, fresh from a climax, emotions scattering like fireworks thanks to my allure. Already bound by an orgasmic spell, she was mere inches away, separated only by a pesky boundary and a silencing ward. Essentially, this was basic arithmetic—take from A, give to B.
But this? This was like plugging into a living, breathing network of emotions and sensations, a veritable buffet of feelings each more vivid than the last. Imagine suddenly being handed the keys to the emotional internet, zapping joy and tweaking discomfort with just a thought. It was like being both omnipresent and omniscient—godlike, really, except for the part where it felt like I was riding a rollercoaster with no seatbelt.
That I didn't lose my mind in the first three seconds was a minor miracle. Or maybe it was the Shrine acting like some sort of cosmic babysitter, buffering the shock. It was as if I'd expressed a mild interest in sandcastles and the Shrine decided to dump the Sahara on me. Not just overwhelming but over-everything.
Each pulse of fear, each thrill of excitement, or sigh of relief from my thralls funneled through me, not stirring sympathy but sparking a rush of power. It's intoxicating, this ability to tune into their sensations and dial them up or down as if adjusting the volume on a radio. I'm not just connected—I'm in control, and I revel in that. The thrill of syncing and amplifying was a lure better men than me would fail to handle, but the risk of pushing too far was always lurking in the back of my mind. And then there was the fallout of failing the Quest—losing myself to the incubus instincts and losing everything.
Damned if I did. Damned if I didn't.
Every single woman's eyes flashed a hot, bold scarlet with a glossy sheen. I'd have said they looked like Voldemort's glowing red eyes, but the shade was different. This wasn't the glow of death; this was the glow of desire.
Desire to be with me.
Desire to serve me.
Desire to be ravished by me.
There you have it—a magical soirée where everyone's invited to the mind party, and I'm the reluctant DJ. What could possibly go wrong?
"Fuck me! Fuck me!" Hestia screamed out, easily the filthiest of them all. She was in front of me, on all fours. Not wanting for me to begin, she had already pushed her arse against my cock and was driving herself back against it. I grabbed her back by her hair and she yelled in ecstasy, her body practically brimming with sweat, and the thrumming power I was injecting into her. It was difficult, choosing between drilling her arse at full power, or facefuck Emmeline, who lay right beneath Hestia just so that she could taste my cock the moment it drove deep into Hestia's butt. And all the while, she would keep spasming as if there was an invisible cock ramming her arse.
Uh, never mind. I was fucking both.
Hestia lacked the curves that the others had, but she made up with her sheer athleticism. She could run a fucking marathon in the bedroom, and she, more than any of them, had actually bore the hardcore agony I gave without resorting to using my incubus powers. In fact, without the entire incubus thing, she could easily wear me down. Her peak fitness was always on display, and she wasn't one to disappoint.
"Ahhhh! Shit! Yes! Fuck me! Fuck me! Yes! Ugh! GOD! Do me, SIR! Do me!" she screamed out. She had pulled away, spun, and jumped on me, entwining herself against my waist. Clenching her hands against my neck, she hung freely, my cock piercing her arse from below. Even then her athleticism showed as she rode my cock, never slowing down, driving me crazy.
"Ughh! Damn!" I said, admiring how she rode me like this. And I also admired how tight her arse felt around my eager shaft.
"Yes! Yes! Fuck! God damn Sir! Fuck you're big!" she moaned, with her limbs wrapped around me, riding me while I was standing, bouncing on my dick. One thing she never shook was calling me Sir whenever it was time for her punishment. It was her way to emphasize herself beneath me, a trait that had only amplified ever since she evolved into a lilim.
Evolved? Devolved? Whatever. All that mattered was —
THWACK! THWACK! THWACK!
She was using her hips to push herself up, and then flexing it all the way down at me, her bouncing more firm and insistent, trying to draw this heated sex to a close, trying to draw the cum from my swollen balls.
I groaned in pleasure as she bounced on me, me supporting her luscious frame, watching that smooth, tanned skin glistening with sweat between her boobs. Something about it was just hypnotizing. Even after so many carnal-pleasure-filled nights… and days, I suppose, that bit still managed to grab my gaze.
"Mmmm…" I grunted. "Fuck! I'm gonna cum!"
"UH! UH! UH! Yes! Cum! Cum in my arse! Yes!" She yelped with each bounce, her arse flexing every single time I drove deeper into her. "Ah! Ugh! Shiiiit!"
Cum exploded from my cock, painting her anal hole. I fired stream after stream of cum, until she tightened to the degree that my cock felt like it was stuck in an oven, with no way out.
But that wasn't all.
Hestia was my Lilim, which in the grand hierarchy of closeness meant she practically had VIP access to the Shrine. But only now did I truly see her. And what I saw was not just loyalty, but Loyalty with a capital "L."
Her emotions didn't flicker or falter; they burned with a steady, relentless flame. This wasn't the run-of-the-mill devotion you'd expect towards one's boss or, heaven forbid, a lover. Nor was it the kind of celebrity worship reserved for the Boy-Who-Lived (one of my less embarrassing titles). No, her loyalty was of a more guttural kind, the type that's forged in the gritty trenches of personal and metaphorical battles.
Hestia was a soldier, though not in the sense you might expect. Sure, she wouldn't win any accolades for her spell-slinging abilities. Compared to Emmeline or Amelia—who had turned into something of a magical juggernaut recently—Hestia might seem a bit underpowered. And let's not even talk about the recently berserk-amplified Amelia, who now smashed through battles with the subtlety of a wrecking ball. That stray thought about Bellatrix Lestrange? Yeah, dismissed that quicker than a quip about Voldemort at a Death Eater reunion.
But soldiering on isn't all about brute force. Hestia was battle-scarred in more ways than one, hardened by high-stakes scenarios where a millisecond's hesitation could mean the difference between a win and a wipeout. She wasn't just about following orders—she was the master of reading the room, predicting moves, and if need be, plotting a course through a minefield of political (and literal) backstabbing without so much as a flinch. Her strategy? Never ask, never lie, and if necessary, betray and bleed as per the playbook. Her true prowess shone through in her role as a subversive activist, the same savviness that manifested as a perk that had Amelia Bones eventually hopping into the proverbial and literal bath with me, her arse pushed at me for spanking and begging for more.
And at the core of all this was a pulsing, gnawing guilt. The details? Unknown. But it was this guilt that shaped her, drove her, and if I played my cards right, could be twisted to either ramp up her combat efficacy or dial it back to save her from burnout.
So there she was: not just a pawn or a power player, but a paradox wrapped in a riddle, swathed in black ops and sprinkled with a touch of existential dread. Just my kind of soldier.
Just for a lingering second, a part of me was terrified at what Lecherous Shrine was truly capable of. That single moment cost me, and I reacted, throwing Hestia away. She was hurled across the room to the bed and landed spreadeagled, spurting a fountain of cum.
…You know what? Next time anyone asks, I'll just say I planned that to happen all along.
But before I knew it, Emmeline had jumped at the opportunity, pushing her mouth forward until her nose was pressed tightly to my pubic hair in a single go. No gags. No hesitation over the fact that this cock had just been inside Hestia's rase. Combine that with her plump lips, her talented tongue, and her hot saliva made her mouth a truly remarkable fuck hole. Emmeline sat there, resting on her hips, her tits swaying as she expertly inhaled my cock and kept feverishly sucking it. I looked down as she worked herself c loser to the root, getting closer and closer, digging out space in her throat to push me further down if possible, until finally, somehow…
"Holy shit, I'm…." I grunted, and Emmeline locked her lips in place, my entire cock inside her mouth and buried down her throat. Her heated spit was leaking from the sides of her lips, coating my balls, which she was busy massaging with one of her hands. I savored the feeling for a moment, before the trigger came, and I blasted quantities of cum out, for the sole purpose of filling up her wicked mouth.
But Emmeline was not satisfied.
She pulled me out mid-orgasm, grabbed my cum-cannon and aimed it at herself, spraying all over her eyes, her forehead, crawling down her cheek, spatering across her hair, not to mention the sheer dump of jizz I had filled in her mouth before leaving.
In that one moment, I took a deeper look—really peeled back the layers—to see what made Emmeline tick. Unlike Hestia's straight-shot of undiluted loyalty, Emmeline was more of a Rubik's Cube, a heady mix of ambition, cunning, and a dash of political savvy sharp enough to slice through the thickest bureaucratic red tape.
Her emotions? They were like finely honed steel, every wave carrying the crisp edge of her deep commitment. It wasn't enough for her to just be in the game; she wanted to be calling the plays, reshaping my strategies with the finesse of a chess grandmaster. Emmeline wasn't just hungry for power—oh no, she was famished for influence, for the chance to carve out a legacy that would stand the test of time right beside me.
Emmeline was energy incarnate. Not the calm, steady sort but the restless, pacing-at-3AM kind, starved of satisfaction. Sure, there was fulfillment—both in the boardroom and the bedroom—but alongside it simmered a pot of greed, stewed with a vengeance born from my dark tales of a dystopian future. This woman wasn't here for the participation trophy; she aimed to be the architect of our new World Order, to dominate not just conversations but continents.
Her relentless drive to outperform, to never show a crack in the armor, was a double-edged sword. Sure, it propelled her to heights others could only dream of, but it also meant that her pride in her conquests was always shadowed by the fear that even a minor slip could topple her empire. Managing Emmeline's ambitions was like juggling grenades—both thrilling and perilous, and it required a finesse that was nothing short of balletic to keep her from spiraling into self-destruction.
Navigating her psyche was like walking a tightrope over a shark tank—exciting, yes, but one misstep and you'd be lunch.
"AHH! YEESSS!" Emmeline groaned, satisfied.
Oh, and keep her satiated with sex as well.
Unfortunately, the others weren't.
WHOMP!
A fleshy slap took advantage of my distraction and knocked me for a loop. Anastasia had literally jumped on me, swinging her giant bags straight at my face. I lost my balance and had to bend down, but she wouldn't even let me sit, and instead, swung her tits like weapons against my face, holding my hands above my head with her own, and straddling me, before liberally pushing her tongue into my mouth. Before she could push herself on my dick, someone else pushed her further up, and instead sank down on my meaty shaft.
Unfortunately for them, I had other ideas.
With a snap of my fingers, both women went stiff and were raised into the air, and I casually walked to the bed, while Narcissa was pushed against it, spreadeagled, the parting between her legs and her raised arse ripe for my taking. Anastasia landed on her feet, standing with the former Malfoy literally between her legs, and attempted to smash my face with her boobs. Meanwhile Hestia came down and made a dive for my balls. With a casual yank, I pulled Emmeline and Hestia on Narcissa's either side, as my wings extended near the bottom to form long, phallic projections, piercing both of their pussies with equal vigour, leaving my hands free for Anastasia.
Four women. Four pussies. All of them being fucked at the same time.
All of them were feeling the others being fucked at the same time.
All of them had the compounded feeling of being fucked four-times all at once.
After the number of times I had fun with them, I could write pages about their sensitive zones. Not exactly what you might have in mind for Eidetic memory, but hey, there's nothing in this universe that can't be twisted, used or made into porn.
And the screams began.
"FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!" squealed Anastasia, her voice warbling, as I sped up even more. The others joined her in a twisted symphony, delicious and carnal and oh so delicious. Some part of me wondered exactly why Hermione and Amelia were absent, but something told me I'd not like the answer. Instead I focussed on thrusting my cock into Narcissa's — or rather, all of their cunts — the sensations magnifying four-fold for each of them. There was no mercy, for they didn't want any.
"YES! YES! YES! Don't be gentle! Don't be fucking gentle! FUCK! FUCK! Tear me apart with that huge fucking cock! Yes! YES!" Narcissa screamed.
As did the others.
Then it happened.
You have gained a new Lilim: Anastasia Greengrass
You have gained a new Lilim: Narcissa Malfoy
Current Lilim Count: 4
Maybe it was because of all the emotional turmoil my mind was under from the constant relaying of emotions. Maybe it was the Incubus Allure that kept my reaction in check. Or maybe I was too busy grunting in exhilaration that the gasp of surprise exuded right along with it. But with that, came the chance to dip my fingers into the hormonal cesspools that their minds were currently drowning in.
Anastasia was ambitious, just like Emmeline, but there the comparisons screeched to a halt. Where Emmeline dodged the shadow of failure like it was the plague, Anastasia wrestled with a different demon—obscurity. Each emotional wave from her was charged with the intensity of someone acutely aware of her own value yet condemned to linger in the shadows, watching lessers bask in the spotlight she deserved.
Why, though? Because Broderick was Lucius's go-to guy? Plausible. After all, while Narcissa was displayed like a pristine trophy wife, Lucius busied himself draining the vitality of the young and innocent.
Or was there more to it?
Regardless, it seemed Anastasia had finally spotted a crack of light and was ready to bulldoze her way through it, come hell or high water. She was poised to carve out her place in the limelight, and Merlin help anyone standing in her way.
Her emotional palette was more vibrant than the others': a cocktail of relief at her newfound agency, mixed with the cold, sharp tang of strategy always plotting several moves ahead. Feeling her emotions, I caught the thrill that surged through her—not just from the immediate connection, but from the broad spectrum of opportunities now sprawling before her. She wasn't here just to be another name on my list or to tweak her husband's nose. No, she was playing the long game, envisioning her ascent intertwined with mine.
But then there was Narcissa Black.
The real head-scratcher.
This woman was an enigma wrapped in indifference. No loyalties, no ambitions that stretched beyond her own self-interest—perhaps a nod in my direction as the Black Lord, but even that was a balancing act.
Ambition? Please. She had reached her peaks—mastered Charms, delved deep into the Dark Arts—and now, even with the Malfoy name tarnished, she'd secured a fat slice of fortune before embracing her Black heritage. For Narcissa, there was no fear of being outdone, no craving for the limelight. She'd had her fill, and frankly, she was over it.
Money, power, knowledge, charisma—she had it all. And no, Draco wasn't a complication. Sure, she might not like how things turned out with Lucius's death curse, my ascension, or Draco's stubborn refusal to adopt the Black name and his tragic, fiery future end—courtesy of a botched attempt to impress a Dark Lord who probably couldn't pick him out of a lineup. But was she losing sleep over it? Doubtful.
So why? It became clear when I really took the time to look. What I found was... curiosity. It crackled through her like a live wire, each pulse rich with intrigue and a bold eagerness to unravel the mystery that captivated her: me.
It wasn't just a casual interest. No, this was kinetic, unsettling in its intensity. She was mesmerized by the paradox within me—the dance of deathly manipulations intertwined with life-infused powers. Her fascination wasn't merely academic; it was visceral, compelling her to gamble her future, her safety, even her family ties, all to peel back the layers of my capabilities.
And the realization that this curiosity might spin her life into new, dangerous directions? That didn't deter her. It thrilled her, injecting a mix of exhilaration and apprehension into her veins—a potent understanding that she was treading paths that might reshape far more than her personal story.
We'd all painted Narcissa in various shades—Susan called her a shark; Hestia, a venomous spider; Amelia had less polite terms, and Emmeline shared the sentiment. Anastasia, oddly, was pleasantly surprised, and that was that.
But peering deeper, I saw something else: the wide-eyed wonder of a child, rapt with anticipation for a dark fairy tale. There was an innocence there, a raw, unfiltered awe that I hadn't expected.
This wasn't about pride or achievement. It was pure, unadulterated curiosity—almost serene in its madness, a detail I'd overlooked until now.
And it terrified me.
In a world where titans like Voldemort defied death and Dumbledore played his high sorcery games, the one who truly scared me was Narcissa Black.
I swear, I'd never been closer to ending her than in that moment. She had turned her life upside down out of sheer curiosity, landed on top, and it wasn't just luck or my generosity. It was something else—something twisted.
Like I said, twisted.
But before I could follow further down that rabbit hole, the Screen popped up with two new notifications.
For hitting 100% World Anchorages with Narcissa Black and Anastasia Greengrass, you have 20 units of Meta-Luck.
You have gained 2 perks OR a Coupon!
…Right! I forgot. Being a Lilim required one to hit 100% Anchorage first, which in turn, generated 10 units of Meta-Luck, as well as a Perk. Each.
Still, another Coupon?
From past exploits, I had learned that dealing with Coupons was akin to navigating a minefield with a blindfold. Each encounter with these tantalizing tickets had demanded choices that weren't just life-altering—they were destiny-warping. Elevating me to an Incubus Lord, juggling my perks like a street magician pulling rabbits from hats, or that time I traded all my Meta-Luck to avoid being swallowed whole by my burgeoning necromantic powers.
Each activation of a Coupon was like wrestling with a cursed monkey's paw. Sure, it tossed me a lifeline, but it was always wrapped around a boulder, promising a tumultuous ride downstream. Immediate relief? Check. Long-term complications? Double check.
And yet, here I stood at the crossroads of yet another devilish dilemma. I could turn down the Coupon, roll the dice on the Perks coming my way, and hope the Meta-Luck from my freshly minted Lilims would suffice. But then, the siren call of the Coupon whispered promises of potentially greater boons.
Damned if I did. Damned if I didn't.
"Coupon," I muttered, half in resignation, half in defiance, ready once more to dance with destiny, however twisted the tune might play.
You have chosen to gain a Coupon.
COUPON
Ding! Here's your chance to wield the relic Oneiros Spindle. Handle with caution or become history's next cautionary tale.
"...Okay," I said, "so far, so good."
Quite naturally, that was when things decided to go sideways.
Notes:
Find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
I'm leaving for my honeymoon. So the next update is gonna take some extra while. See you on 13th. I'll throw in an extra chapter after I return.
Chapter 145: Oneiros Spindle
Notes:
Okay, took a little longer to return. But back to posting.
As always, I have a Discord server, Penthouse. If you are interested in joining it, following for more updates and snippets, and discussing SED in general, just hop in on the link.
https://discord.gg/jvzqqvHhr7
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 3 - THE INCUBUS AND NECROMANCER
CHAPTER 145 - ONEIROS SPINDLE
You have chosen to gain a Coupon.
COUPON
Ding! Here's your chance to wield the relic Oneiros Spindle. Handle with caution or become history's next cautionary tale.
The message scrolled with an irritating cheeriness that belied the gravity of its content. I read on, a knot forming in the pit of my stomach.
To initiate activation requires substantial energy contribution from yourself and your lilims.
Proceed with caution or reckless abandon — the choice is yours!
"Typical," I muttered, as the absurdity of it all began to sink in. I scratched my head—figuratively, since I hadn't yet developed an itch—pondering whether 'Relic' had any special meaning in this world beyond the usual ancient knick-knacks and Founder's artifacts. And even if it did, I couldn't see how giving up two perks I knew nothing about, plus some energy, would entitle me to some long-dead sorcerer's junk. Magic, contrary to popular belief, wasn't a vending machine.
"Something on your mind?" Narcissa probed, her voice tinged with a mix of curiosity and faux innocence.
I scanned the group, noting the persistent red glow in their eyes, a curious blend of intrigue and worry across their faces.
Then it clicked. Narcissa and Anastasia had just been promoted to Lilims, which meant new admin rights in the realm of eye-based pop-ups.
"Uh, Narcissa, Anastasia, do you see something... unusual floating in front of you? Like, a rectangle?" I ventured.
Narcissa frowned, "Not exactly. More of a scroll."
"Same," Anastasia piped up. "Though it insists on calling itself a Status Window."
I blinked. Hestia had mentioned a Screen, but I hadn't asked for a detailed description. Caught up in its contents, I had missed the UI design discussion entirely.
"It was definitely a window for me," Emmeline interjected, her tone suggesting a minor revelation. "Wait, does that mean these two—"
"Became my Lilims, yes. Save the applause, we'll slice the cake later. First, we've got a snag," I interjected, my gaze swinging back to Narcissa and Anastasia. "I'd wager you two might have a question or two."
Narcissa raised a finger, cutting through the tension. "It's not that I'm uninterested or skeptical about these visuals. It's that I'm too intrigued to care. You speak of Lilims, forebears to the current succubi line-up. And yet, the Dark Ages supposedly swept all your lot out of Reality with yesterday's garbage. And yet here you are, Potter, playing Incubus. Plus, you've mentioned future demon summonings by the Dark Lord—seems like there's a whole otherworldly carnival waiting out there. I can't wait to buy tickets."
"Uh," Anastasia added, "Ditto to all that. Except, maybe hold the demon meet-and-greet."
Considering Narcissa, whose curiosity seemed to drive her more effectively than any broomstick ever could, I wasn't sure if she was genuinely indifferent, merely humoring me, or too polite to call out the ridiculousness. But it seemed that as long as I could keep her curiosity fed, she'd play along nicely under any bizarre circumstances.
"Well, it looks like I might have just tripped over a breakthrough here," I admitted with a half-smile. "But there's a catch." I paused, recalibrating. "Does the term 'Relic' ring any bells?"
Narcissa shook her head, "Not unless you're talking about family heirlooms or something monumental like a Founder's artifact or the Deathly Hallows..."
The mention of the Deathly Hallows sent a shiver down my spine, which I promptly ignored for the sake of maintaining whatever composure I had left. But it also confirmed my suspicions.
"Right, well, it appears we might need to redefine what 'Relic' means in this context," I said, turning back to the group. "Because if my hunch is correct, we're not just talking about a dusty old artifact. We could be dealing with something that bends the very fabric of magic as we know it."
Their faces mirrored my own mix of dread and excitement—a strange blend that seemed to be the hallmark of our adventures.
"So, it appears I've stumbled upon a Relic, and activating it requires a little magical charity from each of you," I declared, managing a grin.
Their reactions were priceless—four pairs of eyes bulging as if I'd announced free tickets to the apocalypse.
"Where exactly is this Relic?" Narcissa asked, her skepticism barely masked by curiosity.
"Still in the ether, apparently. We'll know when it decides to make an entrance."
"And its purpose?" probed Hestia, ever the pragmatist.
"Remains shrouded in mystery," I confessed with a theatrical shrug.
"This isn't one of your board games, Harry," Emmeline scolded.
"Oh, come now, Vance. Everyone loves a good mystery," Narcissa countered, a playful smirk dancing on her lips.
Emmeline's left eye twitched—a telltale sign of her fraying patience.
"Any hints at all about what we're dealing with here?" she pressed, her tone bordering on exasperation.
Pausing a beat, I weighed the merits of disclosure. Narcissa was my Lilim now; withholding information would be counterproductive. "It's called the Oneiros Spindle."
"Never heard of it," she replied, her voice flat.
That drew a collective murmur of non-recognition from the group, which admittedly, sent a thrill of relief through me. If Narcissa, the human equivalent of a dark arts encyclopedia, hadn't heard of it, we were likely in uncharted waters.
"Unless," Narcissa pondered, her gaze sharpening, "it's stashed away in some arcane Family Vault. Us Blacks, for instance, are notorious for squirreling away relics predating Hogwarts."
So much for my brief moment of elation.
"But, there would be specific conditions for its discovery..." she continued, narrowing her eyes. "You're an Incubus Lord, Harry. Maybe it's something that resonates with your...unique condition?"
"Harry has been sporting those Incubus Lord credentials for a while now," Hestia chimed in.
"True, but those wings are a new addition, aren't they?" Narcissa pointed out with a gleam in her eye.
I nodded, and she almost bounced with excitement. "A Relic that vibes with your demonic flair? Oh, the possibilities are spicy!"
"Thrilling," I drawled, unable to suppress a smirk. "So, we're all on board? Proceeding may tap into your powers. The specifics are a bit fuzzy, so let's just brace for, well, anything."
"Alright," I said, exhaling. "Proceed."
In books and movies, apocalypses get the deluxe package: thunder, lightning, maybe a plague or two, all conveniently scheduled at the witching hour. You know, for effect. But for me, Harry Potter, bringing about the apocalypse was less Hollywood and more technology special—just one little coupon away from catastrophe. Who knew a single ding from my Screen could be so apocalyptic?
Like… who needs ancient prophecies when you've got push notifications?
As soon as the last word escaped my lips, I could practically hear fate chuckling in the background, ready to unfurl its latest trap. Every time I've dabbled with these coupons, I've had to wrestle with choices that would make even a seasoned philosopher sweat. They're like those offers that scream "free," but you end up paying with your soul—or at least a substantial chunk of your destiny. From being rocketed up to Incubus Lord status to swapping perks like trading cards in a schoolyard, these little devils have reshaped my path in ways I didn't sign up for.
So there I was, essentially throwing my name into yet another cosmic raffle, hoping this time the universe might just toss me a bone instead of a booby trap. The usual theatrics began, and Hestia, Narcissa, Anastasia, and Emmeline reacted as though someone had flipped their power switch to max. Heads thrown back, beams of crimson energy shot out like they were auditioning for a role in the next big laser light show.
Now, the smart move would have been to run a detailed risk assessment, maybe even draw up a pros and cons list. But who has time for that when you're busy being an impromptu power conductor at the world's most chaotic symphony? No, I threw in every bit of incubus might I had, which, by all accounts, was akin to throwing gasoline on an already blazing bonfire. My energy alone doubled what the four women had mustered—it was like directing a firehose at a teacup, overkill in its finest form.
Instinct took over, and I threw every bit of my own incubus energy into the mix, stirring the pot to create a magical maelstrom that felt suspiciously like being inside a blender set on apocalypse mode. The power didn't explode; it imploded, sucking in everything with the force of a black hole at a bargain sale.
The force of the implosion was monumental, yet bizarrely localized. Imagine setting off a nuclear bomb inside a teacup—dramatic, overkill, and yet somehow neatly contained within the fine china. The room itself was an odd sense of calm chaos. No furniture was tossed about, no windows shattered—it was as if the storm of power was too proud to bother with such mundane expressions of its strength.
And in the eye of this storm, something happened. Something new. A manifestation of sorts. I didn't know what it was supposed to look like, or even if it was supposed to appear at all. All I knew was that suddenly, amidst the chaos of power and light, there was a... thing. A presence, a new player entering the game without so much as a by-your-leave.
This wasn't part of the usual program. Whatever was showing up was making its entrance like an uninvited guest who not only crashes your party but also rearranges your furniture and reparks your car while they're at it.
The aftermath was like the silence after a particularly impressive fireworks display. We all just stood there, part dazed, part amazed, and thoroughly out of our depths. As my eyes slowly adjusted to the light I was finally able to make out….
Make out….
What the hell was that?
For a moment, my brain froze solid, like someone had shoved an entire bar of ice into it. The best I could make out was a central spindle-like structure that glimmered, liquid yet solid, the surface constantly shifting with dreamlike images: faces and moments and strange symbols that made absolutely no sense whatsoever. It was tiny, barely the size of my thumb. It was also stretched infinitely long, stretching into dimensions I couldn't possibly perceive, with threads spiralling around it in chaotic yet harmonic patterns. There were shades of midnight black and ethereal violet for the most of it, but the interspersing iridescent blues and silvers were also dominant. It emitted a faint hum, like a heartbeat overlaid with distant whispers.
The screen, ever the harbinger of chaos wrapped in humor, flashed its message with the snark of a seasoned barkeep:
Congratulations, Incubus Lord! You've just actualised The Oneiros Spindle!
Description
Imagine controlling dreams and sculpting realities, all with the convenience of this handy, unassuming artifact. Who needs straightforward power when you can dabble in the subconscious of friends and foes alike?
The spindle—if that's what you could call this interloper—hung in the air, an artifact of immense power and absolute mystery, born from our collective magical frenzy.
Damned if I did, indeed. But as I stood there, catching my breath and trying not to think about how many laws of nature we might have just violated, I couldn't help but feel a flicker of excitement—a spark of curiosity about what doors this spindle might open. Or what doors it might slam shut, locking us on one side or the other. The universe had thrown down the gauntlet, and like any good gambler at the end of his luck, I was already reaching to pick it up.
So, with a wary eye on the spindle and a mental note to maybe consider a career in something less apocalyptic—like knitting—I prepared myself for whatever came next. Because when it comes to magic, especially the kind you get from coupons, you can bet it's going to be one hell of a ride.
Warning
Side effects may include but are not limited to: unexpected existential crises, unsolicited visits into others' nightmares, and an overwhelming sense of being in too many places at once. Handle with care, or just throw caution to the wind and see what happens!
Bonus Feature
Comes with a complimentary enigma wrap! Because we figured you didn't have enough mysteries to solve. Enjoy your new reality-bending toy, but remember – with great power comes great potential for everything to go hilariously wrong.
Use at your own peril, or delight, depending on how you look at it.
The message hung in the air, its last line flickering slightly as if chuckling at its own joke. I couldn't help but smirk. Trust the universe to deliver life-altering power with a side of sarcasm. As if handling arcane forces that could warp reality wasn't daunting enough, now it was packaged with a cautionary reminder of my potentially precarious future.
Well, if the spindle was as potent as advertised, things were about to get a lot more interesting—and complicated. Here's to hoping it's more delight than peril, though I wouldn't bet my last Galleon on it.
The message on the screen scrolled with an air of nonchalant menace:
Activation Required: Speak Your Truth.
The instruction was deceptively simple, yet laden with the weight of unseen chains. Speak my truth? I glanced around at the expectant faces of my companions, their expressions a mix of curiosity and concern. The red shafts of light, I was assuming, was a mix of their own emotion and magic, and now, they were all physically and magically exhausted, if their features were any clue. I myself was still standing, though my wings had vanished,and with it had come a sensation of sullenness, a strange restraint from being able to access the terminal of my other extreme's powers. Whatever this Spindle was, it was not to be taken lightly, and its demand for a personal truth as a key to its activation was a price that bespoke its potential.
I went with the obvious.
"My name is Harry Potter."
Nothing — just the dull, indifferent hover in the air.
"I garner it wants more than just your name, Harry," said Emmeline. "It —"
She paused, right then, her face pinched in discomfort, the color draining from her cheeks.
"...What?"
"Nothing, just… felt like I had been stung. Really hard."
That was weird.
I started with trivial truths, tossing them out like breadcrumbs in hopes of appeasing the spindle's appetite. "I prefer pumpkin pasties over treacle tart. I am an Incubus Lord. All four of you are my Lilims. Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger are my friends! Hestia Jones is my secretary!"
The Spindle still didn't react, and the room's atmosphere grew tense. Beside me, Hestia clenched her teeth, a spasm running through her body. It was subtle at first, but unmistakably a sign of distress.
I glanced at Narcissa and Anastasia, noticing similar twinges of pain flickering across their expressions. The realization hit me hard; my attempts at light, inconsequential truths were costing them, each failed attempt seeming to affect them. It could simply be a powerful stinging charm, like Emmeline claimed, or it could be something worse.
With a growing sense of urgency, I pushed deeper, the truths growing significantly weightier. "I… I cheated my way through the victories I have had in the summer," I confessed, my voice quickening. The spindle remained silent, but the spasms grew worse. Emmeline let out a soft groan, her body contorting with a sharp jolt of pain.
Panic edged into my voice as I saw their agony intensify. "The Order of the Phoenix and the people of Wizarding Britain have no idea what I did recently. If they did, they would never give me any accolades they currently are," I admitted. "Sometimes, sometimes I think I am just a fraud. And when I look at those I should trust the most, I wonder if they look at me and see me as a liar!"
The words kept rushing out, and still, the spindle floated impassively, its demands unmet, while the pain visibly wracked my lilims with increasing severity.
"I manipulated people's perceptions of me, played to their beliefs of being the Boy-Who-Lived, to achieve what I have. I have betrayed others with belief, deluded by love, and tricked with sex! I — I have killed Lucius Malfoy with my bare hands and drove the bloody dagger into his chest for power and power alone!"
Desperation seeped into my bones. I couldn't stand there doling out palatable truths while they suffered. The next truth came out in a rush, a dangerous gamble,
The air thickened, the spindle pulsed slightly—recognition at last, but not enough. The spasms didn't cease; instead, they intensified, screams beginning to pierce the air.
Fear and resolve hardened within me. "I… I committed spiritual genocide on the Finals of the World Cup."
I pushed out the stark, haunting truth, the words heavy with guilt. The spindle spun slightly, an acknowledgment that I was getting closer, yet the torment around me didn't abate.
Despite the pain, all four women turned to look at me with increasing degree of shock and appraisal. But they were my lilims. They had to be made to understand!
"I did it. I did it because I wanted to save Amelia. I did it because I wanted victory. I did it because those that were freshly dead were already gone and those dying would not survive the night either way, so they'd better be of some use for me. So I used them. I used their bloody souls! I used them to carve a new soul for Amelia to bear, to resurrect her, to make her whole, make her powerful. I used it to raise the army of wraiths to ensure my ultimate victory that very night!"
They say that Karma is like a rubber band. You can only stretch it so far before it comes back and smacks you in the face. Looks like it was my turn for the smackdown, given the frozen expressions on all four faces surrounding me.
But I couldn't care less. For they were still screaming in unbearable agony. With each confession, I edged closer to the brink, the ultimate truth I had guarded all my life now on the tip of my tongue. "I am not just Harry Potter. I am an infiltrator from another world."
The Spindle glowed powerfully, but only for a moment, as if to say — NOT ENOUGH.
"I know exactly what happened to people in the war!"
NOT ENOUGH.
"I used my powers to alter Reality to change Fate."
NOT ENOUGH.
"I am the reason the timeline deviated from the original way it was WRITTEN!"
This time the glow was the brightest.
Damnit! I knew what it was demanding of me. What it wanted me to reveal. My deepest secret. My darkest truth!
"From where I am from, this world is nothing but a piece of FICTION!" I finally declared, the words echoing with the force of my desperation. It was what I thought was my most profound truth—that I was an imposter, that this world to them was just a paperback fiction to me.
So colour me surprised when the Oneiros Spindle seemed to shrug off my declaration like I had just confessed to preferring tea over coffee. There was no grand acceptance, no magical click; just a deepening horror as Hestia, Narcissa, Anastasia, and Emmeline continued to contort in agony.
"Why isn't it enough?" My voice cracked, frustration boiling over into desperation. This was supposed to work. The Spindle, however, remained as impassive as a wealthy dowager at a street mime's performance, continuing its ruthless siphoning of their life forces.
It was a mad, painful circus, and I was the ringleader, inadvertently cracking the whip. With each twitch and grimace from my friends, guilt stung at me, relentless and sharp. This wasn't just about flipping the right magical switch; it was about stopping their suffering—now.
Pacing like a caged Niffler in front of a pile of unreachable gold, I ransacked my brain for something I might have missed. The solution eluded me, taunting me with the slipperiness of a greased Occamy. Had I been dishonest? Was I still hiding behind a curtain of half-truths?
The hint came floating back to me, a snippet of advice from the Incubus Lord manifestation I had met inside the Shrine.
Living The Role perk only works when you Live The Role yourself.
Ah. There it was. The spindle didn't just want a truth. It wanted the truth. My truth. Not the safe, edited highlights, but the raw, uncut director's version of my life story.
Taking a deep breath that felt like my first true gulp of air in ages, I squared up to the spindle. "Okay, you insatiable antique, here's the real scoop. I am Harry Potter. Yes, I'm from another reality—guilty as charged. But here's the kicker: I'm not just playing house in this world. I am genuinely, irrevocably, and completely woven into the fabric of this reality. I've bled here, I've cried here, I've loved here. This world is as real to me as it is to anyone else, because I have chosen it, embraced it, lived it. And so, I am Harry Potter that woke up the night Sirius Black was killed. I chose to become the Incubus Lord. I chose to activate the Horcrux. And I chose to become the Twilight Walker, no matter what struggles it pushes in my way. I am also a time-traveling wizard who became an incubus, sure, but that's just the headline. The story is that I belong."
The spindle seemed to pause, as if digesting this new, unvarnished truth. Several portions of it contradicted the others, but what was my existence other than contradictions? If I had to speak my Truth, it had to be both sides of the coin.
Then, almost begrudgingly, it began to vibrate, its hum deepening into something that sounded suspiciously like approval. The gruesome siphoning halted abruptly. Color washed back into my friends' faces like dawn breaking over Diagon Alley. Their bodies relaxed, freed from invisible shackles. Their eyes were closed, as if asleep, their bodies glowing softly as the magic slowly released them.
I nearly collapsed, relief and exhaustion battling for dominance. The spindle, now satisfied, spun with a contented purr that filled the suddenly tranquil room.
I would've made a quip about honesty being the best policy, but refrained. Apart from the delicious irony, honesty had just fucked me over several times. Lilim or not, I didn't know how I was going to explain the contradictions to them.
As I looked around at their recovering forms, a mix of emotions swelled within me. There was the undeniable thrill of having conquered this arcane challenge, yes. But more profoundly, there was a sense of homecoming. Not to a place, but to myself.
In admitting my whole truth, I had not just activated a spindle; I had affirmed my place in this world—this very real, very vivid, magical world that was as much a part of me as I was of it.
The Oneiros Spindle, now fully alive and spinning gently, seemed almost like a beacon—a lighthouse guiding ships through foggy nights. It promised new adventures, yes, but also whispered of dangers lurking in unseen depths.
I'd half expected the spindle to throw a parade, maybe unleash a confetti cannon, or at the very least, give a polite round of applause. But no, it hung there, glowing with a newfound power, indifferent to the existential crises it had just triggered.
Then, without warning, the spindle's gentle spin escalated into a frenetic whirl. Its glow intensified, casting eerie shadows that danced like specters across the walls. "Oh, come on," I muttered, my brief relief evaporating as quickly as it had come. "What now?"
Before I could respond, the spindle launched itself straight at me with the precision of a seeker's snitch. It was so fast, a mere blur of light, and I barely had time to brace myself. The spindle struck me squarely in the chest, not with the force of a blow, but with the eeriness of a ghost passing through a wall. It felt cold, electric, and inexplicably familiar, like a forgotten dream surfacing abruptly into waking thought.
There was a moment of pure, intense silence, as if the entire world had paused, holding its breath. Then, a sensation like ice and fire combined spread rapidly across my chest. Looking down, I saw a sigil forming—a complex, intricate pattern that seemed to be written in the language of dreams themselves. It glowed softly, a mix of obsidian and deep blue, right over my heart.
"What?" I asked wryly. "That's it? Do I get a manual, or does it come with a 'figure it out yourself' disclaimer?"
Congratulations, Incubus Lord. You are now officially too deep into everyone's personal nightmares. Sleepwalking has nothing on this.
"Hey, I was only…"
And the Spindle activated.
Notes:
Find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Chapter 146: All The World's An Orgy Part 1
Notes:
As always, I have a Discord server, Penthouse. If you are interested in joining it, following for more updates and snippets, and discussing SED in general, just hop in on the link.
https://discord.gg/jvzqqvHhr7
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 3 - THE INCUBUS AND NECROMANCER
CHAPTER 146 - ALL THE WORLD'S AN ORGY PART 1
The first thing you should know about the Oneiros Spindle is that it doesn't come with a manual. Or a warning label. One moment, I was standing there, staring at this elegant, humming artifact like it might politely explain itself. The next, reality folded like an overused map, and I was the mapper.
The Lecherous Shrine didn't just lock into place; it yanked me inward, as if my soul had signed up for an extreme sport without reading the waiver. The world dissolved into an endless, glowing mindscape, with the Shrine at its center, pulsating like a seductive heartbeat. Threads of light exploded outward, tugging me into connections I'd barely realized were this alive. Every thread hummed with dreams, desires, and lives—and I wasn't just watching. I was in them. Like being handed a backstage pass to the collective consciousness of everyone I'd ever claimed.
The first thread burned brightest—my Lilims. Anantasia Greengrass, Narcissa Black, Hestia Jones, and Emmeline Vance weren't just dreaming; they were reveling in something golden and intimate. Each was different, yet underlined by the same undercurrent of desire, a yearning for the connection that only I could provide. Anastasia wandered through a misty forest, searching for something unknown; Narcissa stood by a shadowy sea, the waves whispering secrets; Hestia was locked in a dance with shadows that moved with an almost human grace; Emmeline wandered a crumbling cityscape, her eyes searching for a beacon of light in the darkness.
With the Spindle acting as my conduit, I tapped into the lingering sensations of our last collective encounter—an orgy of senses and emotions so intense that the memory alone could ignite the rawest of passions. I channeled these sensations, these echoes of ecstasy, into the dream threads connecting us, weaving them into the fabric of each woman's dream.
Instantly, the atmosphere in their dreams shifted. The forest around Anastasia lit up with ethereal fire, the trees whispering my name as she found what she had been searching for—a vision of me, waiting in a clearing, an embodiment of her deepest desires. The sea before Narcissa calmed, reflecting a moonlit sky as I emerged from the waves, calling to her with a voice that promised endless pleasures. She rushed into the waves, and it is amidst that, that we made love. Hestia's shadow dance transformed, the figures morphing into multiple reflections of me, each one embracing her in a dance that was more than physical. With every step, her clothing dropped, and the many me's began touching and groping her all over, until she was lost in a sea of hands and fingers. Emmeline screamed in delight as I pulled her against one of the half-crumbled walls, lifted her leg up, and started fucking her while strangers watched her with their lustful gazes.
As their dreamscape realities morphed under my influence, the feedback was immediate and intense. Their pleasure, their fulfillment, echoed back through the Spindle, magnifying and intertwining with my own senses. It was a symphony of shared ecstasy, each note resonating perfectly with the next, building a crescendo that threatened to overwhelm even my vast capacity for control.
But the Spindle wasn't done with me. Hermione's thread tugged me next, vibrant and wild. Her dream dragged me into a moonlit forest, the air heavy with the primal energy of her werewolf nature. She prowled through the shadows like a huntress, her amber eyes blazing with feral hunger. And there I was, not as myself, but as my Animagus form: a towering, bestial yenaldooshi, my every movement rippling with raw power.
She stopped when she saw me, her head tilting slightly as though testing the air for my scent. A low growl escaped her throat, but it wasn't a threat—it was an invitation. When I stepped forward, her lips curled into a dangerous smirk. She closed the distance in a heartbeat, her hands pressing against my chest, her breath hot and electric.
The forest seemed to hold its breath, the air alive with the rhythm of her heartbeat and the raw connection thrumming between us. This wasn't Hermione the intellectual, the rule-follower. This was her untamed self, wild and unapologetic, claiming me with a ferocity that left me reeling.
Then came Amelia. Her thread pulled me into a neon-lit bar, its bass-heavy music thrumming through the air. And there she was, Amelia Bones, but not the Amelia I knew. Gone was the austere head of the DMLE. This Amelia was on the counter, dancing like she owned the place, her coat discarded, her shirt tied up to reveal a toned midriff that would have scandalized the Ministry.
Her hair, usually pinned back with militant precision, spilled untamed over her shoulders, catching the colorful lights as she swayed. Her sharp, no-nonsense gaze softened when she saw me, replaced by something smoky and inviting. With a grin that was half challenge, half promise, she crooked a finger at me and stepped down, her hips swaying exaggeratedly.
"Took you long enough," she said, her voice dripping with mischief as she looped her arms around my neck. "Care to join me?"
This wasn't the Amelia Bones who wielded justice like a hammer. This was a woman unbound, electric and daring, pulling me into her orbit like gravity itself. The world outside her dream ceased to matter. There was only the music, her laughter, and the fire in her eyes.
The threads spun faster, each one tugging me into a new dream. Susan Bones's dream unfolded into a golden meadow, serene and sunlit, her laughter ringing out as she swung beneath a massive oak. But as I stepped into her dream, the swing slowed, her gaze locking onto mine. The meadow warmed, the light shifting to amber as she stepped forward, her fingers brushing my chest. Her touch lingered, tentative at first, before becoming bolder as the dream turned electric.
Hannah Abbott's dream was a carnival of color, her laughter bright and musical as she twirled beneath the glow of spinning lights. But the carnival faded as I approached, the stalls and rides melting into the background, leaving only the two of us beneath a Ferris wheel. She reached for me, her eyes wide with anticipation as the world around us stilled. Tracey's silly nightmare about missing pants at her workplace turned into an epic revisit of our time at the loo, only with an incapacitated Narcissa glaring at her for having the audacity to fuck someone so far above her station. And on and on. Ginny Weasley. Cynthia Abbott. Romilda Vane. Hundreds of nameless and faceless women, all of which had been subjected to mere moments of my allure at the World Cup. At one point, I think I saw the Irish Minister of Magic excuse herself from an important meeting with the Minister of Finance, to step into her bathroom to satiate the growing wetness between her legs. I wasn't merely observing; I was with them, meeting each thrall where they were, giving them what they needed, pulling them closer to me in ways that defied explanation.
The threads pulsed and hummed, a living web of connection that blurred the line between us until I couldn't tell where I ended and they began. Their thoughts, their feelings, their lives—they weren't just linked to me. They were me.
But I searched. I searched for one particular thrall.
Grasping her thread, I followed. The dreamscape shifted as I approached, the edges of her world crystallizing into focus.
A roaring crowd greeted me, an electric symphony of sound and light. The Weird Sisters commanded the stage, their music alive with bursts of flame and magic. At the center of it all, she stood. Nymphadora Tonks. Her hair glowed electric blue, her leather jacket slung carelessly over her shoulders, and her grin was pure exhilaration. She was utterly unguarded, lost in the music.
I lingered on the edge of her dream, waiting. Dreams were delicate, easily twisted but prone to breaking if handled roughly. I stepped forward, letting the dream fold around me like a second skin.
This was going to be fun.
The roar of the crowd was deafening, a symphony of cheers and raw energy that pulsed through her veins. The Weird Sisters were on fire tonight, their music weaving magic into every note. Flames erupted from the stage in rhythmic bursts, their glow illuminating the enraptured faces in the audience. Nymphadora Tonks stood near the center of it all, her electric blue hair catching the light like a spark of wildfire. Her leather jacket clung to her like armor, a barrier between her and the thrumming chaos.
The music surged, and Tonks let herself go, her movements fluid and untethered. Her feet found the beat as though it was etched into her very bones, and she spun, arms raised, letting the sound wash over her. The crowd blurred around her—a sea of indistinct faces, each lost in the magic of the night. There was something intoxicating about the anonymity, about being part of something so vast and alive. This was freedom. This was exhilaration.
The band launched into her favorite song, and her grin widened, her whole body vibrating with the rhythm. The air around her shimmered as fireworks exploded above the stage, the sparks falling like stars. Each note felt tangible, a thread of sound she could almost grasp with her fingertips. The world narrowed to the music and the pounding of her heart, a perfect harmony that carried her away.
Yet, something faintly off lingered at the edges of her awareness. She shook the thought away. The thought floated away, lost in the pulse of the music, as she let herself fall deeper into the thrall of the moment.
The Weird Sisters reached a crescendo, their instruments conjuring waves of light that rippled through the crowd. Tonks's chest heaved as she shouted the lyrics along with the band, her voice raw and free. The ground beneath her feet seemed to hum, the magic of the performance blending seamlessly with the dreamscape. The night stretched on, endless and surreal, a perfect blend of chaos and joy.
Her grin didn't waver as she leaped in time with the music, her hair flashing under the shifting lights. A flicker of something unusual—a barely perceptible distortion in the corner of her vision—caught her attention. She turned her head instinctively, but nothing was there, only more dancing bodies lost in their reverie.
Shrugging it off, she dove back into the music, her movements unrestrained. This was her night, her moment. Whatever oddities the dream conjured were merely that: harmless fragments of her imagination. The magic, the crowd, the music—they were all she needed. For now, that was enough.
And then someone grabbed her arse.
Nymphadora almost turned, startled, but changed her mind. She had been groped in crowds before and continued on dancing. She was grabbed again and this time it wasn't just a quick squeeze, the hands lingered, kneading her firm arse. She tried to turn and tell him to fuck off, but the crowd was too thick, having suddenly pressed in around her.
Scowling, Nymphadora instantly shifted her form into a large, ruddy, bulking man. As a metamorphmagus, shifting to another human form was child's play to her. Whoever was attempting to have some fun would immediately be repulsed.
So imagine her surprise when her morph refused to work, leaving her just how she was.
Startled, she attempted to turn around, but couldn't, given how thickly the crowd was pressing against her. Much to her distress, she felt the hands slide down to her bare thighs and then back up the insides of her legs. She attempted to get her wand out, but remembered that it was tucked inside her belt, and she wasn't even able to lower her arms to push his hands away. She couldn't even let out a yelp — her lungs were paralyzed around her terror-chilled heart. the man pawed her inner thigh, over her taut belly, down her back — petting her whole transfixed lower body through her clothes.
Merlin! What is he doing? Tonks panicked. Whoever it was, his hand was so hot, and the way he was pinching her arse and massaging her arse-cheeks so forcefully, so eagerly. She tried to cross her legs, but powerful fingers pried her tightened thighs anyway.
"Stop!" She cried out. "Get off me!"
Her protest fell on deaf ears. Her assaulter had found his toy, and he was about to have his way with her.
"Don't lie to yourself," said her assaulter, his voice sending shivers down her spine. It was cool and sultry, having exactly the same effect as his hands that slowly trailed upwards until he cupped her pussy in his palm. How he was doing this when she was surrounded with people from all sides, she had no idea.
"You want this more than you're ready to admit."
Something about that voice was familiar, and yet for the life of her, she could not ascertain the name. It was like every time she attempted to recognize this mystery person, the name would slip away from her thoughts.
He stroked her anting slit, and her knees nearly buckled as she let out an involuntary moan.
"N-no! Get away from me!" Tonks began to struggle, to break free from her assaulter. But he was too strong for her, and it goaded him on. He lifted her arms, and slowly peeled off her T-shirt. Tonks gawked, stuck between the sheer audacity of this person to do this to her, her own helplessness, and the utter surreality that this was happening amidst a massive crowd with no one the wiser. Maybe if she had thought a little more, she would have recognized that such a setting couldn't possibly happen in real life.
But this was a dream. And while one always recognized that something was odd in the dream, it never quite felt like that when the dream was occurring.
The next thing she knew, her skirt slid down her legs and pooled on the floor. Tonks stood there, amidst the dancing crowd, trapped there in just her lacy bra and pink thong to protect her. Their rough hands touched bare skin as she vainly tried to cover up and push them away.
"I can feel how pent up you are."
With a click, her bra went slack and fell to the ground. Her assaulter cupped her bare tits from behind before she could cover them herself.
Mmm, that feels so good... Tonks thought, despite her fear. Her alarmed gasp turned into a moan as those rough fingers toyed with her hardening nipples... NO! she mentally screamed, What am I thinking!? I won't let him! Her heart pounded in her chest, but she couldn't tell if it was from terror, or excitement.
"You're not going to fuck me! Whoever you are!" She yelled, her heart jolting at the thought of this man, who for some reason, reminded her of Harry Potter. She redoubled her struggle, trying to land a kick on the person behind. But right then, the crowd somehow pressed even more.
What is this? What's going on? This can't be —
"But of course it is happening, Tonksie..." He said, his rough fingers sliding under her tiny thong strings. The fabric clung to her sex before peeling away and dropping to the ground at her kicking feet. She felt his hand between her legs, and despite her attempts to lock her thighs, he could feel just how wet she was.
She was wet.
She knew it.
He knew it.
And he knew that she knew it.
Nymphadora knew she should have made an attempt to run. Or transform. Or scream. As if reading her thoughts, a hand snaked across her bare waist, and pulled her back at him.
"No, no, you can't just leave midway," he taunted, and shivers ran down her spine. She didn't even attempt to wrestle, knowing how futile it would be. Something about the crowd was horribly wrong. It was like they were all ignoring her, bending with the tune of the music, yet they were all watching her from the corner of her eyes. Watching her get debased in public and enjoying what they saw.
They were enjoying her debasement, her humiliation, her becoming a whore.
It should have frozen her, made her dash, made her scream and make a grab for her wand and blast her way out.
Instead, her thighs loosened and she let his pressing touches in.
"Ah, yes. That's a good decision. You know, I have been waiting for a long time to breed you."
Her heart stopped. Breed?
As if to explain his point, he grabbed her hand and put it on his cock, and all thoughts of resisting vanished from her head.
That thing was….
Immense.
To call it a cock would be an understatement. Her assaulter was hung, like a bull, his cock thick and heavily veined with testicles hanging like stones beneath it. As she gripped it, images of Harry Potter swam into her head. The memory of watching Hermione Granger unzip his pants, pull out that beastly weapon and fondle it, before brazenly fucking herself on it. Big, thick, meaty and capable of drilling her through countless orgasms like a well-oiled machine. So many nights had gone in her just endlessly fingering herself, imagining that taut weapon rushing her through several pussy-clenching, world-shaking, mind-bending orgasms.
It probably said something that Hermione Granger's words and actions created a far more dangerous psychic trap than anything Harry Potter, Incubus had ever done to her. Even with her Unspeakable training, just something about that particular memory refused to vanish from her mind, despite her most sincere attempts.
Then her assaulter slipped a single finger into her eager cunt, and Nymphadora gushed, her pussy overflowing with juices. She knew this was wrong, that she should be horrified at such blatant public violation.
Instead she just felt pleasure.
Her struggles halted. Her knees weakened, ready to give out any moment. She couldn't help herself. Her resistance was falling. Despite herself, she ground her pussy against his hand as he slipped a second finger inside her eager folds. She cried out loudly this time, her scream lost in the yells and shouts of the excited party crowd while the concert raged on.
Then he put in the third finger, scratched her insides and pulled them out. Nymphadora felt a pang of disappointment, and groaned, before the consequences of her actions hit her hard.
What are you thinking? She asked herself. You should be happy this is over. The very fact that she was missing the fingers was deplorable. As she chastised herself, she never even noticed how she had pushed her arse out, inviting her touch.
He didn't disappoint. Only instead of his fingers, his thick, meaty cock pressed against her. Gasping, Tonks was powerless to stop him as he slid all the way in, filling her, spreading her pussy with his girth.
It began slowly, pumping in and out, sending waves through her. She couldn't believe this was happening — she was standing there, stripped in public, and being fucked like a whore. She easily could have screamed that she was being violated, but the only sounds that came from her throat were cries of pleasure as another orgasm tore through her. Soon, she was grinding her hips against this stranger behind her, matching his thrusts.
"Oh, yes! Yes! Yes!" She cried loudly this time, as he slammed into her. His thick shaft kept pushing into her tight pussy, her own ability rendering it tighter than ever. She was no virgin, but her tightness could make virgins go green with envy. Her assaulter shoved the entirety of his weapon all the way into her, and Nymphadora nearly passed out, heart racing and mind spinning. Metamorph or not, she couldn't just twist the emotions coursing through her at that moment.
SLAP!
She practically fell over, landing on her hands, her arse raised up in offering. Her pussy clamped down the hard member inside her. Her cunt pulsed and pulled, tightening like a vice around the ever-thrusting cock. She could feel it pulsing inside her — strong, fast and thick. Her cum oozed down her thighs, coating his already sopping member in a layer of hot grool.
"No —ooo. Please! Ugh — Stop! No! Uhm!"
But her pleas were betrayed by her lusty groans. Hard hands possessed her breasts from behind. The hot fingers slid over her nipples, which she was sure could cut glass right now. Nymphadora threw her head back and screamed as yet another orgasm coursed through her, but her shouts were lost in the roar of the crowd, and the deafening symphony of music and magic. The Weird Sisters were mid-performance, their instruments alive with enchantments that sparked and pulsed to the rhythm of their song. The crowd surged around her, a sea of faces blurred with motion and noise.
"Ugh! Merlin! I'm cumm- cumming!" She wailed, bending in half."I — I can't! I can't get pregnant! I can't —" Her voice quavered, icy fear spilling into her hot waves of pleasure. " I — No, please — ugh!"
Her mouth hung open, the intensity of his cock being shoved into her innards shaking her core right then. It washed over her resistance, clouded her thoughts, and smothered over her fears. Her mystery man had just cum inside her, but instead of stopping, he just kept pounding her harder and harder. She barely responded when he pulled her hands behind and cuffed her wrists, her breasts smashing against the ground. The slap that followed echoed through the room, and she whimpered, her eyes swelling with tears at the force of his spank.
"Ah, did it hurt?"
His fingers touched her naked arse again, and Tonks winced, expecting another blow. Instead, he rubbed it gently, soothing the sting slightly.
It was almost relaxing, the way his fingers massaged her. Tonks was almost lulled into a false sense of serenity.
SLAP!
The devastating blow came right after, and she yelled in shock, pain and pleasure shooting up her spine. Her pussy exploded, splattering juices all over his thighs.
"Merlin, this is a nice arse." said the voice, and Nymphadora hated the surge of pride she felt. The bastard was violating her. He had no right to comment on her arse, much less spank it like that, with her nude form bent in front of him. Her face burned with shame. He gave her another spank, grabbing her again, and she whelped, her pussy getting even wetter.
Slap!
Slap!
Slap!
Nymphadora squealed and squealed, feeling the juices gather at her folds and dripping down her thighs. The vibe was rumbling and she bit her lip. He had begun to push his cock deep in, and she was feeling the monster pushing against her stomach.
"Damn. This slut is getting even wetter. What a whore!" He snorted, rubbing her arse soothing the blow, his thumb tracing the inside of her arse crack. Tonks shuddered, hips bucking and back arching as his finger neared her arse slit. Kneading the cheeks with his other hand, he pushed the finger in, and a searing pain shot up her spine.
Nymphadora was no stranger to sex, but she had yet to take someone — anyone up her arse. The pain of the finger was searing. She had never had anything in her arse.
And then a pair of hands grabbed her boobs.
And yet another, her legs, and a third pair, her hands, pulling her up. Her mouth dropped open and her eyes went wide.
All the color drained out of her face. Nymphadora Jibbered out some incoherent rejoinder.
"Well then," came the voice of Harry Potter. "How would you like to be bred, Nymphadora?"
Notes:
Find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Next update is on 1st May.
Chapter 147: All The World's An Orgy Part 2
Notes:
As always, I have a Discord server, Penthouse. If you are interested in joining it, following for more updates and snippets, and discussing SED in general, just hop in on the link.
https://discord.gg/jvzqqvHhr7
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 3 - THE INCUBUS AND NECROMANCER
CHAPTER 147 - ALL THE WORLD'S AN ORGY PART 2
Nymphadora Tonks woke up with a jolt, her body snapping upright as though struck by lightning. Her heart was hammering so hard it felt like it might burst out of her chest, and for a moment, she didn't know where she was. The nightmare clung to her, vivid and burning, searing the back of her mind like a brand. She gasped for air, her sheets damp and tangled around her legs, sticking to her sweat-slicked skin.
The room was dark, silent except for the ragged sound of her breathing. Her hair flickered through a kaleidoscope of colors, a chaotic display of her turmoil: neon blue, stark white, fiery red. Her body trembled with a tension she couldn't explain, and her skin felt like it was on fire.
"What the bloody hell?" she whispered, her voice hoarse and shaking. Her hand flew to her chest, as if she could still feel the phantom pressure of… No. She wouldn't even think about it.
But the dream wouldn't let go. It had been too real. The green eyes blazing with intensity, the predatory focus that pinned her in place, the way his voice—low and commanding—wrapped around her like chains she couldn't break. Harry Potter. Except not the Harry she knew. This Harry had been something else entirely.
Her breath hitched as fragments of the dream flooded back: his presence overwhelming, suffocating, yet… intoxicating. Her cheeks burned as shame and something far darker warred within her. How had she… why had she…
"What's wrong, Tonks? Not happy to see me?"
"Potter! Please — Please leave! Please —"
"Shhhh!"
His hands reach down and cup her arse cheeks and pull her close. She grabs onto his muscles as her pussy leaks between her legs —
"Now, are you going to say no to my cock again?"
"No… M-master."
"Good slut." He yanks her hair tighter. "Get down on your knees. Lift your arse. Beg for my cock."
"No," she muttered, shaking her head fiercely, her hair flaring a deep, angry crimson as the dream…no, the nightmare threatened to overwhelm her. 'It was just a dream. Just a dream. Just a —"
But the thought whispered at the edge of her mind. What if it wasn't?
Her fists clenched in the damp sheets. She had cum, and quite a lot. Just like in the dream. What was this about? Had she underestimated him? Had she been blind to just how much control he truly had?
Her stomach churned as guilt twisted through her. Did he know? Did he know what she'd done, how she'd shared pieces of his secrets with Dumbledore? What if this was his revenge?
She knew very little about how Harry's incubus powers worked, but she was certain she had never quite experienced it in person before. She — her other persona — had never slept with him, never let him touch her sensually. Nothing. Even at the party, she hadn't sensed his allure at all.
So how? Why? Why had she had this dream? Was this the side-effect of drinking Felix Felicis? Was she already under his allure?
Her legs swung over the edge of the bed, shaky beneath her weight. The floor felt cold against her bare feet as she stumbled toward the bathroom, every step haunted by the memory of that dream—his hands, his voice, the way he…
"It's just stress," she muttered, her voice trembling as she tried to force the thought away. "Just the effect of the curse. All of this just got into my head. That's all. Stress."
The bathroom mirror greeted her with a reflection she barely recognized. Her hair had shifted to a pale, trembling silver, and her face was flushed, her wide eyes brimming with something she refused to name. But it wasn't her face that stopped her breath. For the briefest, most horrifying moment, the eyes staring back at her weren't hers at all. They were green. Bright, searing, and filled with a predatory hunger that made her blood run cold.
"No," she whispered, stumbling back and clutching the sink to keep from falling. "No, no, no. That's not…"
The image vanished, replaced by her own shaken reflection, but the damage was done. Her thoughts spiraled, racing through every possibility. Had he reached into her dreams? Was her guilt a beacon for his powers? Or worse… had he done it deliberately? Was he in her head, playing with her, torturing her for her betrayal?
And then she felt it. A deep, aching heat that pooled low in her belly, undeniable and mortifying. Her thighs clenched together instinctively, and she bit back a groan as shame and anger flared within her. How could her body betray her like this? How could she feel this way after such a nightmare?
"Get a grip, Tonks," she hissed through gritted teeth, her hands gripping the edges of the sink so hard her knuckles turned white. "You're an Unspeakable. You've faced Death Eaters without flinching. You're not going to let a bloody dream undo you."
But even as she splashed cold water over her face, trying desperately to cool the flush in her cheeks and the fire under her skin, she couldn't shake the memory of him. The way he'd looked at her. The way he'd felt. The way her own body had responded.
"Bloody Potter," she muttered, her voice trembling with a mix of fear and frustration as she stared at her dripping reflection. "What the hell are you doing to me?"
The ever-unfolding web of Lecherous Shrine reached past the limitations of distance, magic, wards and other barriers, deep into the psyches of each and every individual that had fallen into my allure. It spread, and at its core, was Oneiros Spindle.
My senses were expanding along with the Shrine's reach, which was growing far more quickly than even I had estimated. Amplified by the initial sacrifice of Meta-Luck, only to be augmented by another twenty units from the newest addition to my Lilims, Oneiros Spindle had already pierced past the boundaries of Wizarding Britain, overpowering the magical and mystical boundaries, bypassing Occlumency and wards and everything that witches and wizards thought provided them with security against the unknown. It would enter the thralls, stretching its tendrils outward, seeking more and more thralls to tap into, make them dream, and if they were awake, then to raise emotions most conducive to feeling extreme pleasure.
I would hold their hands, their skin, their breasts, their pussy and arses… and give them all a little squeeze. Making it…
Pleasurable.
And with it, came the confirmation of what I had wanted all along.
You have successfully completed the Quest — ALL OR NOTHING
Every thrall, every touch, every craving—fulfilled simultaneously. Miss a beat, and it all falls apart. Fail, and the shrine crumbles.
DETAIL
Embrace your Role as the Incubus Lord. Every single thrall, every Lilim, every orgasm forged — satisfy them all in perfect harmony.
Enjoy your rewards…
I watched in a mix of glee and surprise as the Screen unfolded before my eyes.
Indomitable Lust has been deactivated.
Lecherous Shrine has been successfully activated.
You have won 100 Meta-Luck Points.
A disorienting and exhilarating surge of power shook me. The rush was intoxicating; I felt invincible, empowered by a deep, pulsing magic that seemed to flood through my veins, enhancing my presence and the impact I had on others.
Confusion set in almost immediately. I was unaccustomed to the breadth of influence I suddenly wielded. Watching people's attitudes shift, their barriers drop, and their emotions sway with my slightest whim left me amazed and somewhat bewildered. It was as if I had spoken a secret word that unlocked a hidden door to everyone's inner thoughts and feelings. Maybe if I were more composed, I'd have registered that acute sense of isolation, as if those I could were responding not to me, but to the aura I was projecting. As if a glass wall had been erected between me and the rest of the world. I was separated by the very power that connected me so closely to others.
But I wasn't paying attention. I wanted more.
Maybe it would eventually lead to my doom, or maybe, this would truly turn me into a God. I didn't know. Except for one thing.
I wanted more.
More.
MORE.
Fleur Delacour woke with a start, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps as her body trembled with the aftershocks of the dream. Her golden hair clung to her damp skin, and the silk sheets beneath her were crumpled and wet. The room was still dark, faint moonlight spilling through the lace curtains, but it did nothing to calm the heat coursing through her. She sat up abruptly, her hands gripping the sheets as if to anchor herself.
"Mon Dieu," she whispered, her voice a soft, breathless murmur that trembled at the edges. Her heart was racing, her mind swimming in a haze of vivid images that refused to fade. She pressed a hand to her forehead, but it did little to cool the warmth there.
The dream had been so real. Too real. The heat of his touch, the intensity of his gaze, the way his hands had moved over her skin with a confidence that left her breathless. Harry Potter. Again. Always Harry.
She closed her eyes, but that was a mistake. The images returned, sharper than before. His mouth on hers, his voice low and rough in her ear, speaking words she didn't even need to understand to feel their power. Her breath hitched, and she cursed softly in French, shaking her head as though it could dislodge the memories.
"Ce n'est pas possible," she muttered, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. Her bare feet touched the cool wooden floor, and she let out a shaky exhale, trying to steady herself. "This is ridiculous. This is… out of control."
She stood, wrapping her arms around herself as she paced the room, her silk nightgown clinging to her like a second skin. Her reflection caught her eye in the tall mirror by the dresser, and she froze. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips parted as though she'd just been kissed, her eyes wide and shimmering with something she refused to name. She looked… ravished.
"Non," she whispered sharply, glaring at her reflection as if it were to blame. "C'est lui. It is him."
Meeting Harry Potter had been a life-changing experience. From the awe at finding an incubus, one that dwarfed her allure, to his twisted, pungent magic that somehow simultaneously resided in his body, to his skill with a wand and his ulterior motives and the debt he held over her and her father— Harry Potter was a mystery wrapped in an enigma.
And then there had been that moment in that loo when they —
Her breath caught again, and she pressed a hand to her chest, willing her racing heart to slow. She couldn't keep doing this. These dreams, these… thoughts. They weren't normal. They weren't her.
Fleur turned away from the mirror, moving to the window to let the cool night air wash over her. But even as the breeze kissed her skin, it couldn't erase the fire lingering beneath. Her body still hummed with the echoes of the dream, with the memory of his hands, his voice, his everything. It was as if he were still there, a ghost of desire that refused to leave.
"You have no right," she muttered under her breath, her fingers curling into the windowsill. "No right to… to haunt me like this."
But even as she said it, she knew the truth. Harry Potter didn't need to haunt her. He lived in her thoughts, a permanent fixture she couldn't shake. She closed her eyes again, leaning her forehead against the cool glass, and let out a soft, shaky sigh.
"This cannot continue," she said softly, her voice laced with determination. "I will not let it."
But deep down, a part of her knew it was a lie. Harry was already under her skin, in her dreams, in her soul. And no matter how much she tried to deny it, there was no escaping him. Not now. Not ever.
"Ugh! Ugh! Yes! Yes! YES!"
Molly Weasley was spread-eagled on the bed, her thighs extended to either side in a straight line. Her perky breasts sported nipples that were rock-hard and her face was radiating bliss. Her eyes were closed, an expression of pained ecstasy on her face, her hands gripping the sheets and her breasts swaying with every forceful thrust.
"More! More! More!"
"Mmm Molly...gorgeous..." Arthur groaned in a whisper, against her neck.
"Huh?" Was all Molly managed to let out, barely registering his words. Her eyes were half open as he leaned back up to take another look at her face. He could stare at her all day.
"You're so beautiful Moll-"
"I'm close...so shut up and fuck me." She demanded before pulling him in for another hot and heavy pash. Arthur followed her orders instantly, grabbing her thigh with one hand and pounding into her as hard as he could. It was a difficult task, what with his tiny penis slobbering endlessly in her ever-sinking pussy. No matter how much effort he put in, or how many vials of pepper-up he drank before the deed, Molly's pussy kept drawing him more and more inside, until he was practically lost, unable to push for more, unable to properly fuck her, unable to please or push her into orgasm.
Or at least, that was what the normal days were like.
Today was different.
Today, his wife was spasming in ecstasy.
He could feel her body start to tremble beneath him as she neared her climax and knew just what would get her going. His lips moved back down to her neck, peppering it with kisses before suddenly clamping down on it with his teeth.
"I'M CUMMING!" Molly's walls erratically clenched around the thick cock inside of her as the orgasm hit her like a hurricane. She squirmed uncontrollably against his body with her eyes closed. Her juices washed over his cock completely, as well as both of their thighs and the bedsheets. She squirted the hardest she had that night, with the final juices dripping from her slit as she calmed down.
Arthur smiled down at her exhausted face. She was gorgeous. It looked like she might have had enough for the night. Arthur had wanted to leave the task way earlier, but he had kept on going despite shooting blanks, since she hadn't finished.
"Moll —"
"Shh." Molly cut him off again, placing a finger on his mouth. "You talk too much, just be quiet okay." Molly stroked the side of his face with a small smile. "It's much better that way."
Any other man would have probably taken offence at that, but Arthur had always been a timid man, both in and out of bed. When he had first met Molly at Hogwarts, she was the daughter of the illustrious Prewitt family, and destined to be something huge. She had the looks, the skills to go into Auror training, and the body to drool about. She had her string of boyfriends, all of which were better than Arthur in every way. To this date, he didn't know what she saw in him,
And then, that one night happened.
The night where he had been utterly terrified about losing her to Angus Prince.
The night where Molly had attempted to calm his disconsolate self by sleeping with him.
The night where he had lied about using a contraceptive charm, and gotten her pregnant with Bill. It had been an awful thing to do, and in the end, nothing good had come out of this. He had been a faithful man, raised seven children, one of which was a daughter, and did his best to support his family in every way possible. He had spent more than two decades in a marriage that was based on this lie, and even though it had its good points, this marriage definitely missed out on that special something.
It didn't help that Molly kept reminding him of his tiny penis every time they did the deed.
In all their encounters post marriage, he had never quite managed to build up a resistance to her. Even with her buxom figure with those large melons-for-breasts and that massive arse weren't enough for him to hold himself back for long while drilling inside her. And the best parts had been when she used to tease him about the size of his pecker while having sex. It turned him on and he finished faster when she humiliated and belittled him and bossed him around.
Quite naturally, he was more than surprised when he suddenly found his wife screaming for more, as he fucked her from behind.
"Yes...Harder. Harder!" Molly moaned underneath him as he thrusted into her roughly. He couldn't believe it. After all these years, he was finally making her moan. He couldn't count the number of times he had pictured them in this exact position with Molly truly moaning from being fucked, and now that it was happening, it was better than he could have ever imagined.
The sight alone was intoxicating. Molly's eyes were closed tightly, an expression of pained ecstasy on her face as her red hair was splayed behind her. Her hands gripped the sheets of the bed and her breasts swayed with each forceful thrust from her lover. He would have preferred to rest for a while, or better, take another pepper-up, but seeing her moan, he was more than happy to try a little more. Besides, she felt so amazing this way. Her walls clenched tightly around him with each pass, eliciting heavy groans out of his mouth.
Yes! Thought Arthur. After twenty-eight years of marriage, he was finally getting past that blank, smiling, indulgent face that just wanted him to get over with so that she could go back to fingering herself. Which was weird for two reasons: first, because Molly preferred her finger over his cock, and second, because the woman literally got off on being pregnant. Something about the joys of orgasming while having a baby inside her.
His palm trailed from her waist to her breast, taking in the sensation of her tasty skin. He squeezed the supple orb firmly, noting the added pleasure that he could see on Molly's face. His other hand moved up to her cheek as he leaned down and started kissing along her neck, desperate to taste more of her. Somehow even the sweat along her skin was delicious to him. Her moans grew louder, echoing inside of his ear. God, they were beautiful. She sounded just as amazing as she looked.
If only things were as he expected.
"I want you to take me from behind." Molly said, the smile fading from her face. "Hard."
Through her half open eyes Molly was able to see the dark silhouette of Harry Potter hovering above her. She knew he wasn't there, that it was Arthur, but it was so easy to pretend otherwise. Never before had her emotions far outweighed whatever guilt that she felt.
"Okay." Arthur said simply, moving back to give Molly some space. Dammit, he ruined it again!
The fantasy that it was Harry Potter giving her the pleasure and attention that she so desperately craved from him.
Her husband didn't know this, but she had cast charms on Penelope's room, not trusting her to try her hand at her dear Percy again. When Percy had come to her room late at night, Molly had instantly been warned, and she had been ready to stride up to the girl's room and tell her off. Imagine her surprise when Pbercy had left after criticizing the girl's life choices, only for Harry Potter to enter and…
And….
"Clasp your hands together, and don't let go. Understand?"
"Ye— yessir."
Even thinking about that domineering tone sent shivers down her spine. She remembered tiptoeing her way to Penelope's room under silencing charms, and watching through the tiny creek in the wall, watching that monster of a cock, its tip glistening with precum, ready to bury itself in that silly girl's snatch. She had watched as Penelope screamed, that thick, powerful cock reshaping her innards, holding her hands behind her neck, as he fucked her like an animal from behind.
She remembered his words.
"In my world, pain is pleasure."
Oh, how Molly had orgasmed at that tone. The knowledge that the voice belonged to little Ronnie's best friend, the boy she had practically thought of as a son for this long only made it spicier.
"Suffering is sweet."
"Ugh! More!"
"I use you as I please. I give you pain when it pleases me, and pleasure when you deserve it. Do you understand that, slave?"
"YES!"
SMACK!
"YES! YES! I UNDERSTAND!"
SMACK!
"YES! I UNDERSTAND! I UNDERSTAND MASTER!"
Moaning, Molly turned around and got into place on her hands and knees. It made it so much easier to pretend that it was Harry taking her from behind. Yes, she was using Arthur. No, he didn't know that this is what she thought about when they made love. Molly knew that her idea of love making was very loose in this area. With Arthur, it was just pointless lovemaking with the occasional fingering. Nothing more and nothing less. But as she pictured Harry...
It was becoming so much more than that.
With Harry it was the most intense and passionate love making ever. She gripped the sheets as she felt the familiar feeling of her walls being stretched out. Harry was right back where he belonged and it felt amazing. His cock pushed and pulled out of her slowly, the sensations dragging on inside of her.
"Molly you-"
"Shut up!" She snapped in a husky breath. Damn Arthur, ruining it again. "I said hard. Shut up and fuck me faster." All she wanted was Harry and if she had to use her husband to get him then so be it. Did that make her a slut? A whore? If it did then fine. If it was for Harry's cock she would happily be his slut. His whore. She would be anything for him.
She knew it was worth it when the delightful pain of thighs rapidly slapping against her arse returned. Her body was rocked as she was fucked mercilessly by the powerful figure behind her. Her cunt was on fire, burning from the friction and force put against it. The large cock hit her cervix on every pass only adding to the electrifying pain.
"Yes! Harder!" Molly cried. She wanted more. One of her hands reached underneath her and rubbed her clit vigorously as she continued to get pounded. She could see it now. Harry towering over her from behind, impaling her with his length as hard as he could. His fingers were digging into her hips so hard, they were sure to leave bruises when they were done. Good. Molly deserved them. This was exactly what Molly wanted. What she needed. Harry owned her, in mind and body. She was his.
"I-I-I'm gonna..." Molly could barely speak anymore, so overwhelmed by Harry's power. Her vision turned blurry and she closed her eyes tightly, feeling the tears in them. "You're so...I...cum...I'm cumming...I'm cumming!"
Her back arched as the ecstasy took her over once again. She squirted hard, drenching the bed sheets in even more liquid and giving her own thighs another coat of her cum, along with her lover's. Her toes curled and legs shook while her high washed over her, ending in her collapsing on the bed, feeling a sudden emptiness in her tingling sex. Molly barely registered the hot cum that was coating her ass and lower back as she panted heavily, a dull groan accompanying each streak.
Soon her lover lay next to her, a strong arm wrapped around her own and holding her close. She felt so warm. There were heavy yet controlled breaths against the back of her neck, matching her own.
"Did you enjoy it, darling?"
"Yes! I love your cock, Harry.'
It was barely a whisper but she realised her mistake the moment that she made it. The warmth of the strong arm disappeared in an instant. She didn't want to but Molly turned around to meet exactly what she had been fearing. Despite the darkness of the room, she could still see the shock on her husband's face. "Arthur, I-"
"...Harry?" It came out of his lips in a whisper. "Was it… did you, all this time…."
Molly pushed herself up, knowing what he meant. She couldn't bring herself to lie to him. No matter how sorry she looked, it wouldn't change a thing.
Slowly, silently, she nodded.
Arthur sighed, and pushed himself off the bed. "What are we going to do about it? It isn't like we can ask him to leave Hogwarts every evening to come fuck you at night, can we? I mean, I anticipated something was going on when you kept moaning his name in your sleep, but this is serious, Molly. Especially when he can make you cum like this."
Molly blinked.
Far away, enveloped inside Lecherous Shrine, the Incubus Lord smiled.
END OF BOOK 3
Notes:
Find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Next update is on 5th May.
Chapter 148: Summer's End
Notes:
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(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 4 - TRIWIZARD TROUBLES
CHAPTER 148 - SUMMER'S END
The sun crept over the horizon as the new day showed itself to the people of Britain. Most people were leaving their nice, orderly homes and climbing into their vehicles to battle other commuters on their way to the office. Horns would honk, people would get agitated, and daily life would get on, while fluffy, cumulus clouds gathered up in the centre of the sky.
The same could be said for the magical world. For it was September the first, the start of the new term at Hogwarts. The streets would be flooded today, with people pouring out of Diagon Alley through the Leaky Cauldron, out into the streets to rush towards Kings Cross Station. It begged the question why the Ministry did not install a separate Floo unit for King's Cross and put it under privacy wards, but anybody foolish enough to question the Ministry's competency wouldn't probably last to question it twice.
Back when the summer vacation had started, I was an outsider that had been pushed into Harry Potter's body in an impossibly confusing yet very much real wizarding world. Now at the end of it, so much had changed, I had gained power in many forms, caused a massive shift in the status quo of the society, gained allies where I had none, and had already taken care of my biggest problem and buried it six-feet under, quite literally. He didn't exactly follow through like a nice and obedient child and kept trying to mess things up, but that's Voldemort for you.
Point is, things have changed. A lot.
"Com'n, Harry," said Hermione, standing at the bedside. "You need to get going, or else we'll miss the train."
…Okay, I guess some things never change.
With a groan, I pushed Hestia off me, and she groaned. "Not gonna!" She muttered, and pulled me closer, throwing a leg over my waist and pulling my hand over her boobs. She pushed herself comfortably against my skin, and curled deeper.
"Five more minutes."
Hermione, already dressed and ready for school, rolled her eyes.
"Seriously Hestia," she said. "If you wanted more sleep, you should'nt have fucked him until four in the morning."
"He's gonna go away now," Hestia muttered, still half-asleep and nowhere in the mood for Hermione's logical reasoning. "Needed to hog every minute."
And she had. By fucking herself crazy on my cock until she was barely able to keep her eyes open, and then she had crashed upon my chest and snored off like a baby.
A very, very noisy baby.
Thank god for silencing charms.
"He's still going to come home every weekend," said Hermione. "He has lessons to attend with Emmeline, and you'll be able to meet him too."
"Ngh!" grunted Hestia. "Bones will be there. Can't fuck Harry with ma new boss looking oe'r my shoulder. She and Emmy will hog all of my Harry time!"
"Bright ray of sunshine you are," Hermione chided.
"Alright, enough of your bickering," I said, and pulled Hestia close for a nice, deep kiss, pushing in a little of my allure through her. When pushed into another without the obvious intention of affecting their lust, it had the effect of a pepper-up potion, minus the steam coming out of the drinker's ears. The next second, Hestia was wide awake, my vitality already pushing her into a balloon of active energy ready to pop.
"That's so unfair, Harry," she scowled.
Smirking, I pushed myself off the bed, heading to the bathroom. There was simply no substitute for lukewarm water streaming down your body in muggle style, cleaning charms be damned. By the time I had taken care of the morning essentials, I found my clothes ready and lying on the bed. Excelsior wasn't old enough to generate the ambient magic to support elves by its own accord, and Dobby was already draining my finances, courtesy to that extra wardstone. It didn't help that Hermione had set her foot down about not ordering house-elves around, except for the cooking and cleaning. Neither Hestia nor I cared enough to fight the topic, and Penelope, despite everything that had happened between us, pretended to be a guest and did things the muggle style, so naturally, Hermione got her way.
Some people.
"Now com'n," hurried Hermione, practically jumping in excitement. "We don't want to suffer the crowd."
I knew what she meant, or rather, what she didn't say.
Back when I had activated the horcrux the first time, Hermione had been by my side, and been injected by its potent energies. Normally, it should've outright killed if not severely affected her magic for good. Instead, it had interacted with the lycanthropic curse and twisted things, making her deadlier. The horcrux-Voldemort had called her a necro-beast, and I wanted to figure out very quickly what that meant.
More interestingly, Hermione in her necro-beast form had been in complete control, and together with Tonks and Susan, she had helped fend off the attack on Ron and the other Weasleys. Given the situation between him and Ron, it was no surprise she wanted to avoid the Weasleys, for fear of whatever aspersions they might throw about her, even if she did help save their lives.
I had attempted to at least sound understanding of her fears.
Hestia had simply called them bullshit and moved on.
It wasn't though. Both me and Hestia had come to realize, through first-hand experience, that Voldemort could technically attempt a spiritual possession on me, or at least, through me, and ensnare Hermione and Amelia. Granted, it was under very, very specific conditions — like me absorbing a great deal of his necromantic power, which the Horcrux in my head and greedily guzzled up faster than Dobby did the wardstone, and that somehow, widened the rift connecting my mind with Voldemort, allowing him to attempt a long-distance possession.
That was the theory anyway.
I wasn't still sure where things lay for now, but activating Lecherous Shrine had helped me purge the residual effects of the necromantic power from my body, so, both of them should be safe for now.
Still, there was no saying what the madman had likely pulled off from Hermione and Amelia's mind during that brief stint, or inserted into their minds for that matter, so I'd have to be careful.
And to think I had believed my problems were taken care of.
Silly. Yes, I know.
"Here's what I don't get," I said while putting on my clothes. "Every goddamn year, you have all these children rushing into King's Cross, complete with their trolleys and owls and toads and cats and what not, stupefying muggles all around. I know there's a muggle-repelling charm at the pillar, but that doesn't keep the muggles from giving them strange looks."
"I so agree," said Hestia, stretching her arms. "Us muggleborns would've had a much easier time without pureblood students bossing us about in the train. But it's been like that forever, so…. I guess, it's tradition, at this point?"
"It most definitely is not," scoffed Hermione. At both of our confused looks, she rolled her eyes. "Honestly, don't you read? You're almost as bad as him and Ron. There have been multiple attempts to create a safer alternative for the Hogwarts Express from time to time. Why, even Minister Fudge passed a legislation to set up a Floo Unit at Hogsmeade to allow students from wizarding households to Floo their way there directly. It'd be fast, secure and easy transport."
"Then why not have it? It isn't like you don't have Floo's in Hogsmeade," I pointed out.
"Because it didn't work!" said Hermione. "The intense traffic completely broke down the Floo network, and half the students appeared out of fireplaces in different countries, some even as far as Egypt and Canada. It was a nightmare and a half for the Obliviation Office."
Hestia raised an eyebrow. "It's a bit too early to think of applying for a job in the Floo Network Office, Hermione."
Hermione snorted. "As if they'd even let a mug— I mean, a werewolf working at the Ministry."
"Wait a second," I interrupted. "Why would the Floo Network collapse from just that?"
"Too many Floo's routed to the same destination, Harry," said Hestia. "Every Floo is essentially a point-to-point dislocation, the same principle on which portkeys work. Too many people pushing through the Floo at one point creates a spatial vortex and strains Reality around it. Same principle that keeps people from apparating inside wizard space."
"I didn't know about that bit," said Hermione, almost enviously.
Hestia smirked. She knew the muggleborn werewolf hated not knowing things just as much as she liked showing off how much she had mugged up.
"But the Ministry has people popping in and out of fireplaces all the time," I pointed out.
"That I did know," said Hermione.
"That's because they have wardstones drawing from entire leylines to support the strain, Harry," said Hestia. "Hogsmeade has no such thing, and Hogwarts won't allow direct apparition, Floo or portkey like that. Something about the security wards."
"And you know this how?" asked Hermione.
"How else? The Triwizard tournament," Hestia clarified. "I drafted half the regulations for my boss before he threw me out on the streets. Crouch demanded a detailed study of Hogwarts wards to know what is allowed and what not. It'd be a PR nightmare if the wards punched some guest in the face because they took the wrong exit."
Hermione snorted.
I narrowed my eyes. A detailed study of Hogwarts' wards? Had Barty Crouch done the same in the books? Was that how his son later got to portkey Harry Potter out of Hogwarts on the night of the Triwizard? But even if they did, it didn't explain why the kidnapping happened on the night of the Third Task, or why it was necessary for Harry to be 'aided' by the madman. What even was the point of getting him selected as the Triwizard Champion? Surely there were better ways to try to kidnap him rather than getting him to the spotlight and gain everyone and their cat's attention at all times? And if the faux Moody wanted him killed, all he needed was a nice stunning spell, and then a clean severing charm to the head. And if you didn't want to use magic, just take a piece of glass and plunge it through the neck.
Prophecy or not, nothing was going to save Harry's arse from that one.
But this time, it was going to be different. There was no Lucius Malfoy tweaking Cornelius Fudge from the shadows. I'd say no to Voldemort planning ridiculously-overcomplicated plots to ruin my life, what with being buried six-feet-under and all that, but recent events made me wary of challenging fate like that. And Barty Crouch Junior, the central character to all this action, was currently lying pumped full of Draught of Living Death inside a locked trapdoor in the dungeon beneath the building.
And I was no bewildered fourth-year wanting a safe and boring year, only to be chosen Champion in a tournament he had no intention of putting his name in.
"Speaking of the Ministry, you did accept Amelia's offer, right?"
Hestia shrugged morosely. "As if I ever had an option. Seriously, I get thrown out of the Ministry before the summer and now I am back in less than half a year."
What she didn't say was that working closely with Amelia would give her more time to assess if the woman retained any lingering effects from the indirect possession. The same role that I would play for Hermione.
"Isn't that a good thing?" asked Hermione, tilting her head. "It's not like you'll have much to do with Harry being in school."
"There was always Order business, and making sure the companies are running in order. I was looking forward to ten months of lax work, but someone just had to make my life a living hell!" She glared at me. "And now I've got to juggle a full-time Ministry job on top of this."
"You'd get a nice salary," I quipped.
The glare doubled. "That'd be nice, if you hadn't gotten me preparing for a third thing too," she grumbled. "Seriously Harry, either get me a Time-turner or get off me."
"I thought you loved me getting you off."
"Wait, what's the third thing?" asked Hermione.
"He's making me go through everything the Department of International Magical Cooperation does, or did, when I was employed there. And stuff about the ICW that — oh I can't be bothered with it, just ask him."
"Well?" Hermione asked.
I gave them a cheshire grin, hoping it would be enough.
It wasn't.
"You know who Hector Fawley is, right?"
"He's the…." Hermione began.
"Lead-Liaison Minister," said Hestia, giving me a sharp look. "I've worked with him in the past. Nice man, if a little rough at times."
"He's retiring by the end of the year."
"And?"
"That means that he'll be starting to see potential candidates for his position starting at the end of October."
"October 23rd," Hestia confirmed. "But what's your point, Harry?"
"My point is that the prerequisite for the candidacy is someone with a background of someone working as an Assistant position in any of the Ministry departments for a year's time. The higher the department, the better."
"And?"
"And Amelia is currently hiring you for work starting tomorrow, as Assistant to the DMLE Director. Aside from being Minister Fudge's Undersecretary, or something in those leagues, you can't really top that."
"I'll barely have finished two months working for the Director, Harry," said Hestia, unconvinced. "There's no way I'm eligible for the job, assuming that's what you're angling for."
"You aren't, not this way," I said, still smiling. "But that's only because you got ousted from your job because Lucius Malfoy forced things. If not for that, you'd have been working as the Assistant to Barty Crouch, in the Department of International Magical Cooperation nonetheless."
"That's not —" she growled, only to pause, narrowing her eyes. "I need to be proven right in a civil suit against Gibbon first."
"You will."
"How?"
"Because it's the job of the DMLE to check the backgrounds before employment. Amelia will organise a formal trial in the light of recent events to see what caused your termination."
"Gibbon won't just let her rule in my favour."
"He will. Narcissa has knowledge of too many skeletons in his closet. All it will take is a safe transfer to some other position inside the Ministry for him. That, or risk Azkaban. Gibbon won't say a thing."
Hestia regarded me intensely. "Even… even if that happens, it's up to the Minister to make the selection."
"And he'll select you."
"Why?"
"Well, aside from being in Lord Potter and Black's good books and a healthy support for the next elections, because the Department of International Magical Cooperation will suggest it to him."
"Barty Crouch Sr. leads the Department," Hestia growled impatiently.
"Yes."
"And you have a way to make him play ball?"
"Well… almost."
"Five more minutes," said Hermione, sitting idly in our compartment. The Hogwarts Express was billowing clouds of steam, gathering momentum for its upcoming journey, while the last of the passengers were still onboarding. Not wanting to attract undue attention, we had gotten ourselves one of the compartments, and set up a minor discouraging ward on the wall. Nothing dangerous or even obstructive, just enough to quell most impulses that were basic curiosity. It wouldn't stop an Occlumens, but the number of those were a handful.
I was actually expecting others to join me. Perhaps Susan would, but instead I spotted her chatting animatedly with Hannah and the rest of her Hufflepuff group in one of the larger compartments. Neither girl had noticed us, thanks to the aversion charm on ourselves as we passed along. As much as Susan might be miffed, it was much better than having to play twenty thousand questions with her band of gossip-mongers.
Tracey was… somewhere. Probably with Daphne. Which could be a good thing, or a bad one. Daphne Greengrass was one of the most enigmatic entities I had the opportunities to interact with this summer, and I had yet to decide if even pursuing her was a right idea. Even discounting her special empathic abilities, the girl felt like she didn't quite value her physical looks and used them as a tool whenever she saw fit. She was seeking entertainment, and for whatever reason, I was providing her plenty of it. I really needed to look her up, which was why I was going to spend my sleep time navigating through her emotions from inside Lecherous Shrine.
Goody!
The train let out one last whistle! And right then, the Weasley brood came rushing along through the pillar, as was their annual tradition. I didn't know if they just got horrifically late no matter how much they tried, or if they just considered it a fashion statement. I saw Molly Weasley bossing around everyone, including her husband. For a moment, my eyes darted further south to note a hooded figure clad in black robes. Something about him just strained the space around it, drawing my attention like gravity.
"Harry, check this—" Hermione began, distracting me for half a second. The next thing I knew, the stranger was gone.
Weird.
I turned further right, searching through the people flocking out of the window, settling on Draco Malfoy. Unsurprisingly, the smirk of arrogance was missing on his features, replaced by wariness and something else that I couldn't recognize. Narcissa had intimated her last memory of meeting her son before he closed Malfoy Manor on her face, fearing that Lucius's dying curse had somehow found a way to manifest. I had taken her to Gringotts, and gotten a double confirmation that his last Will & Testament was still unopened and put on hold until the DMLE or the Ministry cleared him as officially 'dead'. The other document, showing the transfer of properties had already happened, though with Amelia and the DMLE taking away a lion's share of the monies, Draco had been left with a decent sum of gold that could last him for the next four years, and perhaps the rest of his life if he spent it frugally.
Fat chance of that happening!
But more interesting than him was the old lady by his side, a woman that looked like she was easily Dumbledore's age, and yet, there was something utterly feral about her features. I couldn't help but draw parallels to Lucius Malfoy. While the former was a lethal predator that hid his wildness under a veneer of false civility and a silver tongue, this woman felt more… raw, intimidating. Maybe it was the recent rise in my affinity for Magical Sensing, or my nature as an Incubus that was giving me a better understanding of people's emotional spectrum, but something told me that she wasn't someone to be trifled with. There was also something… familiar about her face that I couldn't place. There was no doubt she used to be quite the beauty during her youth, but no matter how much I scratched my memory, nothing came up.
"I didn't think Malfoy would even show up at Hogwarts after this," murmured Hermione.
"He isn't a Malfoy anymore."
"By name only," said Hermione. "A poison by any other name, is just as lethal, Harry."
I arched an eyebrow. "I don't think I've heard it put that way before."
"Obviously," drawled Hermione. "Clearly you did a bad job letting me go with Ron the last time around."
"He is still a friend, you know."
"I know, and despite whatever I once felt for him, it does not matter, Harry," said Hermione. "And no matter what happened in your past life, I am truly and utterly yours."
She grabbed my arm and pulled it into her bosom, something feral shining in her eyes. Whatever I was about to say had to pause as the door opened with a creak right then.
"Hey, I just —" began Ron and froze, standing at the doorway, staring at my hand still cocooned in Hermione's bosom. "I — uh—"
Reluctantly, Hermione let go off my arm, and pulled back and sat on the opposite seat.
"Come, sit, mate," I offered.
"Yeah, I…" stammered Ron incoherently. "I just… uh, I mean —I have, uh, something to, you know, ask Hermione."
"So ask her," I said, shrugging.
"Yeah, I, uh —"
Hermione couldn't help herself. She giggled.
"Don't worry Ron," said Hermione impishly, showing off her inhumanly sharp incisors. "I promise I won't bite."
Somehow, that helped him gain some confidence.
"Yeah, I mean," he cleared his throat, but the pink in his cheeks ruined everything. "I wanted to talk to Hermione in private."
"Ah, I see," I said, grinning slyly. "Oh okay, I guess I'll go see how the others are doing."
Ron mumbled his agreement, and I left the compartment, closing the door behind me. Instantly, I focussed and went unseen.
It was part of the abilities I had gotten through my newest perk, the Magical Animagus. When activated, it allowed me to transform into a hellish beast, the same that had fought the dementors and Death-eaters to protect Fleur and her father. It was also what I had transformed into when attacking Voldemort's lair and taking down Nagini. There were few creatures that could offer a challenge to a fully-transformed werewolf on a moonlit night when it came to speed, dexterity, reflexes and sheer strength. My yenaldooshi form had taken down multiple werewolves without breaking a sweat.
You'd think that says all about what sort of a monster a yenaldooshi was, correct?
Trust me, it's just the tip of the iceberg. A yenaldooshi had many similarities with a metamorphmagus. In fact, it would not be wrong to call a metamorph its distant cousin after millennia of evolution. Unfortunately, most of its powers were unknown to me, and I hadn't had the time, or the inclination to pursue them right away. Maybe something to consider for the Christmas holidays? Or barring that, next summer?
Still, not all of it was beyond me.
The perk had also granted me a fifty percent increase in my affinity to Eidolonics, or illusion magic. The name came from 'eidolon' meaning apparition or phantasm. In essence, the unreal. That my own Occlumency affinity was quite high, thanks to Amelia and Emmeline, only made it easier to use this brand of magic almost effortlessly.
Now don't get me wrong. Anybody with a certain degree of skill in the art could perform the disillusionment charm and camouflage themselves from the naked eye. But what the charm did in essence was coat you with a layer of raw magic. Unlike the human body, or rather, any physical object that had a fixed texture, magic was fluid and lacked any such confinements and thus, could easily meld with the natural environment around it.
The only limiting factor was that the spell was too magically-taxing to be held on for long.
I didn't have any of those limitations. A yenaldooshi's body was fluid, and even when in my human form, I could very easily bring forth yenaldooshi features on my body. In less time than it took to blink an eye, I went from a corporeal presence to less than a ripple in the air, visible to only those that might have been staring nonstop where I had been.
And then I slipped back into the compartment, without Ron noticing a thing.
I noted the way Hermione's gaze flitted in my direction before she met Ron's eyes again, a small smile playing on her face as she waited for him to gather the courage to make his move. However, Ron just fidgeted and eyed her in what he probably thought was a surreptitious manner.
"Yes, Ron?" Hermione prompted gently. "You had something you wanted to ask me?"
"Umm… Yeah," was Ron's reply. "You know… we've been friends for a few years now, and I really… umm… I really like you, Hermione. And I kind of thought, what better place to… ask the girl you… like… to be your girlfriend… What better place than the train where we first met?" he finished with a rush.
Hermione blinked. Twice. And then put her hands over her lips and giggled softly.
"That's sweet of you, Ron."
Huh! What did you know? I didn't know Ronniekins had it within him to be so outspoken about his feelings like this? Where was this guy hiding in the books when he all but ignored Hermione until Victor Krum took her to the Yule Ball? Or maybe it was after seeing her in Victor's arms had finally hit the point home that he had lost the bird in hand.
Too bad Ronnie! Hermione is mine.
Ron's cheeks went pink. "So, uh, now that you're my girlfriend, can I kiss you?"
"..."
I am sure Hermione and I were wearing the same flummoxed expressions. Me? I was torn between being amused at his obliviousness and narrowing my eyes at the potential threat to my woman.
Hermione, on the other hand, burst into laughter.
Ron, bless the poor fool, actually chuckled at her laughter. Thinking it as a positive sign, he took a few steps forward, his posture open as he approached to hug her.
"Hold on, Ron!" she cried.
He looked at her puzzled, no doubt wondering what he had done wrong.
"You're…" she paused, closing her eyes and exhaling. "You're assuming wrongly, Ron. I'm not your girlfriend and I definitely won't be kissing you."
"What?" a befuddled Ron asked, appearing shell-shocked.
"I'm sorry, Ron," Hermione repeated. "I understand your feelings, but mine aren't the same. Maybe if things were different, we could have been close, but as things are…"
She trailed off.
"Is this… is this because of what I said when I first found out you were scratched by Professor Lupin and became a werewolf? I.. Listen Hermione, I'll admit I was a little afraid and confused when I first heard that. But you've got to see it from my side too. The stories Mum told us when we were kids, and Lupin was, uhm, terrifying, and i — uh —"
"Uh, Ron," said Hermione, halting him with a hand. "Before you go ahead, I should tell you. I am very much a werewolf. Or at least, sort of like one. You even saw me transform and at… kill the Death-Eaters and the other werewolves, did you not?"
"Yes, but —"
"And trust me, I can do everything they can. Like the fact that I can literally smell your fear from here," she said, giving him a small, serene smile.
"Hermione," Ron said, suddenly serious. "I am not afraid of you. I don't think you're a mindless beast that'll —"
"Attack you and feast on your flesh?" asked Hermione. "You should be. Between you being alone, and afraid, that collar bone feels so inviting." She made animated gestures with her hands. "The only reason I'm not already feasting on you is because we used to be friends."
Whatever Ron was about to say before, he paused, though his mouth moved soundlessly for a few moments.
Then he spoke.
"You know, if you just wanted to say no, you could just say that. There's no need to—" I noted a hint of redness working its way up Ron's neck and ears, a sure sign that he was working up a head of steam. "—no need to pretend when I'm here acting as gentlemanly as possible. I even went against my Mum when she voiced her concerns and put myself on the line here, and this is how you behave…."
Hermione sighed. Not just her, even I could predict that this was exactly how he would react.
"Ron," she said very gently, "I'm sorry, but I can't return your feelings."
Ron's jaw worked as he tried to control his anger, but when he finally spoke, his words did not make a lot of sense. "It won't happen, you know." He was almost forcing the words out through his teeth, he was so visibly upset. "Harry won't marry you. He might play with you now, but he's not going to marry you. Because you're a werewolf."
Silence pervaded the entire compartment. Hermione's eyes flickered to my corner, and then they flashed with something terrifying as she regarded Ron. "I know perfectly well where I stand with Harry, thank you so much."
"Do you?" He snapped. "Because news flash! He's been — he's been flirting with Ginny. And Romilda. And Susan Bones. Everyone knows that! And he's now the Lord of House Potter and Black and all that. There's no way he's even allowed to be with you. Maybe you can be his friend in school and live wherever you're living, but he'll never go ahead with you. He can't."
"Oh," said Hermione coolly, and I wondered just how out-of-date Ron himself was with things. Hermione knew more about my dalliances than anyone else on the planet.
Well, except Hestia.
"And what, pray tell, should I do now?"
"Go out with me!" said Ron. "I'm as good as Harry!"
Ouch. Really Ronald, whining? I wondered if Hermione was mentally equating Ron's jealousy with me with what I narrated to her about the events of 'future' fourth year, when Ron Weasley actively stood against me when my name came out of the Triwizard Cup. For a moment I wondered if I should just re-corporate and enter the compartment and end things right there. Another part of me was hopeful that Hermione would try to convince Ron to see past his jealousy and focus on being a good friend.
But when she spoke again, her words were anything but.
"Are you, now, really?"
"YES!"
She crossed her arms, and arched an eyebrow. "Prove it then."
"What? HOW?"
Hermione's lips twisted into something cruel. "You know what's about to happen at Hogwarts this year, right?"
Ron's eyes hardened. "The Triwizard Tournament."
Something terrible shone in her eyes. "Eternal Glory! One participant from each school, and the winner will be the talk of legend. No doubt that would eclipse Harry's status, Boy-Who-Lived, Lord Potter and what not! Whoever wins it is most likely going to carve their names in legend."
Damn! Hermione was devious, wasn't she? I could almost see the wheels turning inside Ron's mind.
"How — how do you know all that?"
"Honestly Ron, I read," said Hermione in a de-facto tone. "You should probably try that sometime. Maybe soon, if you want to take part in the tournament when it hits. I'm sure Harry will."
She met his gaze. "Go on. Become the Hogwarts Champion. Win the Triwizard Cup, and then we'll talk about what you've accomplished." She paused, and looked at her watch, and with a fake exclamation, said, "Oh, would you look at the time? I need to change into school robes. You should too, Ron."
Ron Weasley didn't make a single sound as he left for his compartment.
Notes:
Find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Next update is on 11th May.
Chapter 149: At Hogwarts
Notes:
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(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 4 - TRIWIZARD TROUBLES
CHAPTER 149 - AT HOGWARTS
GULP. GULP. SLURPPPPP!
Hermione pulled her head back, her eyes fixed on me as she placed the head on my throbbing cock on her tongue, letting my warm cum spew out onto it, coating her tongue and filling her mouth with my seed. Her whole body shook as I emptied every single drop from my balls into her mouth. Midway, she pulled her face just far enough to let my cum splatter against her cheeks and all over her face, her hair and her soft, rosy lips.
"Damn," I said. "You look so delectable."
She pulled her wand and a magical camera soared out of her trunk into my hand. Laughing, I took a picture.
"Should we send one to Ron?" she asked, giving my cock another lick.
I arched an eyebrow. "What are you playing at, Hermione?"
"He shook me off when I got slashed by Professor Lupin. When my world was collapsing, when I needed support, when he should've been there for me, he wasn't. He ran away. Just like he ran away when you and I were searching for … stuff that kept Voldemort alive, that you are too squeamish to name."
I took careful note of her words.
"It's for your own—"
"Protection, I know," she said. "And Emmeline told me I'll be welcome to join in your mind arts sessions. Though, she's not taught a werewolf before, and certainly not a twisted variant like me. Says it'd be an intriguing experience nonetheless."
I didn't know about that bit.
"I'm not blind, Harry," she said. "You might have forgiven him back in your fourth year, and then again, when he deserted us to run back to his family, but I'm not that forgiving. Not after… all this."
Hermione pushed herself up, removed her panties, and revealed her pussy, practically dripping by at this point. She straddled my waist, her pussy touching my cockhead, grabbed my hands and placed them at her waist. Without a preamble, I pulled her down, impaling her upon my hard dick.
"Ooooh, Fuck!" She shouted, her eyes wide and teary. "If he — If he wants out of your shadow so badly—"
She raised herself up.
"—if he thinks he can get inside my pants because he thinks I can't have you, then I need to correct his ignorance."
She dropped herself down again.
Up.
Down.
Up.
Down.
And on and on and on, her hands flat against my chest as she leveraged her weight to bounce on my cock.
"Fill me! Fill me up with your seed, Harry! Fuck me!" She moaned, dropping her head to meet mine, her mouth hanging open as each wave of ecstasy took over her with every thrust.
I laughed.
"What would Ron say if he heard that?"
"Cum in his pants, I reckon," she sneered. "I've had enough talking about him. Now fuck me with this fucking thick dick of yours."
Quite naturally, I acquiesced.
With a sudden burst of motion, I flipped her over onto her back, the magically expanded train seat creaking loudly as I laid on top of her, my entire length sliding into her.
"OH! SHIT!"
Hermione looked up at me with a face of absolute lust and pure pleasure as I began pumping with new vigour, bent on destroying her pussy relentlessly. She spread her legs even further, now bouncing up and down against my body as I pummeled into her.
"Fuck! Oh, yes!" She shouted. "You're.. Fucking! Me! So good! Ugh! Fuck! Fuck ME!"
And fuck her I did. In many angles, in many positions, over and over. I fucked her cowboy and reverse, and then held her against the wall and fucked her until her legs were all wobbly. I pulled her up into my arms and threw her down on the bed, and fucked her tits, before sitting on top of her and driving my cock into her mouth like it was little more than an equipment to pleasure me. And in the meanwhile, Hermione kept offering so many ideas.
"We should — ugh! Bind Ron and bring him here! Petrify him! And then you can fuck me in front of him! Yes! Or against him! Let him see that I am — ugh! Yours!"
Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. I had heard of it. My little future tale was actually turning that into a living parable.
At least it was for Hermione.
I could only wonder what sort of effect it had on Narcissa, or even Anastasia, who had already defied her husband and chosen me. Granted, both of them had become my Lilims shortly after, but it was debatable if it had been my tale or my incubus lord powers that had done the deed. Anastasia I could understand, but Narcissa had been a surprise. Then again, the woman had always been roused by the oddest of things, so her anchorage shooting up at seeing me pop out wings and turning into a mythological demon before pulling her into a mass orgy was right up there in her idiom.
And speaking of that, I briefly reflected on the dream where I had fucked Tonks and defiled her, amidst a jam-packed crowd in a Wierd Sisters Concert. The real 'Tonks' had yet to respond after leaving my premises, but since she was well and functional, I imagined my secret was still safe.
By the time the train was approaching Hogsmeade, both of us got up, cleansed ourselves and got into our Hogwarts robes. Mine was already too small, so I had to get a couple of new ones, and Hermione needed a size adjustment, thanks to her bosom and rear growing slightly larger than before. She had also gotten a couple of inches taller, again, because of her werewolf mutation.
"So," said Hermione casually. A bit too casual. "Will you sideline me and fuck Susan now that you've become a Lord?"
I sighed. "'Still thinking about Ron's words, are you?"
"What are you talking about?" asked Hermione innocently.
I just looked at her.
She sighed. "I haven't forgotten you're an incubus, Harry. And that you've got to fuck your way to power. I get all of that. But… I can't help but wonder if I'll remain important in your life anymore. Like, after this? You already have people like Hestia and Emmeline and Madam Bones that obviously know way more stuff about magic than I do. I mean, I guess being a fuck-buddy for the rest of my life isn't a bad thing, but still… I guess it's the self-doubt creeping in. That and knowing that you didn't see me as anything more than a friend in your time."
"It was a different timeline, maybe even a different world, Hermione. I'm pretty sure I've changed things way too much for the events to happen the same way again. Best to bury the hatchet and go on."
That and having such doubts was equivalent to giving fodder to Voldemort the next time he slithered in her mind.
"I'm a werewolf, Harry. I don't bury hatchets. I sharpen them."
She closed her eyes and exhaled. When she opened them, they were smouldering orbs of darkness. "But the one thing I cannot accept is Ron's jealousy. He claims to be your best mate, and yet just look at him! He's insecure about you. Always has been! If your name came out of the Triwizard then Ron would be the first to believe that you intentionally put your name in for more glory and fame. Not because he had a legit chance at it, but because he's afraid your shadow would grow larger and he'd forever stay inside it. So, this was me giving him a way out."
She grabbed my hand and pulled it into her bosom. "So if he wants fame and glory so bad, if he wants to prove himself as worthy and get out of Harry Potter's shadow, this is his ticket. The Triwizard tournament."
"Which is going to be held for sixth and seventh-years."
"Didn't stop Barty Crouch Junior from putting your name in it. Speaking of, do you ever plan on waking him up from that locked room in the dungeon?"
I gawked at her.
Hermione snorted and tapped her nose. "Excelsior's my den, Harry. I know exactly which place smells what."
Right then, the door rattled. Frowning, I twisted my wrist slightly, and the locking charm faded. Instantly, it slid open violently, as Draco stood framed on the doorway, his face pale and twisted, his fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles were white. His grey eyes gleamed with something feral, barely restrained.
Instantly Hermione went for her wand.
"Yes?" I said, arching an eyebrow. "Can I help you with something, Mal— Draco?"
When the pale boy spoke, it was in a low, trembling voice. "Potter… you think this is funny, don't you?"
I glanced up lazily, noting the absence of Crabbe and Goyle behind the ferret. Feigning confusion, I asked.
"Funny? Did I miss the punchline? Sorry, Draco, but you're going to have to spell it out for me. Preferably with smaller words."
The boy stepped closer, his breath sharp and uneven. I noted the way Hermione's eyes turned silver, and an undercurrent of power rushed through her veins. Maybe it was because of the necromancy permeating through her, but I could almost always feel what she was experiencing.
Or perhaps it was her raging emotions I was feeling, courtesy of the Shrine.
"Don't toy with me. You know what you've done. You've ruined everything—my family, my future. Everything I was meant to have. And you... you just sit there, smug as ever, like none of it matters!"
This time I sat up a little straighter, still confused but curious at the same time.
"Ruined? Me? Now, that doesn't sound right. I mean, I didn't make your father commit genocide, did I? Or band together werewolves and Death-Eaters in the name of his long-lost Dark Lord. Hmmm… are you sure someone didn't just imperius him or something? He does have a history of being weak-minded and all that."
"Shut up!"
"I mean, I did hear about him being a fugitive and all that,' I went on. "Maybe he wasn't sure he could buy his way out of this one and lost his spine or…. I mean, it's really on him, you see. Unless, you'd want to blame me for his bad decisions too?"
"Shut up!" Draco growled, his voice rising, almost hand twitched and he took another step forward, his body trembling with barely suppressed violence.
"You think you're untouchable. You think you've won! But mark my words, Potter, I'll take it all back. I'll tear it from your hands if I have to!"
"That's assuming you even have any hands left before they get to Harry, Malfoy."' growled Hermione. Her eyes had already turned into moulds of silver.
I touched Hermione's arm, pacifying her. Leaning back, I replied, almost dismissively. "Ah, there's the Draco I know. All bark and no bite. How's that working for you? All this seething hatred—does it help you sleep at night? Or is it just making your hair frizzier? A free advice, maybe you should really take Parkinson up and shag her. Really does wonders for temperament."
Hermione, the little sadist, snorted. "Assuming she's even with him now."
I have to admit. Hermione's grown a lot meaner. Or maybe she always was this way, and the necro-beast thing was just bringing it up to the surface.
The former Malfoy's face twisted, his voice barely more than a growl. "You think this is a game? That you can keep mocking me and walk away unscathed?"
His breathing was ragged now, his whole body coiled like a spring ready to snap.
"Walk away? Malfoy, you're the one who stormed in here. What exactly did you expect to happen? You were going to glare at me until I handed over... what? My name? My title—" my eyes glinted with amusement. "My good looks perhaps? Or maybe my attention? Sorry, you're too pale and wiry and ferretly for that."
Narcissa might say whatever she wants, but Draco had walked into my compartment and instigated it all. I might have sworn not to instigate him, but nothing stopped me from responding with equal agitation. Violence for self-defence is a thing, you if you looked up 'excessive violence for self-defence' in the dictionary, you'd probably find my name, my address, and my Hogwarts annual deathmatch performances listed right there.
Draco looked like he was barely a second away from lunging, and I wondered if he'd survive if Hermione caught him mid-stride and thrashed him against the door.
"You don't understand, do you?" snarled the ferret. "You've taken everything. And I'll make you pay. Even if it kills me, I'll make you regret ever crossing me."
I narrowed my eyes, and for the first time, gave him a serious answer.
"Let me tell you something, Draco No-Name. I hate fighting. But if there is a fight, I'll end it. And I'll win."
I waved my hand dismissively. 'So unless you can truly back up your words, stop wasting my time."
Hermione coughed.
"And hers."
Draco's hand shot up towards his wand, but at the last second, he froze, his body trembling with the effort of holding back. And then he turned around and stormed out, slamming the door behind.
Silence fell.
"Well… that was dramatic."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Malfoy's as dangerous as a cornish pixie. Though he looked ready to curse you."
I watched the door thoughtfully, my smirk fading, replaced by a slight frown. Something about the ferret was odd. Then again, he had never truly experienced loss like this in the original books. Even after Voldemort was killed in the seventh year, the Malfoys were still alive. Suffered face-loss and political power perhaps, but that was all there was.
Ignoring the entire Cursed Child nonsense, that is. I swear, that crap is enough to give me nightmares.
"Guess we'll find out."
Maybe Tracey would find some use in Slytherin House after all.
We waited for the train to stop at Hogsmeade and let the crowd pour out first before getting ourselves out. I could hear Hagrid's voice calling for the first-years, to take them down to the lake for the crossing. The sky looked thunderous with lightning streaking through the dark canvas. Maybe I was being dramatic, but I was getting this eerie feel that the story was about to take a dark turn.
Trouble is, I'm not afraid of the dark. I revel in it.
Thankfully for us, there was still a carriage left. But before we could climb on the seats, a sight struck us and left us frozen on our toes.
It was the stagecoach.
Or rather, what was pulling them.
Thestrals.
Yes, yes, I'm aware you know all about them. But trust me, reading about it, and facing it in the eye are completely different things. Quadruped with reptilian features, it just felt wrong to look at them. Completely fleshless, their black hide clinging to their skeletons, with every single bone outline visible. Easily the size of a Clydesdale, they looked less like horses and more like someone had hastily pulled a couple of bat-skins and worn them over a horse skeleton. Large, black, leathery wings sprouted out from either side of their body, and their smooth, draconic heads and the blank spots for eyes stared at me, as if peering into my soul.
A shudder ran down my spine.
"So… these are thestrals," said Hermione after a while. "I didn't believe it earlier. They can only be seen by those that have seen death."
I knew that. But something about those eerie stares told me there was more to it. Not just this thestral, but all of them, were staring at me, their eyeless sockets judging me.
Talk about creepy.
"Harry?"
"...Nothing," I said. "Let's — Let's go."
Hermione didn't seem convinced, and the stutter in my tone didn't help matters either. Nevertheless, she didn't press it any further.
The last time I was at Hogwarts, I had gone out of my way to avoid being in public, and instead focussed on actively casting the spells I knew and could cast. I was a stranger in another stranger's body in an alien world.
Now? I was a lethal prowler stalking it.
Upon entering through the great doors, we found Professor McGonagall standing at the edge of the corridor, waiting for the first-years to arrive at the docks. I slowed down to let Hermione steel herself, before calling out "Professor?" and quickly stepped a few paces ahead.
"Ah, Miss Granger and… Potter," Minerva McGonagall paused for a moment and gave both of us a thorough look. "Miss Granger, I understand. But you seem to have grown like a shoot, Potter. I almost didn't recognize you."
Of course she didn't. Gone were the glasses, and between the height and the sharpened jaw and James Potter's facial features, my face had gained a mix of ruggedness and cunning smoothness, with my green eyes standing out even more. And all that was ignoring the effects of being an Incubus on top of it all.
"Didn't want Hermione to feel all grown-up on me."
Hermione rolled her eyes. As did McGonagall. "I didn't believe it at first. I was so certain you took after your mother. But from what I hear about your summer feels like your father's side is showing itself."
"About time," I grinned. "Snape kept saying I was just like my father from day one."
"Professor Snape," said both women together.
I rolled my eyes.
"Either way," said McGonagall, dismissing me. "I got your letter, Miss Granger. And the healers from St. Mungo's assure me that physiologically, the werewolf traits lie recessive in you, so there is no chance for an accidental infection through physical contact or even an accidental scratch. You are free to join the girl's dorm in Gryffindor tower."
"Actually," said Hermione in a small voice. "I was hoping that I could use the room I was using before the end of the term. At least for sleeping, I mean."
The transfiguration professor arched an eyebrow. "Miss Granger, you have lived at Mr. Potter's place for an entire summer. You have never transformed, not even in your sleep, if that's what you're worried about."
Huh. Dumbledore hadn't told her about Hermione's transformation in the forest.
Interesting.
"She wants to gauge how our classmates and the rest of the students treat her first," I said.
McGonagall pursed her lips and regarded me thoughtfully. "While I'd say that Hogwarts is open to lycanthropes like any other student, I am not blind to the inherent bigotry in the general populace. Alright, Miss Granger. Both of you can go join the feast. I'll instruct an elf to transport your luggage to the room you were using earlier. If that's all? I have the first-years to meet, I believe."
The two of us walked towards the ante-chamber, and I found a tiny boy with mousy hair — a Creevey brother, I think — drenched utterly from head to toe. I waved my wand and cast a quick drying charm, and he gave me a beaming smile.
I half-snorted. If anyone had attempted to raise their wand at me without prior intimation, they'd probably be instantly bound, stunned and thrown against the wall before they had the chance to ask 'why'.
The entrance hall; was ablaze with torches and echoing with the relentless chatter of the student body across the four long House tables. I felt Hermione stiffen next to me. No doubt she was worried about others reacting to a werewolf at Hogwarts. Werewolves were already subject to extreme bias, some of it arising from their lethality, and the others, because sooner or later, they would turn into human-eating cannibals. The prospect of sitting next to someone who would be feasting on your sinew and bones wasn't enthralling and the role the beasts played at the World Cup did little to diffuse that.
Worst-case scenario, I was going to have to let Hermione take a transfer to another school. Preferably Ilvermorny.
Ginny saw me coming, and I instantly noted the change that came over her and the Gryffindor chasers. I pulled Hermione with me, and attempted to sit next to Ginny, but Katie and Angelina moved further to the other end, leaving a blank space in the middle. Hermione sat between me and Ginny, while I sat next to Katie. My gaze flickered at the Hufflepuff Table and found Hannah blushing in my direction — and conveniently, at Neville sitting opposite me. Susan had a hungry gleam in her eyes. Further along, Tracey looked like she was trying too hard to ignore my existence — exactly like I had asked her to, while Daphne just winked at me and looked elsewhere.
I sighed.
This…
This was why I had almost considered dropping out of Hogwarts. I'll be honest with you. If not for the fact that Hogwarts was where all the action, the mystery and the plots would unfold, I would have preferred to stay out of it and be homeschooled. Between Amelia, Emmeline, Narcissa and the Potter and Black grimoires, I was certain I could get NEWTs in all core subjects and then some. Being in the presence of all these young, impressionable and most importantly unoccluded minds around me meant restraining my allure at all times. As much as twisting the females into joining me would be useful for my anchorages, I could easily attract the wrong kind of attention if I wasn't careful.
Was this how Fleur Delacour felt at all times?
Thank Merlin I had the Spindle constantly leeching my Incubus Allure to charge itself. I swear with all this buffet around me, I'd turn Hogwarts into permanent orgy-mode.
Ron meanwhile, was sitting between Seamus and Dean. Apparently the announcing of the Champions was no longer needed for our friendship to break apart.
As the first-years were sorted into Houses, I glanced at the Great Hall, keeping my gaze placid as I swept it across the High Table. Hagrid was still there, holding his position as the Care of Magical Creatures professor, Flitwick talking excitedly with Professor Sinistra about something. Thoughts about Sinistra reminded me that she was a lithe black beauty, and it was time I attempted some diversity in my little harem. Before I could go further right, I felt a strange interest arising from Dumbledore, a focus so sharp that it practically drew my gaze at him. I wasn't stupid enough to meet his eyes, so I centred my gaze at the tip of his nose, before nodding.
Dumbledore nodded back.
Let the games begin.
Notes:
Find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Next update is on 15th May.
Chapter 150: The Goblet Of Fire
Notes:
As always, I have a Discord server, Penthouse. If you are interested in joining it, following for more updates and snippets, and discussing SED in general, just hop in on the link.
https://discord.gg/jvzqqvHhr7
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 4 - TRIWIZARD TROUBLES
CHAPTER 150 - THE GOBLET OF FIRE
Finally, when the feasts were done, Dumbledore stood up, ready to make his speech. He quickly went over about welcoming the First-years to Hogwarts, and a happy side-welcome for the rest of the students returning for their upper-years. The usual mentions about the Forest and Filch's list of prohibitory items, which I was certain nobody save the twins gave any thought to for an entirely different reason —
I glanced at Hermione.
—Or her, for that matter.
Finally, he got around to the Triwizard tournament.
"As many of you might already know, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry is playing host to the legendary Triwizard Tournament, which the ICW had finally agreed to revive after many centuries, particularly because of the danger and the potential death toll it brought about. Quite naturally, every premier magical institution was enthused in joining it."
Several among the audience snorted.
"This year, the ICW is allowing Hogwarts to host the Tournament as a trial model. Beauxbatons and Durmstrang — two excellent academies in Magical France and Wizarding Slovakia will be participating alongside Hogwarts. We will —"
He was paused by a deafening rumble of thunder, and the doors of the Great Hall banged open. A man stood on the doorway, leaning upon a long, thick staff, shrouded in a black travelling cloak. He was a burly, scarred man with a whizzing electric-blue fake eye and a heavy wooden leg.
I stared at the man, stupefied. For a moment, I was afraid that Barty Crouch Junior had somehow escaped my dungeon, which meant that he could have injured or done worse to Hestia or Penelope. But then I told myself that Voldemort was already taken care of, however temporarily, which meant that this was just one of the idiosyncrasies of this world that made the 'real' Alastor Moody walk in at the exact same time as the imposter did in the books.
"And on that exciting note, allow me to welcome your new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, Professor Alastor Moody!"
The entire hall was blanketed with silence. Some, because of his surly looks; others, because they knew what the man was and how dangerous he was. And then there was a quarter of the population that probably had family-members apprehended by the man and sent to Azkaban.
I noted the way Moody's eye zoomed in my direction as he walked straight, before being warmly welcomed by Dumbledore, which he promptly ignored and took the first seat available on the table, right next to Hagrid.
"Professor Moody, apart from his usual duties of taking classes for the students, will also be part of Hogwarts security. With us playing host to two other schools, it is vital that there should be no compromise when it comes to safety. Students — no matter their school, and visitors must always feel safe inside these halls."
I held back from snorting loudly at the last one.
See? I can be diplomatic too.
"For that reason, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement has willingly offered two among their ranks — Auror Tonks, and Auror Digwood." My eyes went up to the extreme right where both Aurors were standing ramrod straight, right behind Snape, as Dumbledore went on. "As well as an entire platoon of Hit-wizards that will be arriving shortly before the other schools do. They will be present at Hogwarts at all times, and should any of you need any security aid, you can and should contact them."
A small smile spread across my face. Tonks hadn't communicated after leaving Excelsior, not even with Hestia. Yet here she was, present at Hogwarts. Why? To be able to observe and talk with me further without making it look strange, or keep a check on me on Dumbledore's orders?
Hah! Baiting an incubus lord with a woman! This should be interesting!
I didn't know about this Digwood guy. Unknown by all measures. Speaking of… why hadn't Amelia shared this news with me yet? Or Hestia, for that matter?
But that was for later, for Dumbledore was speaking.
"Now, the student delegation from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang should be arriving at Hogwarts on the eleventh of October. While they will be here, they shall be both our guests, as well as fellow students. To make them feel welcome, Hogwarts shall organise The Feast of Hecate on the sixteenth of October, a ritual that many of you might already know about."
I didn't have to look at Hermione to know that she was already piqued and couldn't wait to get to the Library and find out all about it.
"They will be taking classes with you, sharing meals with you, and competing with you in the upcoming events. And while I have to say with a heavy heart that we will have to suspend the inter-House Quidditch Cup because of the Tournament —"
A chorus of groans erupted all over the Hall, before McGonagall quietened them all with a sweep of her wand.
"I'm glad to inform you that we will be hosting an inter-school Quidditch tournament, as well as a host of different co-curriculars. There will be student workshops, and seminars by visiting lecturers from the other schools, as well as promotions from other schools that are not part of the Tournament. For the entire year, Hogwarts will be a hub for paparazzi and the press, both from inside the country and abroad. So trust me when I say this — while participation in these events is not mandatory, I'd advise you to participate as much as possible. For international exposure, if nothing less."
I arched an eyebrow. This… was definitely way bigger than an inter school tournament that was forgotten in a year. No wonder Amelia and Fawley were so anxious about how the fallout of the World Cup would affect the Triwizard.
"Quite naturally, these activities and the tournament are likely to hog quite a lot of your time, which is why, I shall attempt to reduce your workload by cancelling your annual exams —"
"WHAT?" screamed Hermione, scandalised, standing up. I pulled her down.
"You're JOKING!" yelled the twins.
"I assure you," said Dumbledore, chuckling. "That I am not joking. Though I seem to remember an excellent one about a troll, a hag and a leprechaun that go into a bar…"
McGonagall coughed loudly.
"Ah well. It was worth a try. Unfortunately for fifth and seventh-years, they will still have to sit for their OWLs and NEWTs, which is why they must be extra careful. But, if you play it smart, you might just have job-offers in your hand before sitting for your exams."
Loud speculation burst in the Great Hall, before McGonagall silenced them again.
"Given the delicate nature of the Tournament, the ICW has deemed that the process be turned over to the hands of a neutral judge. And for that, I present before you — THE GOBLET OF FIRE!"
He thrust his wand ahead, and the seemingly empty place between the House Tables and the High Table shattered, revealing —-
Is that… bone?
It was indeed. Crafted out of what looked like human bones, was a massive, ornately designed chalice-like artefact. It stood unassumingly on top of a tall stool. I didn't know what it was, or what its powers were, but something told me that it was not something to tamper on a whim. The goblet was old… old.
"Crafted using magical arts no longer practised in the British Isles or anywhere else in the ICW-registered states, is this ancient artefact — the Goblet of Fire. Originally used as a way to choose heirs of magical clans by trial-by-fire, the Goblet has a rich and complex history of shaping events of our world. It, not us, will be the chooser of the Champions. It, not us, will choose what tasks shall be ordained. It, not us, will punish the guilty, the weak, and the trickster and the quitter that intends to run away from the tasks, once they have been selected for the Tournament. Beware, the Goblet knows neither human emotion nor is capable of seeing any difference between an innocent and a veteran. Once you step in and are selected, there is no turning back."
I have to give it to the man. He definitely knows how to keep his audience hooked. But at the same time….
I zoomed at the goblet, at its structure, at the energies flowing within. No, not within. Something was wrong about it. Very, very wrong. Part of me wanted to use the Black Family Magic to penetrate past the illusion and see the goblet for what it really was, but something like that would require proper timing, and a good alibi. Perhaps I could revisit it under the Invisibility Cloak, just in case there were any hidden spectators….
Then I realised Dumbledore was not done speaking.
"Quite naturally, the whole world's eyes and ears will be centred here at Hogwarts during the duration of the tournament. The Winner, apart from getting his hands on eternal glory and having his name carved in history, shall also be awarded ten thousand galleons, as well as a job of his choice in bureaucracy. That is, of course, he does not choose something from the private offerings from various companies and organisations that are sponsoring this tournament."
I stared, wide-eyed. Ten thousand galleons? That was quite a lot of money. Enough for anyone, and I repeat — anyone, to throw in the towel and try their hand at the tournament. For someone like Ron, the Triwizard was practically a speeding ticket to a life of glory and riches.
"Now, one final thing before I bid you all adieu. While initially the Triwizard Tournament was supposed to be held for those that had already gotten their OWLs at the very least, the Department of International Magical Cooperation has helped me understand that there are benefits of keeping the tournament open for those of fourth years and above."
I froze. SenileOldMan said what?
Ron meanwhile, looked like Christmas had come early.
"Yes. The tournament will be open for fourth-years and above. But beware, students. The Triwizard is infamous for its dangerous tasks and its death-toll. There is a reason why it was discontinued back in 1792, when one of the beasts involved in the tasks — a cockatrice that killed all three Champions, injured all three of the judges and ate at least sixty of the spectators before it was restrained."
He let the student body digest that for a few seconds.
"So listen to me when I say this. On the twenty-third of October, at exactly eleven forty-seven in the morning, the Goblet of Fire shall flare up. As your Astronomy instructor Professor Sinistra assures me, it is at that exact moment that the Sun enters Scorpio, and the energy from that point is perfect for engaging with powerful magical practices. From then on, interested candidates can enter their names before sunrise on October twenty-ninth. As the Dark Moon phases out on the thirty-first night, Samhain, the Goblet shall reveal the name of the chosen champions."
As I said, much, much bigger deal than in the books.
"Be advised that I shall be implementing measures that will keep students that are third-years and lower from entering their names in the tournament. I shall also ensure that no one can be tricked, coerced, or otherwise manipulated into putting someone else's name into the Goblet. You might think it funny, but I assure you, it is not. Remember my words. Entering the tournament is your choice, but if you are chosen, you cannot step back. Not without losing your magic, or your life. For good measure."
The entire hall fell silent.
"And on that exciting note, I conclude my speech. Now, off to your beds, Pip Pip."
"Oh, Merlin, yes...so big...you're so big..." Hermione panted. I just grunted, and started thrusting harder. She bounced up and down, her tits bouncing wildly, her ponytail swishing back and forth.
She had chosen to stay in a private dorm. Officially, the reason was to keep tensions among other residents in the Gryffindor tower about having a werewolf amidst them, given the recent events. But I knew better. By sleeping in her private dorm, I would be welcome to fuck the life out of her every single night and rend her to oblivion every single time we rutted.
Her moans went louder and louder. "Oh, yes, YES! Oh, Merlin, Harry! I'm cumming again! Oh! OH! YES! So good! SO GOOD!" She shrieked, as softly as she could, and began shuddering. She had already cum twice before, and looked primed for a soon-to-be third. Like a machine, I was pumping hard and fast into her.
Hermione turned her head, trying to look at me over her shoulder. "Cum inside me!" she fiercely whispered. "Breed me, Harry!"
I arched an eyebrow. This was the second time Hermione had demanded to be bred. I didn't know if she was just getting into the throes of passion, or if the lycan side of her truly wanted me to breed her and give out some nice, healthy cubs.
"You want me to cum inside you?"
"Yes, yes! Shoot your cum up in me! I want to feel you cumming in me! I'm not even on birth control!" She panted loudly. She had a pleading look in her eyes.
I groaned this time. "God, your pussy is so tight, Hermione...your tits are growing bigger..." I reached around with both hands and began mashing them together. She groaned and tried to reach behind her to touch me, but she almost lost her balance and brought her hands down on the back of the couch to steady herself.
"So big...so thick..." she moaned. After what seemed like another few minutes, I groaned and held my cock deep into her pussy. "Here it comes, Hermione! Here it comes! Fuck! Fuck, yes!" And with that, I let out a loud moan and made a final thrust into my girlfriend's pussy.
Hermione let out an elated gasp, and slowly sagged down. I could hear her raging heartbeat slow down until it was nothing but soft beats on skin.
Hermione didn't need to know this, but as an Incubus, the decision to breed or not to breed others was firmly under my voluntary command. And with the events happening around, it was simply too soon for the girl to be carrying a baby.
My baby.
Still, something weird was happening. First that altercation with Ron, her egging him to be in the competition, and then Dumbledore and the Ministry altering the rules to allow fourth-years the chance to participate in the competition. No doubt they were completely separate events, but their resultant effects could very well intertwine and cause problems for me. Not that Ron bore any significance as a threat — he wasn't even in my radar, so to speak.
Still, Hermione had changed. First with Ron, and wanting my baby? Was it just her mood swings, the result of listening to everything that happened, or something else operating from the shadows?
Too soon to tell.
With my werewolf partner now sound asleep, I turned around and sagged into the bed, my eyes closing. Physically, I would sleep, but mentally, it was anything but. And tonight was special.
For it would be my first time using my new power at Hogwarts.
Oneiros Spindle…
And in an instant, the world shifted. It wasn't merely a change in sight or sound—it was a transformation in reality itself. I felt as though I'd stepped onto an endless web of silken threads, each vibrating with emotion. Some carried whispers of dreams and desires, delicate and fleeting, while others pulsed with an almost tangible intensity.
I'd roamed Hogwarts under my Invisibility Cloak many times, but this was entirely different. The castle at night, alive with slumbering magic, hummed through its ancient stones. Every corridor, every tower, every dormitory resonated with countless dreams, woven into an intricate tapestry of emotions I could feel thrumming beneath my skin.
Each thrall glowed faintly along the astral web, their subconscious minds open to me like stars scattered across a midnight sky. Their emotions flowed toward me—joy, fear, longing—like currents I could almost touch. It was intoxicating, this connection, as though I stood at the center of a universe crafted solely for me.
Slipping into a dream felt like plunging into water, my presence fluid yet undeniable. The dreamscape bent around me, reshaping itself to my will if I so chose, or allowing me to linger unnoticed in the shadows. The air there buzzed with energy, each detail sharper and more vivid than reality. Here, I was both a thief and a god, absolute in the confines of their sleeping minds.
I could explore the deepest recesses of someone's thoughts, uncover their secrets, plant desires, or soothe fears. Yet I had to tread carefully; a subconscious realization of my intrusion could shatter the dream—or worse, provoke a vicious reaction. And in this swirling maelstrom of dreams and desires simmering inside the castle, I felt like a starved wolf surrounded by lambs, each one as tempting as the next.
Navigating the web felt instinctual, like following a river's current. Barriers didn't appear as walls; I felt them as tension in the threads. The dreams of thralls opened like doors, welcoming and pliable. Others resisted, their threads taut with defiance. Occlumens posed the greatest challenge—fortresses in a sea of open windows—but even they could be breached with patience and care.
Tonight, however, one star dimmed, its light elusive and shrouded in mist. Nymphadora Tonks. Her presence was faint, muted in ways that shouldn't have been possible. This wasn't simple resistance; it was something different, something unique. It intrigued me, and it stirred the predator within.
Through the Shrine, I felt my thralls' emotions ripple, brushing against my senses like whispers. Hermione was first, her mind as sharp as ever. Her subconscious swirled with restless energy, a collision of curiosity and discipline. Her dream revealed itself in fragments: an endless library with impossibly high shelves. Against one of them, she stood utterly bare, her hips shaking as a version of me—her dream me—had her in ways only Hermione could imagine. Trust a werewolf's libido to conjure such vivid fantasies, even after a night of indulgence.
I lingered only for a moment, then moved on.
Hogwarts' dreamscape unfolded before me, vivid and fluid, every connection amplified by the castle's ancient magic. I drifted through snippets of other dreams. Angelina Johnson danced at a masquerade, the air thick with mystery and temptation. I was there too, masked yet unmistakable. Lavender Brown's dreams, unsurprisingly, swirled with heat and silk, bold and unsubtle. The Shrine's influence wove into their fantasies, subtly bending their desires toward me like whispers carried on the wind.
But Tonks remained distant, her connection faint and flickering like a candle in the mist.
I extended my aura further, threading deeper into the labyrinth of dreams. The astral realm shifted around me, a patchwork of fears and longings. A younger student dreamed of flying, their joy untainted and pure. I appeared there too—a heroic figure bathed in sunlight—but I passed by without pause. Another dream was tangled in anxieties of exams and failing expectations. I drifted through them all, detached, a shadow prowling unnoticed.
Hermione's dream called to me again, brighter and more vivid. The library dissolved into a moonlit clearing. She was running—not from something, but toward me. Her golden eyes gleamed, feral and hungry, her breath ragged with want. I let her come closer, but not tonight. I left her to her instincts and continued my hunt.
And then I saw it—a void in the dreamscape.
It hung like a black hole, surrounded by deep sleepers lost in inconsequential dreams. Or perhaps the void had already devoured their emotions, leaving nothing behind. Daphne Greengrass. She fed on emotions as naturally as breathing. Where others radiated desires, she consumed them, leaving a cold, unnerving hunger in her wake. Her presence warped the dreamscape, pulling energy toward her with an irresistible gravity.
I lingered briefly, then moved on.
Others dreamed of me—Susan, Hannah, and surprisingly Pansy Parkinson—but their desires bent too easily. They didn't hold my focus. Tonks, however, eluded me. Her connection flickered, vibrant yet distant, like a flame at the edge of my reach. I pressed harder, threading deeper into the astral web.
The professors' dreams were different. Their minds were heavier, weighed down by decades of memories, regrets, and responsibilities. McGonagall's dreams were sharp and precise, each one a meticulous reflection of her discipline. Snape's dreams were jagged, dark, and turbulent—a labyrinth of shadows and bitter truths. I took care not to linger near Dumbledore's presence, but even from a distance, they were a paradox, bright and inviting on the surface but concealing depths I could not yet fathom.
Yep. Better stay away.
The castle itself seemed to dream with them, its magic alive and intertwined with their slumbering minds. The air felt thick with possibility, the boundary between waking and dreaming thinner than anywhere else I'd ever known. It was intoxicating, that symphony of thoughts and feelings, all of it within my reach. But there, hidden in the symphony, I sensed something curious—a thread unlike the others, faint and fraying at the edges, as though it existed both within the web and outside it. It vibrated with a strange resonance, a mixture of longing and absence, calling to me like a whisper from somewhere deep within the castle's dreaming heart. For the first time, I hesitated. Something was waiting at the other end of that thread, something unknown, and it demanded to be found.
As I followed the thread deeper into the dreamscape, I felt its pull grow sharper, more distinct. It led me to the Great Hall, now eerily warped in the astral plane. The Goblet of Fire stood at its center, its flames crackling with an intensity that seemed to devour the air itself. The sight of it within the dreamscape was disorienting—its light didn't illuminate the shadows but deepened them, as though it thrived on darkness even while it burned brightly.
This wasn't just an enchanted object. The Goblet thrummed with a life of its own, ancient and malevolent. Its presence dominated the astral web, sending ripples across the threads that bound Hogwarts' subconscious minds together. I could feel its influence worming its way through the dreams of the students who had dared approach it, even those who had merely watched from afar. It was not just alive; it was aware.
The Goblet wasn't judging their , it was feeding. A different form of feeding than Daphne the Empath, but feeding nonetheless. It took the hopes, fears, and aspirations of those who approached it and twisted them into something darker. What it returned wasn't opportunity but obsession, a poisoned chalice that corrupted as it empowered.
I followed the threads it had touched, glimpsing the impact it had left behind. Susan Bones, whose dreams were calm and erotic until now, now churned with a quiet dread, her insecurities about her aunt overshadowing her in terms of importance, her watching me from afar as I sat with Hermione at the Great hall and not with her during dinner. Her subconscious mind replayed scenes of failure, twisting even her brightest memories into moments of despair.
The rest of the Hufflepuffs, normally so warm and loyal, radiated a strange, almost frenetic energy. Their dreams were suffused with an uncharacteristic desperation, as if the Goblet had awakened something in them—a hunger that rivaled Slytherins to prove themselves, no matter the cost. I lingered in one of their dreams, catching glimpses of a labyrinth filled with shadows and whispers, a place that seemed to echo with the Goblet's insidious influence.
The Ravenclaws weren't spared either. Their dreams, typically filled with wonder and curiosity, had become fragmented and chaotic. The Goblet's presence had turned their brilliance inward, their minds spiraling into overanalysis and doubt. Anthony Goldstein dreamed of an endless spiral staircase, each step crumbling beneath his feet as he tried to ascend, while Padma Patil found herself trapped in a library where every book dissolved into ash the moment she opened it.
And then, the Goblet turned its attention to me.
Its flames flared, casting long, distorted shadows that seemed to stretch toward me like grasping hands. I felt its presence press against my mind, testing, probing, as if it were searching for a way in. It was more than a relic or artifact; it was a predator, ancient and insatiable, and it recognized me not as prey but as a rival.
The Goblet pulsed with a hunger unlike anything I'd felt before, its twisted power resonating in the dreamscape. It didn't just feed on those who submitted their names—it fed on the entire castle. Every student who glanced at it, every professor who stood near it, every soul who even thought about its flames contributed to its unending feast. It devoured their ambitions, their fears, their hopes, leaving behind subtle but profound scars in their subconscious minds.
I stepped closer, my presence rippling through the dreamscape as I tried to peer deeper into its nature. The Goblet didn't recoil; it reached. For a brief, chilling moment, I felt its power brush against my soul—a searing, invasive force that promised both greatness and annihilation. I pulled back sharply, severing my connection to its thread, but the sensation lingered, a ghostly echo of its touch.
As I retreated, I realized the Goblet wasn't merely a chooser. It was consuming the ambitions of the participants, shaping them into something it could use for its own ends. Whatever magic had created it had left behind more than a tool—it had birthed a parasite, one that thrived on the very essence of those who sought its favor.
Hogwarts slept on, unaware of the predator that burned in its heart. But I had seen it now, and felt its hunger. The Goblet of Fire was more than a relic—it was a wound in the fabric of the castle, a fissure through which something far darker and more ancient was watching. I wondered if Dumbledore knew just what it was he had brought into the castle, and if I should even try to inform him.
Or perhaps, could I learn to use it for my own ends?
Notes:
Find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Next update is on 20th May.
Chapter 151: Potions
Notes:
As always, I have a Discord server, Penthouse. If you are interested in joining it, following for more updates and snippets, and discussing SED in general, just hop in on the link.
https://discord.gg/jvzqqvHhr7
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 4 - TRIWIZARD TROUBLES
CHAPTER 151 - POTIONS
Hedwig's hoots woke me up.
looked around me, and found myself still beneath the covers, in Hermione's room, with the beautiful, naked and utterly delectable werewolf draped all over my lower body. Pushing the covers further down, I noted her head was lying on my leg, barely inches from my cock, which was still confined in the warm embrace of her fist. Hermione had probably gotten up later at night and decided to suck it some more, and fallen asleep in that position.
A hoot caught my attention. I turned towards the window sill and found Hedwig perched there, a letter bound to her talon. Making sure not to disturb Hermione's rest, I slowly and silently got off the bed and approached her. Patting her head softly, I undid the letter. I'll admit that I hadn't quite given Hedwig the time and affection that the original Harry had given, but I had more than made up for it by giving her all kinds of treats and full freedom to soar the skies. Unfurling the parchment, I found a single line.
They might be on you. Be enigmatic. Will speak in person soon.
No name, no initials either. Not that Amelia needed a name to provide her identification. As soon as I read the letter, the parchment instantly began to disintegrate into motes of dust and flew away in the morning breeze. Whatever had happened, it was enough to make Amelia worried, and that couldn't be a good thing.
I closed my eyes and absently patted Hedwig. "Guess it's a whole different ball game this time around, isn't it? And unlike before, they will see me coming from a mile afar. No, they want to see me coming and apprehend me red-handed."
That was fine. I was no longer the frightened outsider that had found myself stuck in a fantasy character's body in a fantasy world. I had grown by leaps and bounds, and my current status was proof of that. If Dumbledore wanted to play chess with me, I'd welcome him.
"Harry?"
I turned around, and found Hermione peeking at me from within the covers. Even with her hair all over the place, and that hilariously scrunched-up just-woken-up expression on her face, she looked absolutely delectable.
"Morning," I told her.
"What's that?"
"A letter," I said. "From one of us."
Hermione narrowed her eyes. "Is there a problem?"
"Nothing yet, I think, but situations might change soon."
As per the original plan, I was supposed to return to Bones Manor on the coming weekend to attend my first session with Emmeline. There would be psychic instruction, but it could include anything from brainstorming on details of my previous life, Voldemort's secret behind his immortality, runecraft lessons from Amelia, to a downright orgy between Amelia and Emmeline.
I was finally in position to make moves. With Voldemort trapped, and Lecherous Shrine active and manning my psychic boundaries, this was the right time to address the issue of his horcruxes. The longer I delayed things, the longer Voldemort might be able to continue tinkering with our connection, what with having endless time and equally endless vengeance at his recent defeat.
Not a task I could accomplish all by myself.
"Harry, about what you said about being from a different world?" said Hermione. "I believe we're finally seeing the differences. The Triwizard feels a lot different than what you told us."
Different. More. There would be a lot more exposure all around. Hogwarts would become a veritable hub of commercial activity. Which meant a lot many options, and a lot more prey. And also, a lot easier for Dumbledore to trap me if I wasn't careful.
"Maybe," I said at last. "Or maybe it's the effects of what I did that's affecting the world around us. I guess the best way is to ensure things play out in our favour and always keep an eye out. Constant vigilance, as our new DADA professor will tell us."
"Think he's the original one?"
I snorted. "He should. Or if he's an imposter, he's a damn good one and you should check for polyjuice. Maybe try summoning his hip flask. But if he's really Moody, he likely will have it enchanted against summoning."
I thought about the dream, and it's odd focus on the Goblet of Fire. Was my own mind playing tricks on me, or was the horcrux in my head reacting to something?
Either way, dillydallying wouldn't solve a thing. Plus, I had two significant classes to attend. And either could prove to be troubling for me if things went wrong.
Potions, and Defence Against the Dark Arts.
The former, because apart from being a right pain in the arse, Severus Snape would likely attempt to legilimize me for information to report to Dumbledore. And the latter, because real Moody or an imposter, either meant dealing with a paranoid bastard that would once again, report to either Dumbledore, or use their knowledge to their own devices.
Neither was a soothing thought.
Interesting fact. The frequency of class distribution had been drastically altered this year. With students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang practising living in the castle come next month for the remainder of the scholastic term, and several other schools offering workshops to promote themselves, Hogwarts too would be offering multiple seminars and workshops on the subjects it was best known for, or at least, had the best ICW NEWT-ranking in.
Transfiguration. Charms. Herbology. And unsurprisingly perhaps, Ancient Runes.
Turns out Minerva McGonagall was an accomplished Transfiguration mistress whose research on the animagus transformation made her extremely coveted in many countries, but she had loyally stuck to Hogwarts for decades. Flitwick was an undisputed duelling champion, and the only half-goblin in history to achieve two masteries — Charms and Enchanting. Babbling had already shared her credentials with me earlier, so no surprises there. Hogwarts was also one of the largest reservoirs of magical plants in the entire world, and Pomona Sprout was a famous herbologist. According to Anastasia, Sprout's friendly demeanor was very much a facade for the genius underneath. Compared to that, Severus Snape, Potions' Master, had little to cite under his achievements, and his history as a Death-Eater worked against his already limited credentials.
It certainly didn't help that Hogwarts had a pitiful number of NEWT Potion students, since barely anyone not from Slytherin wanted to bear with the dungeon bat after five years of being tormented. And Severus Snape was too arrogant to accept anyone with less than Outstanding in their OWLs.
No wonder Amelia wasn't fond of Dumbledore's pet Death-Eater.
It really made me wonder what Dumbledore was playing at, what with institutioning Binns in charge of History of Magic, and Snape in charge of Potions.
With the Triwizard coming up, Hogwarts was supposed to conduct workshops in subjects they were performing well on the ICW level — Transfiguration, Charms, Herbology, Runes, and interestingly, Care of Magical Creatures. Quite naturally, those classes were pushed up in frequency, while others, like Potions, were significantly lessened.
Still didn't stop Snape from putting Potions on the list on our first day back.
As luck would have it, it was with Slytherins. I didn't know if it was just coincidence, or if Snape intentionally put Gryffindors with Slytherins just to demonstrate his anti-Gryffindor bias, or if the bastard just wanted to make me look like a fool while awarding points to his favourite ferret for breathing and looking attentive, but I do admire the sadism.
Too bad he isn't dealing with the Harry Potter of the last three years.
It was probably worse that Draco was no longer a Malfoy hiding behind his father's skirts.
And the worst part? My affinity for Alchemy, of which Potions was a derivative, had grown by leaps and bounds. It was nowhere reaching the apex like Charms or the Dark Arts or Defence, it was far, far higher than the measly 2% Harry Potter originally had.
I smiled.
Should be fun.
Severus Snape was sure that something was wrong today.
It was his first lesson of the year with the fourth-year Gryffindors and Slytherins this year. But suddenly… something was wrong… different? Puzzling? He couldn't put a finger on the description to aptly describe the oddity of the situation, but there was something that was definitely disturbing.
So he stood in front of his classroom and looked at the class brewing their potions… trying to place exactly what was giving him this wrongness.
Just what was going on?
Then his eyes centred on his go-to source of annoyance, entertainment and self-loathing nicely wrapped in a single package with messy black hair and bright green eyes.
Harry Potter.
And then it hit him.
Harry Potter! Of course!
Ordinarily, Draco Mal — No, he corrected himself out of his long, standing habit. Draco wasn't a Malfoy anymore. And with the changed circumstances, the boy was no longer taunting Potter, something he would have done multiple times by now. And normally, Neville imbecile Longbottom would have blown up his cauldron three times by now. The Weasley brat's cauldron should have been frothing with the wrong colour, just two steps short of blowing up. And half the Slytherin girls would have sniggered whenever Severus called Potter out, just the moment he was about to retaliate at Malfoy for attempting to sabotage his potion.
Again, not Malfoy. Not anymore.
It was perhaps silly of him to do it, but he couldn't help it. Potter looked so much like his blasted father, that seeing him being sniggered at by the girls while Draco pranked him was oddly vindicating. He would perhaps have left Granger alone, if the girl didn't have the nasty habit of showing off every time. He knew perfectly well what happened to muggleborns that outshone their fellow purebloods, and no, being the best friend of Harry Potter was simply not enough.
Speaking of Potter… something was utterly wrong with the boy.
He had changed during the summer, no, after the dementor attack. He hid it well, but Severus had noticed it. There was an underlying layer of panic, coupled with an urgency to do something. Not the usual recklessness of the Gryffindor Golden Boy, or a psychotic fear from his harrowing experience of nearly having his soul sucked out.
This was different. Even before the term had vanished, the boy had spent every waking moment casting spells on the third-floor corridor. Severus had watched, under disillusionment charms, at the focussed diligence with which the brat kept casting the spells over and over, studying every attempt and performing better every single time. Even with his limited arsenal, Severus had no doubt that the boy would turn out to be extraordinarily good as far as his casting speed was concerned.
And then came the summer. The summer where everything changed.
Oh no, he wasn't even referring to the maelstrom of misfortune that had struck Lucius and his family. Severus Snape was not religious, but he did believe in accumulated karma. All that wrongdoing had to come back to bite Lucius in the end. It always did.
He was referring to Potter. While others might be concerned about Potter taking up the mantle of his forebears and gaining fortune and political authority, Severus had sneered and ignored it without a second thought. The boy was a Gryffindor, and obviously he had someone, likely that Jones brat, that had informed him of his true status as the scion of a Noble House, and perhaps taught him how to ease the gears for himself like all purebloods did.
Or at least, that was his theory until school began.
Potter had changed.
Not just in his physical appearance. That had of course changed. Gone were the boyish looks and in its stead, the face of James Potter now stood out even more, somehow, merged with the aristocratic sharpness of Sirius Black's face And the worst part? Dropping the glasses now drew even more attention to those haunting green eyes, that reminded him even more of his greatest mistake and his greatest loss.
The real shift was in the way the boy carried himself. Confident. Powerful. Dominating. It wasn't James Potter's arrogant swagger, or Sirius Black's callous, alpha attitude. It was… different. He didn't simply walk. He stalked. Like a predator. Alluring and intimidating in a single form.
Change like that didn't come in one summer.
And the worst part? Potter had killed someone. No, not someone. Many. Severus's own involvement with the Death Eaters had long taught him how to distinguish these things from the rest. He could tell by the way the boy moved, how he talked, how his eyes shone with a lethality that lurked just beneath the surface. There was a killer stalking the halls of Hogwarts, and nobody was seemingly paying any attention to him.
The question was of course, how? Who had the boy killed? Someone in the World Cup attack? No, that was too quick too soon. If not for the fact that he knew that Albus Dumbledore would definitely know if something threatened his precious little Gryffindor prince, Severus would swear the boy was an imposter.
Whatever. Something else was going on. And he would soon find out.
His robes billowing, he walked towards the target of his suspicions.
Anybody that has read all seven of the Harry Potter books can swear up and down that there is little to potion-making other than following the directions written on the blackboard, ignore all the soot, the smoke and the fumes arising out of bubbling cauldrons, put the ingredients in proper order, stir clockwise or anticlockwise or in freaking circles based on whatever the textbook claimed, and lo and behold, your magic potion was ready. And with Hermione successfully brewing the Polyjuice potion — a NEWT-level job by herself in her second year, there is little to convince that the only reason students failed in Potions was because Severus Snape was an awful teacher.
It was just like Snape had quoted back in first year. Without any silly wand waving, and with his absolutely atrocious teaching, one could hardly consider potion-making as magic.
The truth is a little different.
Uh, minus the awful teacher bit. Snape is a terrible professor. A brilliant potions master perhaps, but a horrendously bad teacher.
The real difference was however, in the basic understanding. Obviously you won't be getting that in the original books, so you better pay attention.
Potions, or at least, most potions, are all made pretty much the same way. First you need a base to form the essential liquid content, then something to engage each of the senses, and then something for the mind and something else for the spirit. Seven ingredients, all in all, and they're different for each and every potion, and, depending on the type of potion, perhaps an extra ingredient, for the person that uses them. Human hair, for instance, in Polyjuice.
Today, we were brewing the Shrinking solution, a potion that caused the drinker to shrink to a smaller form. When brewed properly, it would emit a bright greenish brewed, the colour could shift from gaining a slight purplish hue to becoming a lethal poison. Despite the name, making another human being drink the Shrinking solution was an offence and would land the perpetrator in Azkaban for a period of one week. Apparently Samuel Plunkett, a wizard that lived sometime in the sixteenth century, poured Shrinking solution into all the wells in Winchcombe in Oxfordshire, as a way of getting revenge for the muggles abusing and hurting his family. So potent was the potion that the drinking population had shrunk to the size of hedgehogs, and Samuel Plunkett terrorised them further by chasing them around in hobnail boots.
It was a nightmare and a half for the Obliviator squads.
Currently, the only legal use of the Shrinking potion was on plants and livestock.
The kind of trivia you remember when you have an eidetic memory.
With Ron deciding to stick to Seamus and Dean, his new friends, Hermione had turned her attention to help poor Neville, a help that unfortunately didn't help Neville at all.
Hermione tried to channel a genius in every class she was taking, and that included Potions. I blame JKR for actually cementing that notion with the polyjuice event in the second year. The fact is, Hermione is an above-average brewer. She was meticulous, that much was certain, but it only worked so long as she followed the texts to the letter for standard potion-making.
But the moment you stepped into NEWT-level potions, well, things were slightly different. You needed to understand the why more than the what, and that required an open mind that Hermione lacked.
Not that it deterred Hermione from looking proud of her work, but any potion-master would feel ashamed if he had produced something like that.
Obviously, I couldn't blame Hermione for that. She didn't know better, and didn't have anyone to tell her better. In fact, without Walburga's wraith running me ragged while making me brew all sorts of potions for my rituals, I'd have perhaps thought her to be a talented brewer.
"No, Neville," Hermione hissed. "Don't do it like that. You need to crush it. Can't you read?"
Like I said. No help at all.
Still, she was mine. And I certainly needed her to diligently brew potions for me in the foreseeable future.
"Hermione," I offered gently. "Crushing won't help it."
"Harry," she replied tartly. "I understand you've learned all sorts of new things, but getting a new potions cauldron doesn't make you better at potions than I am."
I sighed. "Actually, it does. In part. Why do you think half of the students have moonsilver cauldrons instead of pewter?"
"Because they think that their daddy's gold can compensate for their talent?"
I sighed. Like I said, ever so steadily losing all faith in my knowledge from the books.
"It's because moonsilver is magically inert, and creates an insulated barrier for the magic of the ingredients to work properly, making them more potent. And for the record, the instructions on the board were to make the shrivel figs bleed."
"And the book says that crushing is the way to do that."
"The hard way it is," I said. With her watching, I carefully peeled the shrivel figs, their inner tissues bleeding a ruby red blood, letting them fall into the brimming cauldron. I carefully adjusted the heat to steadily rise, and stirred the cauldron in clockwise directions. As expected, a light tinge of yellow began to show, like it was supposed to.
"How are you doing that?" she demanded.
"It isn't only the actual physical ingredients that are important, Hermione," I said. "You need to consider the meaning that they carry too. At times, it's the significance the ingredients have for the person making the potion, and for those who will be using it. Oh, and of course, the sort of cauldron you're using also affects the quality of your potion."
"Bleed, not crush," Hermione said carefully, eyeing my cauldron.
I smiled. Meticulous and smart. Like I said, she hadn't known better and the one who should've taught her better hadn't.
In the end, like everything else, it was Snape's fault.
I watched Neville follow us and repeat our actions, albeit a little clumsily. Neville grew up to be a herbologist in the books, and then took over Professor Sprout's role after she retired. Chances were he already knew what I was talking about, but his massive lack of confidence and fear of Snape made him an absolute failure in the subject he was supposed to naturally shine. For someone supposed to be a fighter on the Light side, Severus Snape had caused more than his fair share of crimes.
Well, things would change now. If needed, I'd have to arrange for extra tutoring for Neville under Anastasia.
House Longbottom was an essential piece that I couldn't let slip away. Apart from being a potential prophecy candidate, Neville was the next Lord of House, and House Longbottom was the key to establishing monopoly in the herb trade, as well as gaining a strong support from the traditionalist 'Light' side of the Wizengamot.
It was why I would let Gideon have his way and get Hannah contracted to Neville.
"So, did you pick up potion skills, when you were… you know?" asked Hermione.
I clicked my tongue. For all her meticulousness, the girl could be woefully obvious about things best kept secret. I'd have to change that.
"Another potions master helped me dust off the basics."
Her eyes widened.
I nodded, letting her conclude whatever she came up with. Probably Anastasia.
"Speaking of," she said. "Notice something interesting about Malfoy?"
"He isn't Malfoy anymore, Hermione."
"He'll always be Malfoy to me, whatever name he takes," she said stubbornly.
I snorted, glancing at the blonde ferret. Surprisingly, it seemed his arrogance hadn't quite taken the hit I had expected it to be. Or maybe he thought that pretending everything was hunky dory would solve everything?
"He's Draco Rosier now," said Neville, his voice barely above a whisper. At my gaze, he swallowed and looked apprehensive. I nodded for him to continue.
"His maternal grandmother is Druella Rosier. The Malfoy name is gone, but he can still take that name up."
"I thought both his grandparents were dead," said Hermione.
Neville nodded. "They are. But his great-grandmother Vinda Rosier is still alive."
I narrowed my eyes. Vinda Rosier? An image of a crone standing on the platform came to mind. And with that came the foreboding feeling I had felt back then.
"Vinda Rosier…." I murmured. "Why does that name sound familiar?"
"It should," said Hermione. "Vinda Rosier was Gellert Grindelwald's right-hand. She was captured by the British forces, and granted diplomatic immunity after she turned state witness and revealed Grindelwald's secret base. It was after that that the ICW forces surrounded Nurmengard and Professor Dumbledore defeated Grindelwald."
She paused and looked at us blinking owlishly. "Honestly," she said, blushing a little. "Don't you read?"
"I think I'd remember it if Binns decided to talk about anything other than goblin rebellions."
"He's right," said Neville, a little less timid. "He only covers recent history from the sixth year."
Of course. Cover the actual useful stuff after killing any appreciation for the subject with five years of droning nonsense.
"Okay, okay," said Hermione, her cheeks pink at getting caught with that little slip. "It wasn't in History of Magic. It was in the Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century. I read it in the summer after you know… you told me stuff."
Ah. That made sense. Still…. Rosier, huh?
I glanced at Draco interacting with his fellow Slytherins. Honestly, I had expected Draco to show up in the train, and if not, then at least attempt to humiliate, insult and if nothing worked, then brazenly attack me out of his misplaced sense of righteousness.
I blinked and considered my recent actions.
Okay, perhaps not misplaced. I had technically snatched his birthright, or at least, what he believed was his birthright.
Still, not one confrontation after that train encounter? Was this under the directions of his new guardian? Was I dealing with an older and more dangerous substitute for Lucius Malfoy? I idly remembered that a certain Tywin Rosier had been found dead at the World Cup. Had I unintentionally ended the Rosier heir? Was that why Draco had gotten the spotlight?
Great. More homework for Hestia. Poor girl would probably cry at the sheer volume of work she had to deal with. Especially with her new job as Amelia's assistant.
And studying for the job of Lead Liaison Minister.
The sudden sound of footsteps broke my musings.
Severus Snape wasn't sure what to think.
The potion… Potter's potion was actually on its way to perfection. Of course, there were still a number of steps before that happened, but that faint tinge of yellow wasn't supposed to show up in the standard recipe printed in the textbook. That would only happen if —
"What is going on, Potter?"
The brat had the temerity to actually look up, yet skillfully kept his eyes centred at the tip of Severus's nose. Even his expression had the careful mix of intimidation and confusion. An apt mask for someone that couldn't possibly be a Gryffindor.
"Did I do something wrong, professor?"
Snape's answer came in the form of a surface Legilimency attack. It was far more difficult, since Potter wasn't meeting his gaze.
"Did I make a mistake, professor?" the brat repeated.
"...No," he said, inwardly scowling. "How did you get the yellowish shade?"
"I peeled the shrivel figs." Potter paused, eyeing Longbottom's work. "No, Neville. You have to wait and let it heat until the potion turns purple, and only then add the rat spleens."
Severus narrowed his eyes. "Show me your textbook."
"My textbook?"
"Your textbook."
Potter frowned, but acquiesced. Severus grabbed the textbook and quickly rummaged through the pages.
No old, decaying pages.
No writings by his own hand on the edges.
Nothing. Just a brand new fourth-year textbook.
"And this is the book you have been using?"
"Should I not?" The fake expression in the boy's eyes made Severus want to cast a curse at his blasted face.
"Why did you peel it, when the instructions in the book clearly say to crush it? Or do you think you know better than potion-masters? Just like your arrogant father! Five points from Gryffindor for recklessness and another five for not following instructions! Detention tomorrow evening!"
Yes. He thought. Show me the rage. Open your mind. Show me your secrets.
His growing annoyance found vindication when the boy actually met his gaze. "Actually professor," he said. "I was reading some of my mother's old school books I found from our Family Vault. Reading them made things a little easier to understand. I remembered this potion from that text and followed the instructions."
Severus's eyes widened, meeting those blasted green eyes — Lily's eyes, and a sudden guilt squeezed his mind, and seeped downwards.
"Your—"
"Lily Evans," said Potter. "She was in your year in Gryffindor. Maybe you knew her?"
If not for his Occlumency, Severus would have staggered back. Instead, he just stared directly into the boy's eyes. He barely saw a flickering image of the boy reading a potions text, before he was pushed out. The next thing he knew, he was staring at a set of confused green eyes.
That threw him for a loop. No mental defences whatsoever.
So normal. So ordinary.
"Uh, professor," asked Hermione. "Did we do wrong by peeling the figs?"
Severus ignored the urge to sigh. That confirmed it. "No, the instructions, Miss Granger, ask you to make it bleed. Not crush it to paste. You'd notice it too if you weren't too busy showing off your skill at guzzling books."
The girl looked mutinous, but didn't say anything. Strange, even with lycanthropy, there was little lack of self-control. A stronger immunity, or Lupin's weakness? Could be either.
He regarded Potter's cauldron again. "This… is a passable attempt. Not the standard I expect from students looking to continue after their OWLs, but close enough that Hogwarts' most famous celebrity just might make the cut."
All three of them stared owlishly at him.
"While it pains to admit that you would understand by reading another's textbook what I have been trying to drill into your head over the last three years, I suppose some things cannot be helped. You are your father's son, after all. Make sure you do not fall back to your usual levels of mediocrity."
"Uh… thank you," said Potter.
"Now finish it," he said, and turned around, and left. And as he did, he heard Granger whisper. "What the bloody hell was that?"
"Language, Hermione."
Notes:
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Next update is tomorrow.
Chapter 152: The Room Of Requirement
Notes:
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Chapter Text
BOOK 4 - TRIWIZARD TROUBLES
CHAPTER 152 - THE ROOM OF REQUIREMENT
"Welcome to your fourth-year class for applied charmwork," began Professor Flitwick, standing on a pile of books as he addressed the entire class. It was technically my very first class with him after coming to this world, and I was curious about just how skilled the teachers themselves were. And no, Potions didn't count, given that Snape did little more than hovering around like a bat and pointlessly intimidating Gryffindors.
Turns out, Flitwick was an undisputed Charms prodigy and master-duellist, and coveted by private institutions all over the world and spent almost as much time outside Hogwarts as he did inside the school. Apparently he was the Head of House Ravenclaw in name only, and that it was really Septima Vector — the Arithmancy professor — that was the go-to person for students when they really needed something.
"Now, Miss Wilkes," said Flitwick, and I just realised that we were having classes with Slytherins. "What is a charm?"
"Uh, it's um, a spell, used to,err, charm someone?"
"Of course," said Flitwick. "Good to know that the last three years have been useful. A spell used to charm someone. Any other volunteers?"
Hermione's hand shot up like a missile in the air.
"Anyone apart from Miss Granger," said Flitwick with a smile. "Sorry, Miss Granger, half my Ravenclaws seem to think I favour you over the others."
Hermione pouted.
"Ah, yes, Miss Davis?"
"It is a spell that adds or removes attributes from an otherwise complete object without destabilising the object's matrix."
"Very good," said Flitwick. "One point to Slytherin. I wouldn't exactly add the last bit about destabilisation since we have the vanishing charm, and several variations of the blasting hex that do exactly that, but let's not do much nitpicking this early in the term, shall we?"
Several people laughed.
"You will meet people who will tell you that Charms is a soft option; that unlike Transfiguration that is layered and meant to be learnt by following specific disciplines, Charms is more of a cluster of closely-related families of spells that fit into a proper equation format."
The diminutive professor met everyone's eyes.
"Those people are wrong. Now, who here can tell us what spells we covered back in first-year? Yes, Mister Nott?"
"Levitation, Illumination, basic kinetic jinxes and the bluebell flame spell."
"Correct. Take another point for Slytherin. Now, who can tell me what's the common factor between the spells Mr. Nott named for us?"
This time Hermione got the chance to answer.
"They work on the same swish-and-flick format you showed us in the very first-class."
Flitwick beamed. "Correct. Two points for Gryffindor."
Several students on the Slytherin side murmured something like 'biased', and Flitwick laughed. I just rolled my eyes.
"As Miss Granger said, the basic swish-and-flick is the foundation behind your first-year spells. Now, who among you have taken Ancient Runes and Arithmancy as your elective?"
Several students raised their hands. Hermione obviously had hers up first, followed by Daphne, and interestingly, Pansy Parkinson.
"Good, good," said Flitwick. Raising his wand, he cast an elaborate swish-and-flick motion in the air with the Flagrate spell, and let the movements superimpose each other. "What does that remind you of?"
Thurisaz. I breathed. I may be able to draw on complex runology from the horcrux and employ it in Necromancy, but there was always an underlying abstraction that prevented me from knowing how they truly worked. In essence, I knew that A and B would give the result C, but the mechanism behind it was hidden from me.
Guess that's the difference between a true master of the magical arts and someone drawing on their powers like a tool. If somebody was trying to tell me that despite my rising affinities, powerful perks, and having access to Voldemort's lifetime of knowledge, I had a long, long way to go before I could truly call myself a Master of the magical arts.
Might as well get the Resurrection Stone, put it inside Slytherin's Locket, and wear the Potter invisibility cloak around me, with the Elder Wand in hand. I could pull over a Harry-Potter version of Stephen Strange.
"Thurisaz," said Flitwick, pulling me out of my idle musings. "The rune that dictates a tendency towards change. Destruction, strength, aggression, and of course, protection. During your first-year, the spells we focussed on were, as Mr. Nott put it nicely, levitation, illumination, and kinetic hexes, which I suppose could be classified as basic aggression. That is why each and every one of those spells have wand movements based on the Thurisaz rune. In your second year, you focussed on animation and spatial charms — disarming, dancing feet, tickling, drinking, engorgement, and your spells had one common wand movement added to them."
He drew an Uruz rune, which automatically superimposed over the Thurisaz.
What? I might be drawing on Voldemort's memories, but I also have Hermione's Library of Knowledge perk. Anything I learn, I can instantly recollect.
"Uruz, standing for freedom, energy, action, strength, tenacity, understanding," said Flitwick. "Quite naturally, it fitted the spells to a tee."
"Uh, professor?" asked an anxious Parvati Patil. "Will we need to uh, study runes for fourth-year charms?"
Flitwick chuckled. "That's an interesting question. And the answer is yes, and no, Miss Patil. It is entirely possible to not study even the basics of runes and still perform adequately in Charms for your fourth and fifth-years. Perhaps even score an EE in your Charms OWL. But no further. And I don't accept anything short of Outstanding for my NEWT classes."
"Why not?" asked Lavender Brown.
"Because NEWT-level charms require you to move beyond the established paradigms of established charm work. But don't get disheartened. You only need an EE in Charms OWL if you want to apply for the Ministry. Even the Hit-wizard recruitment lists an Outstanding in Defence Against The Dark Arts NEWT but only an EE in Charms and Transfiguration OWLs. You could even move into duelling circles if you would choose, but the true beauties of charmwork would stay beyond your reach."
"Why?" asked Finnegan.
"The answer to that lies in an entire term's worth of material. If you are interested, I teach a fast-paced course on runescripts relevant to OWL and NEWT-level charms work with Professor Babbling. But I only accept thirteen students every year, and none of them are allowed to be slackers. Alternatively, you can also take up Runes as your elective, or simply be content with an EE in your Charms OWL."
I pursed my lips. Despite my affinities, I still had a lot of material to actually pick up to become someone capable of fighting magical titans at their fullest power. And this year was going to give me a horde of opportunities to do just that.
Might as well get started on it immediately. My Incubus powers were developing at their own pace, and it was time to elevate my other magical affinities to their fullest.
"Well then," said Flitwick, grinning at a thoughtful class. "Let's get started on your fourth-year charmwork, shall we?"
At the witching hour, when the rest of Hogwarts was sleeping, I found myself tiptoeing down corridors like a common miscreant. My invisibility cloak, my most faithful accomplice, fluttered around me as I made my covert way to the Room of Requirement. According to the books, the Room should appear the moment one walked past the statue of Barnabas the Barmy thrice, thinking about it.
To my unbridled relief, the door materialized. It seemed that, for once, the universe was sticking to the script. A rare treat in the life of Harry Potter. But as I reached for the handle, a voice sliced through the silence, freezing me in my underhanded tracks.
"I'm surprised you'd leave me out of this adventure, Harry."
Hermione Granger, rule-abiding student extraordinaire, had somehow managed to sneak up on me, the king of sneaking around. I spun around, nearly tangling myself in my cloak. There she stood, arms crossed, wearing an expression that managed to blend disappointment with a dash of exasperation.
I was caught. Caught in a way that no invisibility cloak could mask. "Hermione, it's... well, it might be dangerous," I stammered, which, frankly, was a rather rich understatement. This was a horcrux hunt—'dangerous' was an optimistic description.
She raised an eyebrow, her stance unwavering. "Since when do you undertake dangers all by yourself?"
A valid point, painfully valid. But involving Hermione could complicate things, especially given her recent brushes with Voldemort's necromantic energies. How much could I trust her condition? How deep had Voldemort's taint seeped into her? These weren't exactly sentiments one could voice without sounding a few cauldrons short of a potion shop.
"I just thought—"
"You thought wrong," she cut in, decisively. There was no arguing with Hermione when she got that look in her eyes—the one that said she'd sooner hex you than let you go into potential peril alone.
So there we stood, outside the fabled Room of Requirement, my plans of a solitary, heroic escapade dashed by the stubborn loyalty of my best friend. I couldn't tell her the full breadth of my concerns, not yet. The less she knew about the necromancy taint, the better.
"So, where does this door lead to? I don't think I've ever seen this here before."
I exhaled, and swung the door open, with the reluctant grace of a secret being coaxed into the open, I turned to Hermione, who was eyeing the expanding space with a blend of curiosity and skepticism.
"Welcome to Hogwarts' most temperamental classroom," I announced, striding into the Room of Requirement with a dramatic flourish of my arm, inviting Hermione to follow. "Also known as the Room of 'you really should have been more specific.'"
Hermione's eyes roved across the chaotic interior—a mishmash that mirrored the complexity of a teenager's bedroom but on a grand, institutional scale. The room, generally a beacon of pinpoint wish-fulfillment, today seemed more like a hoarder's paradise. A half-built suit of armor cozied up next to a teetering pile of chairs, while a table burdened with an array of potion ingredients sat oddly beside a string-deficient harp. It looked less like a room designed with purpose and more like a yard sale after a natural disaster.
"And... this is what you wished for?" Hermione asked, one eyebrow arched in elegant skepticism.
"Seems the Room's as confused as I am," I quipped, the chaos before us making as much sense as socks on a rooster. "Your turn—give it a whirl."
Hermione closed her eyes, her expression a concentrated frown that might as well have been trying to solve quantum physics. I watched, almost detached, as the piles began to shift. It was like witnessing a ballet where the dancers were piles of junk gracefully sorting themselves into something resembling order. The clutter receded, and in its place, a perfect replica of a school library materialized, right down to the smell of musty books and the lemony tang of furniture polish—an olfactory nostalgia trip.
"It's just like I remembered," Hermione murmured, her voice a mix of nostalgia and disbelief so thick you could cut it with a knife. She wandered through the aisles with the reverence usually reserved for sacred sites, stopping before a specific shelf to pull out a book, worn and familiar. "Look, even this torn page," she said, showing me a book with a missing piece as if it were a war medal. "Happened during a scuffle over who would get to take it home. It's uncanny."
"It's impressive," I admitted, peering at the book. "But we haven't time-traveled, Hermione. It's all a top-notch illusion crafted from your head. The Room doesn't just recreate—it pulls blueprints from our grey matter."
"So, it's not just reflecting our desires, but also dredging up our memories, our regrets," Hermione mused, her finger tracing the jagged edge of the missing page like a detective following a lead.
"Exactly," I confirmed. "It's like walking through a living, breathing diary."
That thought stopped me cold. A living diary. Here was the Room, throwing up a perfect reenactment of Hermione's Muggle school library right down to a torn page from a forgotten squabble—how deep did it dig to pull out such specifics? It reminded me uncomfortably of another item that manipulated memories- Tom Riddle's Diary. That diary took memory manipulation and kicked it up into a full-blown personality with malice aforethought. How much of that diary's magic was the horcrux, and how much was it tapping into something ancient, like the Room's capabilities?
The thought was chilling, but I kept these dark musings to myself. Hermione, lost in the rows of books, didn't need my mental detour into the potential overlaps in enchantment methodologies.
"So, this room... it just appears?" she asked, turning her analytical gaze on me. "How exactly?"
"It's more than wood and stone; think of it as Hogwarts' subconscious," I explained, my tone half lecturer, half conspiracy theorist. "It picks up on the undercurrents of our desires, sifts through our thoughts, and—voilà—it manifests our mental shopping list."
Hermione, ever the scholar, touched the spines of the books, her brow furrowed. "Does it use a form of Legilimency, or is it more like it's tuned to our emotional frequencies? How precise is its accuracy? Does it replicate reality, or just our perception of it? What if you imagined something completely new? Would it focus on your true memory or entertain your fiction?"
I laughed. Trust Hermione to dissect the Room's magical mechanics rather than just marvel at its wonders.
"What are we looking for, again?"
"Something well-hidden," I replied, steering us back to the task at hand. "Voldemort hid the Diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw here, among other lost and forgotten things."
"But the Diadem is… uh, lost."
"Like Gryffindor's blade you mean?"
Hermione frowned, conceding to my point. "So, he found it, and hid it here. Hidden among the hidden." She mused, catching on. "So we need to envision that specific place—a room filled with everything students didn't want found."
"Right," I nodded. "Close your eyes. Picture a vast expanse crammed with the detritus of Hogwarts' past. Imagine an endless labyrinth of lost treasures and regrets."
We both closed our eyes, our thoughts merging with the magical essence of the Room. I envisioned it as described in tales and whispers—cluttered, crowded, filled with the echoes of secrets and the weight of forgotten things.
After a moment suspended between anticipation and an impending magic trick, I opened my eyes. The transformation was jarring—like switching from a thrift store to an Amazon warehouse overnight. The sprawling expanse was a jungle of forgotten knick-knacks, each aisle a winding path through a historian's fever dream. The air was a buffet of dust particles and ancient secrets, each breath a chapter from an unpublished novel.
Hermione's eyes snapped open, taking in the warehouse-sized Room of Requirement. "It's incredible," she whispered, the awe in her voice might as well have had its own echo. "It's just as you described, only... more."
I nodded, feeling a bit like a tour guide at a museum of organized chaos. "It's more than a glorified closet; it's a tribute to centuries of hoarding. It's not just about what it can conjure but the memories it's hoarded. It's like the room soaks up bits of everything it hides, turning into a living, breathing archive of Hogwarts' lost and found department."
"So, where exactly is the Diadem?" she asked, scanning the endless clutter.
I frowned, diving into the mental archives for a memory I hoped was still filed correctly. "The diadem perches like a tiara atop a warlock's bust. Last I checked, there was a dusty, forgotten vanishing cabinet next to it."
"A vanishing cabinet?" Her interest was piqued.
"You get in one and pop out of the other. They come in pairs, like salt and pepper shakers, but far less reliable." I shrugged. "They fell out of vogue. Turns out people prefer Portkeys—they don't malfunction and strand you in limbo."
"So… what happened to its twin?"
"Borgin and Burkes," I replied with a casual air. "Had a friend buy it just in case we ever needed an inconspicuous delivery system from here to there. Magic bureaucracy doesn't cover furniture transport, apparently."
"So why aren't we just using that route?"
"Damaged," I said with a dry chuckle. "Which means a DIY repair job is in our immediate future. Then maybe we can spirit it away to somewhere less... cobwebby." I paused, then couldn't resist, "Accio Diadem of Ravenclaw."
Nothing stirred, except perhaps a dislodged dust bunny.
Hermione raised an eyebrow.
I shrugged. "Worth a shot. Would've been quite the punchline if it had worked."
Grabbing my mokeskin pouch, I pulled out my Firebolt. I'll admit that between finding myself in this world and everything else happening over the summer, I hadn't exactly gotten the time or the inclination to go out flying. Plus, Excelsior was in a muggle neighbourhood and the last thing I wanted was the Ministry on my trail for breaking the Statute of Secrecy.
But here inside the Room of Hidden Things, soaring sounded infinitely more appealing than slogging through mountains of Hogwarts detritus—I surveyed the Room of Hidden Things. It was the magical equivalent of an attic, if attics were designed by pack rats with a penchant for historical hoarding. I was seeking the Diadem of Ravenclaw, but one glance at the chaos made me think finding a needle in a haystack would be child's play by comparison.
Below me, Hermione had transfigured her school robes into what looked like Muggle athletic wear, which seemed remarkably sensible unless you counted the claws. At that moment, as her fingers morphed into sharp points, she looked more like a character out of a particularly aggressive fairy tale. Catching my gaze, the lascivious witch grinned.
"You're not the only one that's got a handy trick or two this summer, Harry Potter."
Well, I'll be damned. I had always thought that being a werewolf meant staying normal all-year-round except for the full-moon nights. But seeing Hermione partially transfigure herself like this made me question my own knowledge of things.
"I've shifted into the beast and retained my senses, Harry. A partial self-transformation like this is child's play," she said. "Anyway, let the hunt begin."
As I flew, dodging a dangerously low-hanging chandelier that seemed intent on becoming acquainted with my head, Hermione leaped and climbed like some sort of academic panther, her movements a blur of efficiency and grace. Every so often, her voice would float up to me, muffled by piles of ancient textbooks and tarnished trophies, "Harry, try not to knock anything over with that broom!"
My response was a grin and a thumbs-up, which she definitely didn't see. "Will do!" I called back, though we both knew there was a fair chance of me causing a minor avalanche. Hogwarts did seem to have an infinite supply of things no one needed until you buried them under a collapsed pile of everything else.
The search continued with me weaving through the air, feeling slightly absurd on a broomstick indoors. It wasn't often you got to fly past a tower of broken quills and a heap of what looked suspiciously like confiscated Ever-Bashing Boomerangs. Meanwhile, Hermione had taken to her new form with unsettling enthusiasm. Watching her navigate the clutter with feline agility was both impressive and a tad unnerving. She scaled a mound of discarded potion vials and leapt across to a stack of battered trunks with the kind of flair that suggested she might have missed her calling as a stunt double in a werewolf movie.
"Find anything?" I shouted, after narrowly avoiding a collision with a flying carpet that apparently still held a grudge.
"Just an old sneaker and a teapot that tried to bite me," she shouted back, her voice tinged with annoyance. I couldn't see her from my current position, but I could imagine the scowl.
The Room of Hidden Things wasn't just a storage space; it was a museum of the mundane, an archive of the absurd. Every item had a story, probably a boring one about how it was left behind after a particularly hectic end-of-term packing disaster. Yet here we were, two teenagers searching for a legendary artifact among the accumulated debris of generations of Hogwarts students. The irony wasn't lost on me.
As the search dragged on, I began to wonder if the Diadem was even here. The Room was supposed to manifest what you needed, but it seemed to be taking a rather literal approach to the 'hidden' part of its name. Every so often, I'd dip down to skim the piles, my broomstick's tail inches from knocking over a precarious stack of what I hoped were empty jars and not pixie containers.
"Harry, careful!" Hermione's voice cut through my musings as I executed a hasty maneuver to avoid an errant bludger—apparently still bitter about its retirement. "Maybe keep an eye out for a tiara instead of relics of Quidditch past?"
"Right, the tiara," I muttered to myself, refocusing my efforts. This was not just a search; it was a test of patience and attention to detail, two qualities I didn't list highly on my resume.
The search went on, a blend of aerial dodges and ground-level gymnastics, in what was possibly the most bizarre method ever employed in the hunt for a historical artifact. If there was one thing I'd learned at Hogwarts, it was that the extraordinary was often hidden in plain sight, just waiting for a pair of determined, if somewhat unconventional, treasure hunters to unearth it.
For the better part of an hour, Hermione and I continued our search through the Room of Hidden Things, with her darting between shadows and debris on the ground and me zooming above, my Firebolt making me feel more like a spectator at a Quidditch match than a participant in a treasure hunt. The Room, vast and cluttered, seemed to mock us with its sheer volume of forgotten things. Every corner we turned, every pile we explored, seemed only to unveil more layers of Hogwarts' collective memory, but not the one memory we needed- the Diadem of Ravenclaw.
As the minutes ticked by, the Room seemed less like a helpful, magical space and more like a labyrinth designed by a particularly sadistic puzzle master. We found plenty, of course—if one were in the market for broken wands, moth-eaten robes, or the occasional sentient, mildly aggressive chess piece. At one point, Hermione unearthed a stack of what appeared to be every lost homework assignment from the past century, each paper fluttering to the floor like the world's most academic snowstorm.
"Anything?" I called down to her after yet another fruitless loop around a mountain of discarded potion bottles that glinted under the dim light like a dragon's hoard, minus the dragon and the actual treasure.
"Nothing!" Hermione shouted back, her voice laced with frustration as she clambered over a heap that looked suspiciously like it might contain every confiscated item from Filch's storied career. She paused, wiping sweat from her brow with the back of her hand, her transformed claws momentarily catching the light.
I sighed and pulled back on the handle of my broom, bringing it to a gentle hover. The fun of flying was wearing thin, especially as it became increasingly clear that the Diadem was either incredibly well hidden or enjoying a laugh at our expense.
"We might need to think about this differently," I suggested, descending slowly to join Hermione on more stable ground. "Maybe it's not about finding the Diadem in a pile."
Hermione looked thoughtful, her frustration giving way to the analytical calm that usually preceded her best ideas. "You mean… we stop trying to find the Diadem directly?" Her eyes scanned the horizon of historical debris. "What if we systematically eliminate what we know isn't the Diadem?"
I raised my eyebrows, intrigued by the shift in strategy. "You mean, sort of declutter the Room by dismissing what we don't need?"
"Exactly," Hermione nodded with determination. "We can command the Room to remove items based on certain categories—things we know aren't part of what we're looking for."
I considered the idea, the gears in my mind turning. "We could start broad, then get more specific. For instance, we could eliminate all furniture first, then books, then—"
"—then anything that isn't a Ravenclaw relic," Hermione finished, already moving toward the center of the Room where the magic felt strongest.
We stood together, and Hermione took a deep breath. "Room of Requirement, remove all the furniture."
As she spoke, the piles around us began to shift. Chairs, desks, and tables—some teetering dangerously high—began to dissolve into nothing, as if sinking into an invisible floor.
Encouraged, I took the next command. "Remove all books and papers."
The fluttering of pages filled the air like a flock of birds taking flight for the first time, the books vanishing before they ever touched the ground.
"Get rid of the brooms, the clothes…"
"And the pests. I was attacked by a doxy swarm somewhere," growled Hermione.
"Quidditch equipment."
"Potion ingredients, cauldrons…"
"Seasonal, decorative items."
"Personal… no, that's vague. Old school projects, perhaps?"
"Yes."
As Hermione and I continued our methodical elimination, the clutter in the Room of Hidden Things visibly shrank, yet the Diadem of Ravenclaw remained elusive. Each command we issued seemed to be obeyed instantly by the Room, reducing the sea of detritus to a mere pond. Yet, no matter how specific our demands or how focused our intent, the Diadem itself never appeared.
"Something's not right," Hermione murmured, her brow furrowed in concentration. We stood in a significantly emptier Room, yet the absence of the Diadem was palpable.
I nodded, sharing her frustration. "It's as if it knows we're looking for it."
"That might be exactly it," Hermione said slowly, a new realization dawning in her voice. "Harry, this… Diadem. Just what is it?"
I frowned. "Remember Tom Riddle's diary? The Diadem is like that. Inside it is a piece of Vol… of You-Know-Who himself."
There was no saying if the Diadem would react to saying Voldemort's name out loud.
"So it could be thinking, maybe even... influencing the Room?"
The idea settled between us with a chilling weight. The Diadem wasn't merely hidden; it was hiding.
"If that's true," I started, pacing slightly, "then it could be manipulating the Room to obey its desire to remain hidden, counteracting our commands."
Hermione bit her lip, thinking. "So every time we try to exclude items not related to it, the Diadem could be convincing the Room that it's not here at all—effectively erasing its presence from our searches."
Or maybe," I continued. "It simply asked to exist in a room where we aren't."
"Which means," said Hermione, "no matter how much we narrow it down, we won't find it because the Room is under its influence too. It's like asking the Room to find something that it's been convinced doesn't exist."
We shared a look of mixed awe and horror at the cunning nature of the horcrux.
"We have homework," said Hermione at last. "Lots of homework. Find a way to counter the magic of the Founders, establish a connection to this diadem, and then find it. Preferably before it makes things even more difficult."
I scowled.
Notes:
Find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Next update is on 30th May.
Chapter 153: Perthro
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 4 - TRIWIZARD TROUBLES
CHAPTER 153 - PERTHRO
"Have you been up the whole night?" exclaimed Hermione. Harry, when I told you we have to find a solution, I didn't expect you to turn into a male version of me."
"Hardy har har!" I deadpanned, eliciting a rolling of her eyes.
Seriously though, I couldn't blame her. Not when I looked like I was about to keel over. Really, it was a tiring charade to hide my exhaustion behind cheerful grins. If not for glamour charms, people might think I've been having a double life at night.
Hmm, there's an idea…
"Seriously, Harry," she chastised. "You need to get more sleep." Then she paused, and reconsidered her words. "Or at least, get started with the regulars earlier."
"The regulars," I snorted. "Is that what we're calling it now?"
"Yes!"
Hermione means well, but her idea won't work. Between poor sleeping habits merged with sexual needs, sound sleep steered clear of me until I hadn't properly fucked someone for close to an hour and then some. And even after my 'body' fell asleep, my mind was back in Lecherous Shrine, exploring the boundaries of my consciousness and those of my lilims, or occasionally employing Oneiros Spindle to dip into the countless hormonal cesspools for minds that the students had.
It helped that I had a sizzling hot bookworm werewolf in my bed to satiate my carnal hunger, or else I'd have gotten sex-crazy and gone after the others. Knowing Hermione, she probably chose the private dorm with exactly that in mind.
That and the sex. Werewolves might not be incubi, but their sex drives bordered on the preternatural.
"What are you working on?" She asked, snatching my notebook and sifting through it. I kept myself from pointing out how jittery she'd get if I did the same. Hermione was always a bit touchy about her stuff. Doubly so, when there was something important on the horizon.
Usually that was reserved for the year-end exams and whenever 'Harry Potter' ran into his annual life-threatening problem.
"Runic equations for every single spell taught until third year, and their arithmantic coefficients," she murmured. "I'd have thought things would be easier for you the second time around."
Eh, what to say? That I didn't actually live through them and only know about shit because I read them in a children's novel? That learning spellcraft was actually way more difficult than what the books made it seem?
You know how Hermione Granger in the books stayed nose-faced in the library while Harry and Ron had so much time to play chess and chatter about Quidditch, and even find time for Oliver Wood's obsession with Quidditch training at five in the morning, while also somehow having time for classes and whatever curve-balls Fate throws his way?
Yeah, I'm officially calling bullshit on that.
Learning spellcraft was hard. They weren't the kind of thing you just learnt during the course of an afternoon, or during a weekend off. They were stupidly complex things that could just as easily end up injuring you badly if you made a single mistake.
I'm telling you. People really underestimate the effort Hermione Granger gave in the story. The fact that Hermione was able to perform nearly every spell in class was proof of the sheer number of ungodly hours she devoted to learning her craft. Without her, neither Harry nor Ron would have been dead a dozen times over.
I know what you're thinking. But he's got all those affinities! Trust me, affinities are only half the way. Having a high affinity only meant that you had the potential to cast a spell or study a discipline. It did diddly to help you actually cast the spell properly. Hermione's perk allowed me to quickly memorise hundreds of spells if I wanted, but I needed to personally practise every single spell. Not just once or twice, but literally hundreds of times, over and over again until it became a reflex. In a fight, you didn't have the time to think and choose between your arsenal. Even a split second wasted could get you killed, as I had seen from experience. You had to act without thinking, so any spell you cast had to be called upon instantly, with minimal wand movement and subvocalization if not completely silent.
Of course, having higher affinities also meant that once you learned how to cast a spell properly, you would be naturally more attuned to it, and waste less energy in forming and directing it than another fool with a lower affinity. As serious as that sounded, it offered little advantage in practical scenarios, because most spells you used day-in and day-out were standard stuff, and more often than not, dependent on the kind of magical juice you could push into the spell.
At least, that was how things were until your OWLs.
There was a reason why Hogwarts followed a structured model for teaching the core subjects — Transfiguration, Charms, Potions, Herbology and Defence, even if the last one was run roughshod by poor appointment and the curse supposedly cast on the position. In the books, the curse had ended when Harry had killed Voldemort, or destroyed the diadem horcrux. Could be either of them, but both had happened in too short a span of time to really differentiate what caused the curse to dissipate. And I had no reason to deal with this stupid curse on top of everything else.
All I needed to do was ensure that none of my girls ever got to the point of teaching Defence.
Same for the Defence Association that supposedly formed in the fifth year. Fat chance of that happening if I have a say in it, and luckily, I do.
Speaking of the diadem, I have my plans to acquire it. I'm just waiting for the weekend so that Emmeline gets a check on my psyche first. There are few things worse than having another horcrux twist the one sitting cozily inside me into running awry.
Before my mind could go further down that tangent, Hermione spoke up again.
"Ambitious," she remarked, flipping through the pages. "You aren't just noting the spells down. You're actually deriving proof for how the numerous spells in each year of charms can be arithmantically derived from the rune lattice superimposition in wand movements. This is…" She met my eyes. "You know you don't need all this to impress the professors to let you sit in fourth-year class, right?"
"Oh definitely not. Just walking in with my dick hanging out would be enough for that," I said with a straight face.
Hermione blinked, surprise flitting through her features. "You're… not going to do that, are you?"
"I'm an Incubus, Hermione," I sighed. "And I'd rather feed off a few that actually matter than become a manwhore and feed on anyone with a pussy that walks by."
Hermione frowned. Despite her previous statements, she was still very much possessive of me, and it showed. It was probably why she'd never quite be my Lilim.
"I imagine you're going after Babbling and Vector next."
"Woah!" I said, halting her. "Slow down, girl. Charming students is one thing, but going after multiple professors under Dumbledore's nose? That's bold, even for me."
"Hence all this?"
"I've got to learn things either way, don't I? You should've seen McGonagall when I told her about changing electives. She practically apparated through the room to get me transferred to runes and arithmancy."
Hermione snorted. McGonagall's derision for Divination and Sybill Trelawney was an open secret at Hogwarts.
"Still, this feels a bit… much. What are you really angling for, Harry?""You, telling me to study less? Who are you and what have you done to Hermione Granger?"
"Ha-ha-ha!" She mocked. "Fair warning! I'm not so easily distracted."
Damn it. I sighed. "Look, the last time, I was unprepared and the Goblet of Fire chose me as a fourth Champion. This time, things are so much bigger and potentially way more dangerous. I need to be the best version of myself possible."
"I'm pretty sure you're already the best version of you you can be," Hermione argued. "You've got everything you had in your time, plus all these whacky incubus and necromancer powers."
I chagrined. Hermione's words pricked me. I was powerful, yes, but none of my perks could save my arse if Albus fucking Dumbledore came after me. Unlike back at home, Dumbledore had the homeground advantage. He could spy on me at all times and I wouldn't have a fucking clue.
"Harry, you took down Lucius Malfoy and a whole bunch of werewolves by yourself —"
"Only because I was lucky, and planned for it, and even I had multiple things going in my favour in the background. I'll have none of that in the Triwizard, or whatever else Fate throws my way." "You know, warding the crap out of someone's room means little if you have to keep speaking in code."
"...you knew?"
Hermione met my eyes. "I might just be a lowly fourth-year, but I ain't stupid, Harry Potter. And I know exactly how paranoid you've been. I just casually mentioned time-travel and you didn't even flinch."
A sharp one, wasn't she? I didn't exactly know how to perform wards on a smaller scale, so I had Amelia carve some runescripts for me. And the kind of warding that I did know would set off alarms inside Hogwarts.
"Now come on, or we'll be late for class."
"I really can't believe she has students signing up for something this early."
Hermione grinned. "Yeah, everyone says that."
Bathsheda Babbling's class was during the first period of the day and required students to rise and take breakfast early. Historically, the early hours were enough to make the elective unpopular in the eyes of most. Other reasons included the ease with which one breezed through Divination, since Trelawney was a well-established charlatan for most students and teachers. Another was the fact that taking the class meant choosing Arithmancy, since writing runescripts for NEWT-level spellwork was impossible without at least a cursory knowledge of fourth-year Arithmancy, which was widely regarded as the most complex subject among all four electives. A third factor could be that most purebloods that didn't dream of gaining a Mastery in any of the core subjects preferred to go with Care of Magical Creatures and interestingly, Muggle Studies — since purebloods more often than not, needed to know about muggles for the occasional interaction with the muggle world for business purposes, or if they wanted a job in the Obliviation Office. That the Muggle studies syllabus was hilariously outdated only festered the inherent bigotry in the system, reinforcing the belief that muggles were ignorant barbarians stuck in a pre-Victorian era.
Despite all the above reasons, Ancient Runes continued to be one of the top chosen electives, both for OWL and NEWT students. The reason, apart from the subject's relevance for those that sought academic brilliance or had high ambitions like working in the Auror Office or even higher, in the Department of Mysteries, was the sheer skill with which the professor made the class not just interesting but also engaging. In fact, Bathsheda Babbling was #2 when it came to 'favourite teachers' among the student demographic despite being an elective teacher.
Why? I'd soon find out.
"Harry Potter," said Bathsheda Babbling. "I was told that you wish to audit this class today before choosing it as an elective."
At my nod, she said. "Well then. Why don't you take a seat? If things are to your liking, perhaps you can join me in my office later and we can have a little chat about where you might be best placed?"
'That works for me, Professor."
The woman gave me a clear nod, and strode away to her chair.
Babbling, I noted, was a study in contrasts. She was lithe, her complexion was dark and smooth, while her cheekbones and piercing amber eyes suggested a lineage steeped in mystery and magic. Her tightly coiled hair was styled into an intricate crown of braids, adorned with tiny, rune-etched beads of gold, silver and obsidian. Even her robes were a striking blend of cultures: the structured silhouette of traditional wizarding attire merged with vibrant African textiles, displaying geometric patterns reminiscent of ancient runic symbols. Over her robes, she wore a shimmering shawl embroidered with Nordic runes, signifying her deep connection to both African and Norse magical traditions.
Resting my thoughts on the afterburner, I took a seat next to Hermione.
"How many of you are familiar with the name Altherion the Ambitious?" asked the teacher.
Very few hands went up. Naturally, mine wasn't one of them. Either this Altherion fellow wasn't someone very important, or JKR simply hadn't thought him relevant for her tale. And Harry was never really interested in learning history.
"He's the wizard that killed Salazar Slytherin," said Susan from the next row.
"Absolutely correct. Take two points for Hufflepuff," said Babbling. "But there's one other thing he's famous for. Can anyone tell me what that is? Five points for the taking."
"Eh, he wanted to take control of Slytherin's Chamber of Secrets or something?" attempted Tracey Davis.
"Good try, but no dice," laughed Babbling. "Even if it was a good guess. Well, no one? Not surprising. Altherion the Ambitious was famous, or infamous, depending on who you asked, for two things: his knack for winning magical duels and his insatiable desire to outsmart fate itself."
And just like that, Bathsheda Babbling had my attention.
"The story goes that one fateful day, while exploring the ruins of an ancient magical library, Altherion discovered a glowing stone tablet inscribed with an unknown rune. Below it was an inscription that read - For those who dare to play the game of life, I offer fortune unmatched. But beware, for my gifts demand balance."
For one moment, I wasn't in the Ancient Runes class. I was far away, sitting cross legged inside a burning stadium, spiritually locked with the horcrux speaking to me.
Life versus Death. Emotion versus puppetry. Love versus Hate. It's an eternal struggle. But your presence can tilt the balance. I am curious, Outlander. You are no light child, so why stay as Harry Potter?
The balance. It was always about the Balance. Allure versus Necromancy. Incubus Lord versus Necrolord Primus. Emotion versus Death.
Until I found the balance, I would remain weak. Incomplete. A problem easily solved if I just accepted the offer and chose to become Lord Volde —
I physically snapped my neck to the other side, ferally cutting through that line of thought.
Babbling was speaking again.
"Naturally, Altherion saw this not as a warning, but as an invitation. He was accomplished in many magical arts, but a runesmith he was not. He did not understand the myriad ways in which even a single rune could be interpreted. He was not aware that with the slightest mistake, your greatest power could become your worst vulnerability.
His curiosity got the better of him. With a flourish of his wand and a muttered incantation, he activated the rune. The room around him shimmered, and a booming voice echoed: 'Do you dare to stake your fortune, wizard? Roll the dice of fate, and claim your prize.'
The floor instantly transformed into a glowing game board, and a pair of enchanted dice appeared in mid-air. Without hesitation, Altherion rolled. The dice clattered to the ground, stopping on a seven. The rune flashed, and a chalice of gold materialised before him, brimming with a potion that promised to grant perfect health."
A chalice of gold that promised perfect health? Could it possibly —
But Babbling was speaking again.
"'Not bad,' Altherion said, smirking. 'Let's see what else you've got.'
He rolled again. This time, the dice summoned a stone golem that could come to life, shimmering with protective enchantments. Another roll brought forth a gem that glowed with the power to ensnare minds.
For days, Altherion played the game, collecting treasures and magical artefacts that would make any wizard green with envy. But with each roll, the game grew more unpredictable. On one turn, a pair of lips appeared on his left palm, enchanted to sing Horrid Hymns of Helga, an ancient tune so ear-piercing it drove him to distraction. On another, his beard turned into live snakes that hissed curses and weaknesses at him."
Was it just me or was every single of those treasures referring to the powers of the Founders? Helga's Cup. Horrid Hymns of Helga? Snakes that whispered weakness into another? I would find out. Like everyone else, I just sat there, entranced by her storytelling.
"Still," said Babbling. "Altherion refused to stop. 'I'm a master of magic,' he declared. 'I can handle a few hiccups!'
That's when he rolled the dice one last time."
She gazed at each and every one of us.
"The room went silent as the dice landed on double zeroes—an impossibility on any mortal dice. The Perthro rune blazed brighter than ever, and the voice boomed again.
'You have taken much, Altherion. Now, fate will take in turn.'
Suddenly, the treasures he had won vanished, replaced by a flock of enchanted chickens that clucked insults at him in perfect Latin. His stone golem transformed into a massive gargoyle that attacked him viciously, and his gem began to crack. Worst of all, his enchanted beard-snakes began singing the Horrid Hymns of Helga—in harmony with the lips in his hand.
Stripped of his spoils and dignity, Altherion fled the ruins, chased by his flock of insult-uttering chickens. He retreated to his tower to reflect on his misadventures. Weeks later, his friend, an alchemist named Zygmunt Budge paid him a visit. He attempted to cure him, but the whispering curses had already taken its toll on him. Together, both of them studied the unknown rune Altherion had found on the tablet, a research that several decades later, helped Budge to create his most famous invention, Felix Felicis, commonly known as —"
"Liquid Luck," I muttered, thinking of Tonks.
Hermione looked at me sharply.
"Exactly," said Babbling, looking at me. "One point to Gryffindor."
"Professor," asked Justin Finch-Fletchley. "Does that mean that this stone tablet really exists?"
"Of that, we're uncertain. Majority of the relics from the Founder's Era have been stolen, scattered and lost over the centuries. It is entirely possible that the magical library might refer to Hogwarts, and somewhere inside these halls lies a stone tablet that has such wondrous power. On the other hand, it might just as well be a parable that tells us that fate always has the last laugh. No matter how clever you think you are, you can't cheat the balance of magic."
An ominous shudder ran down my spine.
Susan's hand shot up in the air. "Professor, just what was that unknown rune?"
Babbling flicked her wand across the empty air before her, and the sigil of a dice cup formed before her.
"Perthro," said Babbling. "The Rune of Secrets. That which holds sway over the threads of fate and fortune. It is often linked to games of chance, the revealing of hidden truths, and the unlocking of one's destiny. But one must exercise extreme caution, for the Perthro rune gives no answers without a price. Trust me, the bill comes due. Always."
The bottom fell out of my stomach.
Much like Altherion himself, I too had played with Perthro rather ambitiously, using it to alter things that should've never been altered. The first, to churn the souls of the dead and the dying as fabric to reforge Amelia's soul and strengthen her beyond what she originally had been. The second was to grab every single remnant of their ghostly forms and bind them into a cohesive force bent on vengeance, and amenable to Amelia's commands so long as I was anchoring them in this realm.
Come to think of it, wasn't Meta-Luck too based on a similar power? The ability to alter Fate itself at a whim, so long as I could provide enough Meta-Luck? Was the Tether system just handing me free Perthro cards to use at my convenience, all the while hiding the fineprint that using them could, and would fuck me over sideways when I least expected it?
The first time I had used Meta-Luck, it was to stop Dumbledore from sending me to the Dursleys. Itt had elevated the minimal world-anchor requirement to 15, thus pushing me towards the Incubus Path.
The second time I had used it, it was to save my magical core from being crippled for life. In exchange, it created the perk — Domino Effect, causing the fates of all my anchors to be intertwined by myself and the Child of Prophecy perk.
The third time….
Come to think of it, the third time I had used it to raise Amelia's World Anchors back to 100 right after she had died. It had worked, only temporarily, and thus, I had to use it a fourth time, to heal Amelia's body. And yet, neither of those events had listed the potential costs I had to pay.
And the fourth time had been…
I paled.
…to connect to each and every person I had ever enthralled and feed them sensory visions of me pleasuring them like nothing they had ever experienced.
The bill comes due, Babbling had said. Due, I understand, but delayed? And if Meta-Luck worked on the principle of the Perthro rune then… then I had used it a fifth and sixth time, to resurrect Amelia and turn the tide of the battle. And then that last time to connect myself to every thrall all at once…
Fuck.
Seven times.
SEVEN TIMES.
Seven.
One of the most powerful numbers in Arithmancy.
Create seven Lyctors, or seven Horcruxes…. That's what the Screen had said. I'd not be surprised if fully awakening the Lecherous Shrine would ultimately require seven lilims…
Just… just what kind of bill would I have to pay for twisting fate? Or seducing my way to alter Destiny?
Fear can literally feel like ice water. It can be a cold feeling that you swallow, that rolls down your throat and spreads into your chest. It steals your breath and makes your heart labour when it shouldn't, before expanding into your belly and hips, leaving quivers behind. Then it heads for the thighs, the knees (occasionally with an embarrassing stop on the way), stealing the strength from the long muscles that think you should be using them to run the hell away.
I swallowed a mouthful of fear, my eyes on the professor. All thoughts of trying to seduce the woman vanished from my eyes. At the same time, an urgency to add the woman among my Lilims rose within me. Someone like her would be very useful. Amelia and Susan might be blessed with runecrafting that ran down their family, but Babbling… Babbling could help me traverse the paths of runic magic and understand the games I was unwittingly being drawn into.
Preferably before it was too late.
"Before we go any further, there's something I need to talk about. I'm certain several of you already know by now that Hogwarts is going to conduct multiple workshops this year, open for students both native and visiting, as well as the other guests. The Runeforge Hall, one of the most prestigious academies for pursuing a future in runecraft, is among the many sponsors of this tournament. For that reason, I'd like you all to choose your particular rune, and write a paper on it. If the delegates like what you have written, it's entirely possible you might land up with an internship before you even sit for your OWLs."
Instantly the entire class dissolved in murmurs.
Well then," said Babbling. "Any questions?"
Notes:
Find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Next update is tomorrow.
Chapter 154: Babbling
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 4 - TRIWIZARD TROUBLES
CHAPTER 154 - BABBLING
"And then Professor McGonagall was like," I scrunched up my face, my voice coming out as a drawl. "I had to accept Potter's request, Sybill. But I bet you'll have fun finding another to divine their death at the end of the year."
Bathsheda Babbling couldn't hold back a snicker, the impersonation was so-spot on.
"I really missed that, didn't I?" asked the professor. "Professor McGonagall's disdain for Divination is practically legendary, from what I've heard."
"It is. She's been trying and failing to dismiss the course for good. I think part of her reason to keep teaching at Hogwarts is to see Divination dropped out of the school curriculum before she retires for good. I swear if she ever takes over as the Headmistress, that'll be the first thing on her list."
The runes professor laughed again.
We were in her office, which was a tad smaller compared to the other professors. I'd have claimed that she preferred it to be small and cosy and perfect for a one-on-one discussion with students, but the condition of her office screamed anything but. Every bit of the walls were etched with softly glowing runes in a mix of Nordic, Celtic and African designs, radiating a calm aura and acting as protective enchantments, while also ensuring the room was warded against eavesdropping.
Paperwork anarchy threatened the room, with half of them thrown all over the place — a focussed, mad mind at work. In the heart of the room was a compact, stone-topped workbench covered with runes carved into its edges, while books were hastily stacked on the sides without any sense of well-maintenance. Whatever Bathsheda Babbling's abilities were, orderliness wasn't one of them.
"You'll have to excuse me, Potter," said the professor, noting my line of sight. "My office is my playground, and I don't truly entertain guests."
"Uh, it does feel a little cramped."
Babbling shrugged. "I keep trying new and somewhat unstable runeschemes from time to time. Not something one should attempt inside magically enlarged wizardspace. We don't want the castle to vanish inside a gravity well now, do we?"
Memories of the burning stadium flashed before my eyes.
"No, we don't."
After the class was over, I allowed the Incubus power to permeate through me. I had some practice at restraining it during my stay at Greengrass Manor, but trust me, it was nothing compared to this. The Incubus Lord was a whole different form of beast, one that kept pacing angrily across the mental cage I had built around it, staring hungrily at the people around me. All those carefree teenagers with one bit of protection in the hormonal cesspools they had for minds.
All it would take was just a little nudge, and they'd tear their clothes off, and run after me in starkers, wanting to jump on my dick like it was the end of the world. As awesome as it feels to have someone swoon if I so much as breathe in their direction, the reality is anything but. Trust me.
But I had already been through a harrowing set of days, and needed the boost to pull me up. And let me tell you, the sudden shift was anything but normal. Like taking a sudden breath after holding it for far too long. Every bit of exhaustion I was feeling from the morning vanished too. Not because my body was no longer weary, but because it was no longer important, only my will was. My hesitation, my fear over the use of Perthro and Meta-Luck vanished too. Hesitation was for the weak, the vanilla people, the prey. Hesitation was for people that lacked purpose, and I knew mine.
My hunger rose.
And in that mad haze, I couldn't see Bathsheda Babbling. All I saw was an athletically built gorgeous black woman approaching thirty, one that turned heads wherever she went. Her long legs were taut and firm, her belly flat and fit. Her arms leaned and toned. Her upturned breasts fit snugly on her fit, athletic frame. And her arse… wow. It was juicy and firm and heart-shaped and truly jaw-dropping, catching attention in whatever she wore. It looked perfect in that body-hugging robe of midnight blue, begging to be touched.
Her striking eyes and brilliant white teeth only added to the package. Her skin was smooth, like dark-chocolate, and her curly, black hair looked stylish and sexy, with the braids of gold and silver on it. And on top of that, she was fun to be around, with a biting wit and little shame at speaking her mind.
No. No, it would be too early. I told myself. But it didn't listen.
The predator had moved into the prey's office, ready to feed on her.
And then those damned runes at her doorway had squeezed it out of me like jelly.
It was scary as fuck, the sheer idea that some random scratches drawn on pages could cripple an Incubus Lord, when masters of Occlumency failed to protect themselves from his assault. If there was someone up there trying to teach me a little humility, they were doing a damn fine job.
Still, it did allow me to hold a casual conversation with the runes professor.
"I'll tell you this though," said Babbling. "As humorous as Professor McGonagall's reactions are, they are a bit odd. From where I am from, divination lends itself well to transfiguration. In fact, students need to pass two semesters of astronomy, divination, and the physical sciences before they are allowed to take the transfiguration course.'
That was interesting, and on multiple levels.
I had, of course, known about the different institutions of magic in the world, and it was obvious that there would be disciplines that would be taught in places yet not taught elsewhere in the world. But to think that the very rules were different for magic brought forth a ton of questions in my mind.
It also said that Bathsheda Babbling had not attended Hogwarts as a student.
"Uagadou," she answered my unasked question. "My real name is Bathsheda Nyarko, from the Asebu hills of Ghana. It's a sparsely populated and impoverished land, with very few ley lines, so us magicals have to live in tiny covens, away from mundane eyes. Also, Ghana isn't affiliated to the ICW, so, people like us… don't get to come to Hogwarts."
And was that just a teeny tiny bit of grudge I heard in her voice?
"Then…"
"I went to Uagadou, the African institution for Shamans. In fact, I'll have you know that I was Uagadou's premier Adinkra symbologist, and a dab hand at Kalimba Conjuring."
I blinked, and Babbling laughed at my expression.
"Sorry, sorry, I forgot that you Britishers don't think much about the other disciplines off your continent," she said and I marvelled at the right mix of nonchalance and disdain in her tone. "Adinkra is the magic of symbols and glyphs. I understand that the British like to group every family of symbols into Runes, because their own system is based on Nordic runecraft. Look."
She pointed at a set of symbols etched on the doorway that had absolutely no connection to the Elder Futhark. "Strange, she muttered," her eyes still on the doorway. "Something activated those runes."
"Odd," said Babbling. "Perhaps they are reacting to something else. But yes, these are Adinkra glyphs. Look here, this is called Eban," she said, pointing at a square with symmetrical designs resembling a gate or enclosure. "It denotes protection. Together with Gye Nyame," she pointed at a circular, abstract shape with twists and curves. "It literally means 'Except God', and draws on the divine power of our Ancestors to enhance us. With Eban, it can conjure powerful defences against spiritual attackers."
She glanced at me. "I hope you're not in possession of anything dangerous, are you, Potter?"
'Nothing at all," I said. Nothing except myself that is.
"Hmmm," she murmured to herself. "Interesting."
"Uh, professor, you mentioned something about Conjuring? I didn't know you had a degree in Transfiguration too."
Babbling paused and then chuckled, walking back to sit on her chair. "Not that kind of transfiguration. Kalimba is the magic given melody form. It uses the magic of vibrations to generate constructs, weave enchantments, or say… pluck magical energy out of the vibrations of the world and weave it into defensive and offensive magic."
I blinked. That was one scary discipline. The entire world was permeated by sound. From the greater cosmos to the atoms and molecules, everything was vibration. To be able to harvest the power of that vibration to cast magic was…
Like I said, scary.
"Magic feels very exotic the moment you step out of Isles, Potter. Maybe you can try travelling the world to study magic after passing your NEWTs? I know the practice has fallen out of fashion now, since everyone wants jobs to feed themselves first. But you are well-off, are you not? I think I remember something about your House, or Houses, just last week."
I gave her a lopsided grin. "Something like that."
"You would enjoy Uagadou. I certainly loved it there. In fact, I was elected Mama Nyanza back to back for three years."
"Mama — what?"
"Mama Nyanza, it's… how do I put it? A Head of the student body elected by popular vote? I'm afraid there is no equivalent at Hogwarts. Normally, I should've been elected as the Oba Magistra, that is the Headmistress of Uagadou, but I can't."
The pieces fit together in my mind. "Because you're the citizen of a non-ICW affiliated country?"
Babbling scowled. "Yes. Being Oba Magistra means dealing with the ICW. My home country sent me as part of a knowledge exchange program with the ICW. I landed at Hogwarts. I've to spend five years teaching here, enough time to acquire another Mastery from the Runeforge Hall."
"So..Babbling? I see, you married a British wizard, I take it? Uh, sorry, that was too forward of me."
She waved off my reluctance. "It's alright. I married an Auror here, Henry Babbling. He was on a case involving a Zulu dark wizard, and he wanted my interpretation about some of the enchantments the Zulu carried on his person. It was… how do you put it? A whirlwind romance?"
Her shoulders drooped. "And then he died in the attack to capture the wizard, just two months after our marriage. I've just been Bathsheda Babbling ever since. Having a local identity is always helpful when dealing with the Ministry."
She cupped her face. "But why am I talking about all this with you? It's been over a year since I've actually opened up." She shook her head. "Maybe I'm getting a bit too worked up."
"Don't worry, Professor," I said, offering her a disarming smile. "People like to tell me things. Must be something about this face."
Bathsheda Babbling looked at me, and I swear, she froze for just a second, before relaxing. "Yes, that — that might be right."
Huh. The runes were good, but not perfect. It might have dampened the incubus allure, but my other perks, or perhaps, some aspect of Devil's Charm, got through.
'Professor," I said. "Earlier you mentioned that every student has to choose a particular rune for the event. I was wondering… perhaps I could work with Perthro?"
Babbling scrunched her face. "Did you not pay any attention during class today, Potter? I specifically narrated that story so that people might avoid that particular rune. Tangling with the threads of destiny and chance might appeal to your inner Gryffindor, but it is anything but safe."
"Let's say your story about the rune captivated me."
Babbling rolled her eyes. "I have a story about every single one of the twenty-four runic alphabets of the Elder Futhark. And then you have the Anglo-Saxon runes, the primordial runes of the proto germanic period, the gothic runes of the Ostrogoths and the Visigoths, just to name a few."
I blinked again.
"Trust me, Potter," she said, a little stiffly. "For a beginner in runecraft, you should just stay clear of the others and focus on something more… benign. There are 23 other runes in the Elder Futhark alone. And if you want to go exotic, the Adinkra system has 120 glyphs, none of which are as temperamental as the one you want."
Yeah, not a chance. My greatest power — Meta-Luck, was all about upsetting Fate itself. Understanding the Perthro rune in as much detail as possible was literally on top of my to-do list right now.
Besides, just walking into the professor's office had shown me that alluring a professor was definitely not easy, and potentially a lot of trouble if things went wrong.
Maybe I should just stick to charming students and unsatisfied pureblood ladies instead.
Mentally scoffing at the image, I held out the project I was working on. "This might be my first class at runes, but I'm no beginner."
She took it and ruffled through the pages. "This is… hardly insignificant work. And you did this in… the summer, I imagine?"
Technically it was the last three days, but she didn't need to know that.
"Hmm, you even made commentaries about the use of multiple runes in more esoteric magics. I note the nice little addition about spiritual communion with the dead through the use of Ingwaz and Ansuz, and that entry about Wunjo and its emphasis on healing. This.. I believe a little more detail, and you could easily submit this as your OWL project, Potter. But I wonder, if you are already this skilled at runes, why not choose it as an elective last year?"
I shrugged. "Divination is an easy OWL."
"And… nothing else? That's the only reason?"
"Yes."
Babbling stared at my face, as if searching for truth. Finally, she snorted. "I suppose. Perhaps you'd like to be pushed directly in fifth year with the others then?"
I shook my head. "If it's all the same, professor. I'd rather stay in fourth year. I'm just happy not to be pushed down to third year. And then we've got this tournament starting up. I don't think I can fit in an extra schedule for OWLs too. Also, I'd hate to miss your stories."
Babbling rolled her eyes. "You're a little charmer, aren't you?"
I grinned.
She went through some more pages from the document I had handed her.
"Very well, I see there's no stopping you. If you want to research the Perthro rune, then I'm afraid you won't get much in the Library." She paused, and scribbled something on a piece of paper. "Take this to Madam Pince. It will allow you access to the Restricted Section, but only for books on runes. Make sure you study them carefully, make notes and," she met my eyes. "No experiments without me being present. Anytime you run into an issue, anytime, just come to me first. You got that?"
"Crystal."
I stood up. "It was nice talking to you, Professor. I'll see you in the next class."
The professor hummed absently, as I turned around and left. But just as I was about to leave through the doorway —
"Wait."
I paused, and for a moment, feared that the runes on the doorway might have reacted again. "...Yes?"
"I wouldn't have mentioned this, but given your skill, I do have a question, Potter."
Slowly, cautiously, I turned around.
"...Yes?"
"It's not something I expect anyone that's not a NEWT rune student to understand, but are you acquainted with the emotional spectrum?"
The emotional spectrum?
"Isn't that like, a wavelength of different emotions that living beings can experience? With negative and positive emotions on either side of the line?"
"That's how the muggles put it, yes. But since emotion is the foundation of magic, magical beings have a magical equivalent of the emotional spectrum. And while most emotions are fleeting, there are also what develops a person's personality. Using sigils, one can effectively read a person's personality. It's how the Sorting Hat sorts new students to Hogwarts, in case you couldn't tell."
I… hadn't known about that bit.
"The reason why I'm telling this is because I myself came to Hogwarts in 1992, just a year before you came to Hogwarts. Given your… position, as Boy-Who-Lived, I couldn't help but read your personality through my runes. And I couldn't help but note that three runes dominated over the others."
A small pit of dread began to form in my stomach. "Which… runes?"
Sowilo, Algiz and… Perthro."
Damn it.
"Power, defence and destiny," I said slowly. "Makes me look like some fated warrior with great power born to defend."
I snorted, but it came less of a snort and more of a sneer. Worse, Babbling wasn't fooled in the slightest.
"That's an inapt description, Potter. Sowilo is often invoked for power, yes, but the most correct description is that of a herald of power. It means that power will be available in time, when something important is to be done. Of course, if you inscribe the Sowilo rune to… say, a spell, it does, of course, add power to the casting, because that's the sole and most important job for the spell."
I hadn't quite heard it put that way.
"So, what you're telling me is, I would have power to defend, during my destined fight, whenever that is?"
"Something like that, yes," said Babbling. "It is a peculiar read, I'll be frank. Perhaps you should contact the British Ministry for any potential prophecies that might fit you? Being the Boy-Who-Lived, it might just fit your idiom."
"Fit my idiom," I repeated at the odd choice of description. "Yes, it might."
I didn't know what the scary part was — that Babbling had figured out all of that through a cursory rune-reading of my personality, or that she had inferred that I was a prophecy candidate, and attributed to a significant part of the prophecy too.
Neither can live while the other survives….
"When you mentioned your interest in the Perthro rune, I mused that you might have gotten someone to read you, explaining your sudden desire to research it. Weirdly, that isn't remotely the most interesting thing about your rune reading," she said, pulling me out of my thoughts. "I admit I did a rune-read while we were chatting, and there is a strange shift in your runes."
Instantly, I went on alert. If this woman knew —
"What sort of shift?"
"For one, there are five runes that dominate this time. Sowilo and Perthro stay predominant."
She grabbed her wand, and I did everything in my power not to instantly summon mine from my holster. It was only the knowledge that this woman had never once attempted any harm on Harry Potter in the books that stayed my hand.
With an ease that could only come from experience, Babbling began writing an entire series of runes on the air. I sat there, feeling surreal as the woman finished through entire sequences of twenty-three, seventeen and thirty-one lettered words, remembering just how focussed I had to be to write a very minor rune sequence while I cast necromancy, or during the ritual. Voldemort's knowledge of course guided me through the correct way of events, but pure knowledge and intuition was no substitute to experience and sense-memory. If you want an analogy, it was like doing calligraphy with your non-dominant arm. It's difficult not because you don't know how to write, but because you are not used to writing with that one.
Even if I could — and I bloody would — get my hooks into this woman, and gain some powerful perks, I'd still have to learn how to write runes with such precision and speed through sheer diligence.
No free lunch, Harry. No free lunch.
By the time she was done, the floating runes dragged from one side of the wall to the next, and from our eye-level to the ceiling. It might as well be a runic barrier keeping her away from me, for all I cared.
"Interestingly, Algiz has all but vanished from the script," she said, frowning, "Instead, there is a sudden emergence of Laguz, the rune of water, intuition, emotions, and the unconscious. Wunjo has gained prominence, symbolising vitality. But with the dominance of Sowilo, it does point in very specific directions. Can you tell me what it is?"
"That I've finally gotten past having the emotional equivalent of a teaspoon, and with all the summer training, I'm.. more fit and ready for the dating scene? Wait, together with Perthro, does that mean I'll meet some great girls from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang?"
"That's… one way of interpreting things, I suppose," she said, and I suppressed a laugh at the tic forming above her left eye.
Water represented fluidity, and emotions, the basis of all magic, was fluid, and thus, perfectly represented by the Laguz rune. Between that, and Wunjo, symbolising vitality and pleasure, and Sowilo empowering them, it all but screamed that I was developing Incubus powers.
More importantly, the combination of Laguz — Emotion and fluidity, Ansuz — Communication, Sowilo — power, and finally Perthro — Fate, also indicated another important fact.
My greatest tools in my arsenal — Living The Role and Oneiros Spindle.
But I couldn't possibly tell her the truth, could I?
That's two runes," I pointed out. "You said there were three."
"I did. And that would be… this."
Her wand lit up, and with it, several instances of one particular rune blazed more brightly than the others.
I flinched.
"Hagalaz Inverted," she said, observing me. "The rune of death, destruction, chaos and transformation. You can also note that the runes Ansuz, signifying communication, and Raido, symbolising journey, are far more pronounced, though certainly not enough to be dominant. With Perthro and Sowilo predominating the rune-read, it does paint a very interesting picture, don't you think?"
For a few moments, I struggled with myself. Endless options ran through my head, from using Meta-Luck to undo the effects of the runes on the wall, to stunning the woman, obliviating her memory and dumping her body in the acromantula colony. Or even better, kill her, and use Necromancy to twist her into an inferius to serve at my command. Channelling the horcrux had granted me knowledge of some really twisted ways of using a dead brain for my own purposes.
Anything was on the table. I could no longer bluff my way out of this one.
My face revealed nothing, and neither did hers. Stalling for time, I let her continue.
"I'm an accomplished symbologist and shaman, and I can tell you, that if I wasn't sure my eyes weren't deceiving me, I'd have thought it impossible to have an Inverted Hagalaz and Wunjo, both sitting together, basking in the presence of Sowilo and Perthro. Life and Death, yin and yang in their extreme forms. With Ansuz and Laguz supporting both of them and pushing them to their extremes. Just… What are you, Harry Potter?"
I went with the most obvious reply, one that in the grand scheme of things, mattered the least.
"I am not an imposter."
"Oh of course you're not," she said, waving the idea away as if it was nonsense. "My office is enchanted against imposters. See those glyphs there?" She pointed at the two glyphs inscribed at either end of the runescript encoded on the doorway.
"Those are Duafe and Nserewura," she said matter-of-factly. "The first signifies cleanliness, and purity; the latter, a symbol of integrity. Used thrice, they would prevent any imposter that comes through."
She crossed her arms, and an almost smug expression formed on her face. "But I have to ask, just what have you done to yourself, Harry Potter? Your rune-read shows you cloaked in the shadow of death, enshrouding you like a hooded cloak, and at the same time, paints you as a blazing forest fire, one that should draw me in like a moth to your proverbial fire. And yet here you are, neither, yet standing before me. It's an interesting puzzle, and while I'm quite certain you won't attack me, no matter how much your fingers inch for that wand. Yes, I'm quite aware. I am just… curious. What are you?"
I scowled. This… I had not anticipated. Were all this crazy things happening because I fucked around with the Perthro rune?
"What does… this knowledge mean to you?"
"As I said, curiosity."
"Your curiosity requires me to unravel my greatest secret. What stops me from walking away?"
Babbling crossed her arms across her chest, sitting on her chair without the slightest deviation from her composure. Either she was too confident in the knowledge that I wouldn't attack her based on my rune-read, or she had enough faith for the innate protections of her office to protect against whatever I cast at her. Both inferences were terrifying.
Babbling was supposed to be the Elective teacher that gave a ton of homework that Hermione did in the Gryffindor common room while Harry Potter and Ron Weasley played chess. She wasn't supposed to be this… dangerous.
And then she did something even more confusing.
Bathsheda Babbling pouted.
"I'm not trying to blackmail you, Potter. It's purely academic curiosity. You, standing there, talking to me, stalking the halls of Hogwarts… it's like a walking-breathing contradiction to everything I've learned of my craft. I… I want to study you. Who knows when I might get another opportunity like this?"
"I'm not your personal guinea pig, Professor."
"Well, I was hoping you would," she said with a teasing smile. "At least a little. Now stop dancing around things, Potter. What's it you're really after? Anyone competent enough to analyse your notes can claim that you can pass your OWLs with or without me. Yet you joined this class. You approached me for a reason, didn't you? What is it? What do you truly want from me? Why not try an open request?"
"And you would… be willing to accept that?"
Babbling shrugged. "Make it, and then we'll see."
My frown deepened. This wasn't the first time I had to rough talk my way through something or someone. Most of the time, it had been with people way above my pay grade. This was the first time that my opponent was being well… so polite.
It was surreal. Confusing. Dangerous.
"If… If I show you, then I'll require two things. First, an Oath of Silence —"
"Of course," she said easily, as if it were the sort of thing she'd have done just for the asking.
"The second thing, you take me as your apprentice. Nothing formal. Just some extra tutoring to speeden me up for last year's material, plus a little more to finish the fifth year material as well."
"That's a lot of ground to cover."
"I'll keep up," I said, waving off her concerns. "And once you've judged my capabilities to be good enough, I want you to teach me Adinkra sigil craft and Kalimba Conjuration."
"Offer my personal expertise in exchange for the faint chance of discovering something unique," murmured Babbling. You drive a hard bargain, Potter. But something like that will take a significant portion of my time. My other projects will stagnate."
"I'm not asking you to do it for free," I stressed. "One thousand galleons —"
"Money can't buy everything —"
"—per year, for as long as I am apprenticing under you."
Babbling paused right there.
"I have checked the salaries Hogwarts is paying you, Professor. This is slightly more than that.'
Babbling tilted her head slowly, studying me carefully, but couldn't divine my intentions. "And what if… you're unable to learn this craft?"
"Then I suppose I have just lost myself some thousand galleons, and you only need to concern yourself with teaching me Runes as per the syllabus."
She stared at me with a frightening intensity before leaning back and nodding.
"The terms are satisfactory. Draw up a contract. I assume you have a solicitor? When you are ready, give it to me, and I'll sign it, and execute the oaths.
"Excellent," I said. "Good day, Professor."
Notes:
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Next update is tomorrow.
Chapter 155: Moody
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 4 - TRIWIZARD TROUBLES
CHAPTER 155 - MOODY
It was finally time for the much anticipated Defence Against the Dark Arts class.
As I walked to the fourth-year classroom, with Hermione and Neville in tow, I saw five hit-wizards standing at the doorway. My first instinct had been to freeze on my tracks at the sight, before I told myself that if they were here for me, I'd probably have either gotten a warning from Amelia, or worse, the hit-wizards would have directly come for me, and not waited patiently where everyone could see them.
Then I saw that every fourth-year from all four Houses was converging to the Defence classroom.
"What's going on?"
"Haven't you heard?" asked Hermione. "Professor Moody wanted an all-House class."
I pointed at the hit-wizards.
"Dunno," said Neville. "Maybe something's happened. There's like twenty of them here."
"Of course," Hermione muttered, rolling her eyes. "Something always keeps happening at this stupid school."
"Language, Hermione," I chided.
Hermione kicked me in the shins.
And all was good again.
Alastor Moody was stalking in front of the defence class, as one of the hit-wizards verified the name and date-of-birth of every single student as they walked into the classroom. Turns out the man had gotten a special dispensation to conduct a special class that required all fourth-year students to be present. Once it was over and done with, he would be proceeding with the same for the senior years.
And I had a very good idea what it was going to be about.
Neville went first, and the hit-wizard poured a single drop of colourless liquid on his palm. Thief's Downfall, I recognized from my earlier stint at Bones Mansion, and suddenly, I recognized exactly what was going on. I had already been informed of this, albeit indirectly, but I had failed to truly grasp what Amelia might have intended.
The hit-wizards paused for a moment as they registered Hermione, but let her pass. And finally, it was my turn.
"Same protocol as last time?" I asked, recognizing the hit-wizard from back at the mansion gate. "No letter or appointment this time, I'm afraid."
The hit-wizard ignored my cheek and let me pass. I made note of how Moody's eyes zoomed at me as I went through the same inspection, and repeated my name and date-of-birth, before the hit-wizards let me in. That done, I stepped into the fourth-year classroom.
Which had magically transformed into the size of the Great Hall.
I mean, yeah, nothing shocking about it when you consider wizard spaces, but as I had learned from Professor Babbling, wizard spaces were a terrible idea when you were casting spells or performing any kind of heavy magic inside. It was why the classrooms were naturally built large to encompass as much area as physically possible without inhibiting the study and casting of spells.
But as anybody with a muggle upbringing should be able to tell you, Hogwarts doesn't exactly follow the rules of geometry, euclidean or otherwise. It had connections, not directions. The entire edifice stood as a mix of a stone, unparalleled engineering ingenuity, and a perpetual state of self-transfiguration from the power it constantly drew from the ley lines it was constructed upon.
There was simply no other reason to explain why the fourth-year Defence classroom, squeezed into the first-floor of the North Tower, was suddenly the size of the Great Hall, and at the same time, connected by a door with Moody's private office on the seventh floor.
Once the students got settled in, Moody stomped to the front of the room.
"Afternoon," he began gruffly. "I am Alastor Moody, late of the Auror Department. From what I've come to know, you had Quirinus Quirrell for your first-year, who I am told was a stuttering moron that barely managed to speak, and then vanished under unknown conditions."
His electric-blue eye zoomed in my direction.
"Second year, Gilderoy Lockhart, who apart from being a pompous arse and a fraud, was found obliviated and had to be sent to St. Mungo's. He's a permanent member there. And last year, you had Remus Lupin, a werewolf, who was sacked by the Board of Governors after he attacked three Gryffindors and infected one of them."
Several students glanced and whispered furiously at Hermione's direction.
"Quite naturally, you lot must be quite apprehensive, wondering what to expect from the trigger-happy, honourably-discharged war-veteran Alastor Moody that's just as infamous for his paranoia as is for killing or imprisoning the relatives of over a quarter of the students here. Seventeen, I think. Anyway, welcome to Defence Against the Dark Arts for the fourth-year curriculum."
Damn. I didn't know what I was expecting but as far as preambles went, I thought it was a good one.
"Before we start, let me tell you what this class isn't about. It's not about exterminating silly pests that any idiot with a wand and a few charms in his head can take care of. It's also not about reading about XXXX creatures without an ounce of practical experience in facing one. It's definitely not about dress robes that you don't care about when facing monsters. This class is going to be about one and one thing only — defending against the Dark Arts, which I'm certain none of you have the slightest experience at."
He paused, and then spoke, in a voice devoid of any warmth, cold as the single eye staring at me. "Except perhaps, one."
I didn't need to look around to know that every single eye in the class was also looking in my direction.
"Mr. Potter, when did you recognize that Professor Quirrell was possessed?"
I blinked. Out of all the possible things he could have asked, that was the least expected.
"When he attacked me."
Moody arched an eyebrow.
"He attacked me in the forest, when I was out for detention. With uh, Hagrid. But a centaur saved me. And then… I got manipulated into going to the Third Floor corridor where he attacked me because… because the spirit possessing him commanded him to do so."
I didn't like the speculative look the mad auror was giving me, and wondered if he was going to drop the class midway to launch an investigation on the nature of Quirrell's possession. All it would take was a single question on how I'd survive, and the Daily Prophet would have a field day. Depending on how things turned out, it could result in anything ranging from blaming Dumbledore for endangering students to Fudge's open denial about Voldemort still being out there to an open demand by the opposing factions to send me to Azkaban for killing a professor.
"And how did you win the feat that our dear Minister can't stop talking about? Killing a basilisk in your second year?"
This one was easy. "I had help. The Headmaster's phoenix and the Sorting Hat helped me."
Moody muttered something incomprehensible under his breath. "And last year, you faced —"
"A hundred dementors, give or take," I finished for him. "I fought them using the Patronus charm," I said, only to remember that things didn't exactly end the same way as it did in the books, "and nearly got killed."
"You were also attacked by a mass-murdering Azkaban fugitive and survived by a fully-transformed werewolf."
I glanced at Hermione who looked distinctly uncomfortable. "With help, yes."
"Well, I'll be damned," murmured Moody and turned to the class.
"Let that be a lesson to all of you," he said, his voice turned hard, harsh and unforgiving. "No matter how much confidence you hold in your prowess, no matter how certain you are in the safety of your house, your wards, or even your school and your Headmaster's ability to protect you, you must never allow yourself to lower your guard. Because there does not exist a place where you are truly safe. This world holds no place that can keep you away from harm for you are always, always in danger of being killed. And that's why, you must always remember and practise CONSTANT VIGILANCE!"
I didn't know if he had wandlessly applied a sonorous charm at the end, or if his old lungs were just that good, but my eardrums wailed at his loud proclamation at the end.
"Now, as if teaching a group as ignorant as you lot wasn't enough, Alb — your Headmaster has put you in charge of advising security for the Triwizard tournament. Quite naturally, I'm going to be busy, so all classes have to be held all-house like this. It will give you twice as much classroom time as double sessions —"
The class groaned.
Except for Hermione, who whooped in joy.
" —and extra duelling events, which is why, you won't get any homework —"
"WHAT?" Hermione all but yelled.
"Correct lass," Moody half-growled. "I want to see you last ten seconds in a fight, not write ten inches on fighting. Half the class will be duelling practice, where you will learn to fight, defend and survive against the most dangerous monster you'll ever face —"
His false eye zoomed all over the room.
"The dark wizard!"
Lavender Brown raised her hand. "Are you going to teach us dark curses, professor?"
"Yes."
"But — isn't that illegal?" Hermione asked. I held back the urge to point out the hypocrisy of her statement given what she was a part of.
"It's illegal to cast them on another person. It's necessary to study them, their traits, weaknesses and more importantly, their counters. Mind you, if I catch any of you lot even so much as attempting any of the curses we discuss, you'll learn what it's like to be experiencing that same curse at the end of my wand. Trust me, you won't like it."
Lavender Brown swallowed. Draco stayed mightily quiet.
"Now, no thanks to this ruddy tournament, the security in this castle is going to go bonkers! You will have students from two schools, their staff, Ministry employees, Aurors, hit-wizards, and the paparazzi all over the school starting next month. For that reason, I've arranged for a special class that every student from fourth-year and above will be taking. And yes, it's mandatory to attend."
This time Hannah raised his hand.
"Excuse me, Professor, what is it about?"
"Unforgivables," said Moody grimly. "It's about Unforgivables."
But that's illegal," exclaimed Lavender Brown.
"Right,"' answered the gruff auror. "Which is why we have some special guests attending this class, just to witness its illegality."
He flicked his wand to one side, and a door opened, out of which walked out Albus Dumbledore and Nymphadora Tonks, followed by Hestia Jones, Emmeline Vance and Amelia Bones.
"Well…"' said Hermione. "Shit."
Amelia had a bad feeling about this.
Technically, it was one of 'five' bad feelings that she was nursing since the night of the party. The first was her apprehension at just 'leaving' the Dark Lord like that. The second, third and fourth had been because of the revelations — Harry being a time-traveller and her own death inside her burning manor. Technically, that Harry didn't share any substantial connection with her in his own timeline was disappointing, but not unexpected. After all, Harry had been caught absolutely off-guard when Amelia had revealed her history with his father. Had he already known all of it and had merely acted ignorant, Amelia would have caught him earlier.
The fourth bad feeling arose from his decision to leave Nymphadora Tonks, and her own theories about the metamorph being Harry's lover from his time. Harry had, of course, neither confirmed nor denied that, what with everything else that had followed.
The fifth and final bad feeling came out of the fact that Nymphadora Tonks was currently stationed at Hogwarts. She was completely fit and functioning, which should have been enough proof that she had not yet betrayed Harry. And yet, Albus Dumbledore's sudden request to station her and Digwood at Hogwarts was concerning. While Amelia had many words to describe the old man, stupid and obvious weren't among them. One could argue that being a metamorph allowed Tonks the freedom to stay in the castle and gather intelligence without others noticing her presence, and Digwood, being a Senior Auror, would be able to make up for Tonks's lack of experience, but somehow, she doubted that things were that simple.
For one, the oath targeted the protection of Harry Potter's secrets. It did nothing to protect her own. And neither would it prevent the metamorph from revealing the fact that Amelia knew of her and Kingsley's association with the Order of the Phoenix. Though, if she did blabber something to Dumbledore without breaking her oath, it was most unlike Dumbledore to be so obvious about it.
No, something else was happening. Someone was playing a very clever game from the shadows. And Amelia wanted to know what it was.
"Ma'am, permission to tell you this is a terrible idea?" said Hestia.
Amelia unclenched her teeth, which took quite an effort. "I know. But refusing isn't an option."
"I don't see why," countered Hestia. "The unforgivables have never been part of Hogwarts curriculum. So why now?"
"Because of the Tournament," said Amelia. "Or more specifically, because of Durmstrang. Unlike Hogwarts, the Unforgivables are part of their curriculum. While there will be Ministry personnel for the safety of the students, both the Department of International Magical Cooperation and Albus Dumbledore decided it proper to get the students through a crash course on Unforgivables."
"What is he expecting?" asked Hestia. "That Durmstrang students will attempt to cast them on ours?"
"It came in as a request from the Department of International Magical Cooperation. Between Barty Crouch's obsession with legislative trivia, the recent disaster and Dumbledore's prodding, they came up with a request to screen for potential dangers while also educating the students about the Imperius curse, just in case somebody decides to hamper the tournament or worse. Even the Board of Governors signed their consent to this document."
"Still," said Emmeline, butting in. "Allowing someone to cast an Unforgivable on school children? Isn't it a little… too far?"
"And that," said Amelia, gritting her teeth, "is why you are here. To verify that none of them have any residual effects of the curse, Head-Obliviator."
"And also check for potential dangers while she does that," Hestia concluded.
"Essentially," said Amelia.
"Right, and what's the real reason behind this sudden arrangement?"
"What's going on in that head of yours, Hestia?" asked Emmeline.
'Oh, I don't know," said Hestia airily. "Two Order members stationed at Hogwarts, one of which is a metamorph and is probably wearing anybody's face as a mask for all we know, and the other is the best Aurors we currently have. And somehow, Mad-Eye Moody, another Order member, arranges for a situation that requires myself, the Head-Obliviator, and yourself, the Director, to be inside Hogwarts in attendance while Harry would be subject to the Imperius? And all of this happening inside a school whose wards are completely controlled by Dumbledore himself?"
Amelia arched her brow. The girl was quite a sharp one. No wonder she was regarded as an asset for Dumbledore's Order.
"A coup then?" asked Emmeline. "Something this brazen doesn't fit Dumbledore's style."
"Doesn't it?" Hestia challenged.
Both of them looked at Amelia for confirmation.
"While the Chief Warlock cannot undermine my authority, he has been friends with Alastor for a long, long time now," said Amelia slowly. "If Alastor can make Harry say something incriminating then, I will be oath-bound to take him into custody, and file a chargesheet against him. Anything that I know from him personally is protected through our confidentiality oaths, but if Alastor discovers anything, I'll have no choice but to act."
"Not true," defended Emmeline. "Harry isn't a criminal. Nor does he have a warrant on him. And nothing said under the Imperius curse can be counted as evidence in court. For all they know, Moody could have just imperiused Harry to say… whatever he says."
"'That's assuming it goes in that direction," countered Hestia. "It's like Harry said. Dumbledore wouldn't attempt to expose Harry or us like that. It's too drastic, and too chaotic. The entire political framework will fall apart, and with the tournament going on, it will spell disaster for Britain's foreign policy. The professor has kept dastardly things secret for a lot, lot less."
She was referring to the foreknowledge of the attack on the World Cup, Amelia reasoned.
"It doesn't matter if things don't make it to court," said Amelia. "The moment Harry confesses, my integrity is compromised. Even if Harry would reveal the slightest bit of scandal about our private activities, it would commence a shitstorm that would utterly destroy everything she had been working for over the past two decades. Just that bit of blackmail is enough for him to make us dance to his whims."
And just like that, Dumbledore would win. Without casting a single spell, without needing to even wave his wand, he would prove them all guilty and leave them to hang while Fudge's Ministry and the sheep of the wizarding world would exact their rightful vengeance upon them. All of their actions would be undone.
"In other words, we'll be royally fucked," said Hestia, sighing. She paused and looked at Emmeline. "Just out of curiosity, how exactly do you determine if someone is under the lasting effects of an Imperius?"
"Usually through fragmented memories," said Emmeline. "A pensieve scan normally helps in confirmation, but you'd have to narrow the memories down to the right time when the person might have gotten imperiused."
"And if they were unconscious?"
Amelia narrowed her eyes at her secretary pressing the question.
"I'm ignoring personality shifts. That's obvious. But there might be subtle changes in personality that aren't so easily visible. Increased passiveness, indecisiveness or uncharacteristic ferret certain triggers. He or she might even display an increased degree of obedience or faith towards someone without a reason."
"By that logic," Amelia drawled. "All three of us might be held suspect as potential imperiused victims."
Emmeline shrugged. "We could be."
Amelia noted the way Hestia flinched at that statement.
"At least, that's how it would appear to others," Emmeline went on. "I am the Lady of House Vance, Head-Obliviator, and for those in the know, a senior Order member. Just standing by Harry's side against Dumbledore is proof enough."
"You are an accomplished Occlumens," Amelia pointed out.
"So are you," Emmeline shot back. "But it only makes it worse. If Harry Potter can influence someone with such a high degree of mental defence, what good are the others against him? Besides, he definitely has a form of compulsive power that's eerily similar to the Imperius, and quite hard to detect, even with Occlumency."
Amelia had to argue. As much as she hated to admit it, some part of herself had to accept that the weekend with Harry Potter had been unnatural, however slight it might have been. It might not have been a direct assault like the Imperius, but Harry Potter definitely knew what to say, how to say it and when. He definitely hadn't known about the business between his father and her, his reaction was too raw for it to be otherwise, but there was definitely something that made Amelia jump that easily into his arms and then on his cock.
There was documented proof that Harry did visit her home and stayed three days there. And Amelia had also taken leave for the duration. Given her sudden change of behaviour, she would be hard-pressed to prove that she wasn't under the Imperius.
And then there was the entire matter of her resurrection. Necromancy. It was increasingly difficult to say exactly where her own will ended and the magical compulsion from being Harry's thrall and… being resurrected by him began.
"I'm quite looking forward to the psychic instruction," Emmeline was saying. "There are all sorts of experiments I want to conduct on his unexplained charm."
Amelia rolled her eyes at Emmeline's proclivities towards the weird. He didn't know if Harry's influence had just twisted her, or unleashed something recessive within the conformist woman.
Whatever it was, she wasn't looking forward to finding out.
"Do you…." She began, hesitating for just a moment. "Do you mind if I attend these sessions? Much of what Harry and I share is rather controversial and delicate stuff. I'd like to be in the know about whatever you find out about his powers."
"I don't think that would be a problem," said Emmeline. "In fact, Harry stressed on it."
Amelia arched an eyebrow. As did Hestia.
"He did?"
"Yes," said the Obliviator. "Whatever the source of his incubus powers, it is definitely something he didn't have back then. He's only got a summer to explore them."
Amelia grumbled, crossing her arms. "Personally, I think he overreached himself with this entire idea of coming clean. Hestia was his secretary, and I understand bringing the two of us in on his secrets, both Narcissa Ma—Black? Greengrass?" she paused for a moment, reconsidering what she was about to say next.
"Emmeline, Hestia, I have a question. What exactly would you think if I said the phrase - status window?"
Both women widened their eyes instantly.
"I see," said Amelia softly. "Just as I assumed then. Very —"
The rest of her words remained unfinished, as the door in front of them opened, and Albus Dumbledore stepped in, with Tonks in tow.
"Ladies,"' said the Headmaster. "It is time for the session to begin. So, shall we?"
Notes:
Find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Next update is on 25th June.
Chapter 156: The Killing Curse
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 4 - TRIWIZARD TROUBLES
CHAPTER 156 - THE KILLING CURSE
This was a rather interesting setup.
Apart from the rather gigantic classroom, with the intense subject chosen for the day's lecture, it was the presence of the authority figures inside the room that made everyone feel uneasy. Albus Dumbledore, renowned as the greatest wizard of the times, stood in one corner, in his usual purple robes with faint silver embroidery, and his half-moon spectacles watching the entire class with profound interest. However, he was hardly the cause behind the unease among the students.
In reality, it was really the four ladies standing close to him that were the real subject of interest. Nymphadora Tonks, Auror, stood right next to him, her askew robes and pink hair a striking contrast to the somber tones of the others. Despite her youth, there was a quiet intensity in her gaze, as she tried so hard not to look in my general direction.
Amelia, Emmeline, and Hestia, had far more success in that avenue.
Of course, Emmeline and Amelia were perfectionists in the art of stoicism, but it looked like Hestia was catching on quickly. All three women were dressed in deep, charcoal-gray robes, tailored to fit snugly around their respective frames, with Amelia's having a silver trim to highlight her position of importance. Beneath the robe, a fitted waistcoat of midnight blue with discreet silver buttons could be seen, complete with the high collar secured by a pin that bore the seal of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.
"UNFORGIVABLES!" bellowed Alastor Moody in front of the entire class. In response, nearly half the class jumped slightly. 'Today's special session, witnessed by your Headmaster, and the DMLE staff will be the Unforgivable curses — what they are, what they do, and why they are called Unforgivables, and if you little swots can get past the morbid details without throwing your intestines out, then we shall proceed to learning how to counter them."
Moody's infamous eye swiveled disconcertingly, sweeping across the students, lingering on each face just long enough to make them squirm. Just like before, it ended up with a long glance at me, before settling on a trembling fourth-year in the front row.
"We call them Unforgivables for a reason," said Moody. "The three curses are the only ones for which just a proven use is grounds for an automatic life sentence in Azkaban. Doesn't matter the circumstances, or the person's position in society. Cast them, and you'll have Aurors coming to pick you up."
I suppressed the urge to look at Draco. Tonks on the other hand, was staring intently at the former Malfoy with undisguised furor.
"'Now, can anyone here tell me what the three Unforgivables are?"
Justin Finch-Fletchley raised his arm shakingly.
"Yes?"
"The Killing curse, the cruciatus curse… and the imperius curse."
"Correct. Two points to Hufflepuff," said Moody. "Now, there are thousands of spells that the British Ministry of Magic classifies as the Dark Arts, spells that can be used to hurt and torture people, but it is only the three curses that are classified as Unforgivables. Any ideas why?"
This time Parkinson raised her hand.
"Yes?"
""Because they can't be used without an evil intent in mind?"
"Too simplistic," said Moody. 'The unforgivables are not merely spells. They are profound manifestations of magic's darkest potential. They represent the extremes of control, pain and death, each curse embodying a fundamental and immutable aspect of power. So immutable, that the curses cannot be amplified, or mutated using any suffixes whatsoever. In fact, the Department of Mysteries even has had Unspeakables working on fashioning new additions to the Unforgivables, over centuries, but to no effect. The Unforgivables are, and have been limited to those three, as Finch-Fletchley claimed — the Killing Curse, the Cruciatus Curse and the Imperius Curse."
He looked at the dead silent audience.
"In short, they represent the extreme other end of the spectrum. The final chapter of the Dark Arts. Unlike any other spell in existence, none of the three require any specific wandwork, and instead, tap directly into the caster's innermost desires, making them both deceptively simple and profoundly dangerous. To wield them is to become a force of destruction, an agent of chaos that bends the laws of magic and humanity to their will. Despite centuries of research, there exists no spell, no potion and no ritual that can counter the effects of any of the Unforgivable curses, and neither can you cast one by mistake. That is the dark truth that makes them unforgivable. And to learn how to defend against them, we need to understand exactly what they are from the very core. That. is what this class will be about. If there is anyone here that feels it is too intense for them, feel free to leave right now. But if you do, I'd advise you to drop this subject post your OWLs because things will simply get far, far worse."
I noted the way Tonks's sharp eyes darted between Moody and Draco Mal… Rosier, her expression a mixture of concern and hostility. Despite her determination to remain focussed, her fidgeting hands and darting eyes betrayed her discomfort.
Moody let a lul build in the class for a long second. When no one voiced their objections, Moody continued.
"The origins of the Unforgivable curses are believed to predate structured spellwork, arising from primal incantations used by the earliest sorcerers to impose their will onto the world. These incantations were not tools of creation or defence, but rather weapons of pure dominance, crafted in a time when survival often depended on unrelenting force. As languages changed, so did their names over time, but their functions remained the same. The earliest iterations of their latinized names comes from the Codex of Thaumaturgic Extremis, drafted sometime in the early 700 BC."
There was a certain amount of frantic scrabbling, as students began to write that in their notebooks.
"No," said Moody. "Don't bother writing down how long witches and wizards have had these unforgivables in circulation. No such pointless question will count towards your marks in any of my lessons."
Many students sat straight up at that, looking rather shocked.
"I told you," said Moody in his usual gruff demeanor. "I expect you to fight for ten minutes without losing your head, not write ten inches on fighting."
Damn. I know this world is technically different from the books, but I had never expected Alastor Moody to turn out like this.
He flicked his wand, and one of the three glass orbs that stood on the desk all this while rose into the air. It hovered before the class, spinning gently, emitting an eerie, greenish light.
"Avada Kedavra," Moody said, his voice flat and uncompromising. "The Killing curse. The first, and perhaps the most infamous of the three Unforgivables."
The orb flared violently, emitting a pulse that bathed the entire class in a shade of deathly green that made several students gasp and recoil.
"You have heard the stories. Seen the headlines. Maybe some of you even think you're brave enough to face it. Let me tell you something." He leaned forward, his face illuminated by the green glow.
"You're not."
Amelia cleared her throat softly, an almost imperceptible reminder to Moody to temper his delivery. He glanced at her but pressed on, his tone not softening in the least.
"Early texts from the Tombs of Natharka describe rituals of death-magic practiced by shadowy priests who sought to wield this force not just as a weapon but as a statement of divine authority. The incantation Avada Kedavra is derived from a forgotten magical tongue, roughly translating to 'let this thing be destroyed.' The words are not mere syllables; they are an invocation of primal magic, a command that bypasses all defenses to erase the target from existence."
I took careful note of the students. Several of them sat frozen, some horrified, and others morbidly curious. A few scribbled notes nervously, while others just sat rigidly, gripping their desks as though the floor might vanish beneath them. I noted the way Dumbledore narrowed his eyes, but said nothing.
"You feel that fear, don't you? That shiver down your nape? That eerie feeling of despair, of helplessness, of facing a powerful predator while you are injured and cornered… that is the feeling that the killing curse has, when cast on someone. Philosophers claim that the fear originates from your own soul, realising that this power can sunder it."
Moody let the class digest that.
"The killing curse operates on the principles of absolute magical finality. Unlike other spells, it does not rely on physical force, mental manipulation or magical intricacy. It is death, raw and unadorned, channeled through the caster's intent. You get hit, you die. There is only one exception to that fact, and he's sitting in front of all of us."
Both of his eyes, as well as every single eye in the entire room converged at me. The original Harry Potter would have probably felt conscious and attempted to hide away, but I didn't care. I knew perfectly well what laid behind my apparent immunity to the killing curse, and I wasn't about to experiment on that little trivia for a classroom presentation.
Then Moody looked away and continued. "Apart from Potter, the basic philosophy is pretty much the same for us fellow mortals — life is fleeting, and ultimately meaningless in the face of power. To wield the Avada Kedavra is to reject the sanctity of life, to embrace death as a tool and a truth and —"
Hermione raised her hand.
"Yes?"
"You said that casting the curse is to reject the sanctity of life. But I've read that the Death Eaters in the past war, and even those arrested in the recent attack cast the killing curse. But they also have families." She paused, looking around carefully at the annoyed glances she was getting. "I mean…"
"That is a thoughtful question. Five points to Gryffindor," said Moody, turning to the rest of the class. "It is true. Death-Eaters also have families. People they love. Husbands. Wives. Children. Parents. The answer to that question comes down to that very line you pointed out, girl. Rejection of the sanctity of life. The harsh truth is, any person that can successfully cast the killing curse is not truly capable of love. Lust, perhaps. Anger, Envy, Vengeance, Hatred… all such feelings they can feel. But they cannot truly love someone. The moment there is someone, anyone, that they would be unable to cast the killing curse at, it defeats the entire mindset of rejecting the sanctity of life. If you don't have that, you cannot cast the killing curse. For instance —"
He whipped his wand at me and yelled —
"AVADA KEDAVRA!"
Only I wasn't sitting there any more. I was already moving, launching a burst of raw energy out of my wand to protect myself. If Harry Potter could fight off the killing curse with an Expelliarmus, there was no reason why a burst of raw energy wouldn't be able to do the same. The burst of energy travelled in a straight line and met the killing curse's trajectory —
—And was pointedly ignored.
The killing curse hit me head-on, straight in the chest. I didn't know what was happening, and I didn't want to die. Acting on instinct, I just did what came to me first.
I blasted a tremendous amount of raw force straight at Moody.
The handicapped Auror instantly conjured a Protego to absorb my attack. Only he had massively miscalculated the force behind my response. His shield flared an angry red, before shattering, blasting him against the wall.
Instantly the entire classroom was in an uproar, and all hit-wizards had their wands ready. Even Amelia had her wand out, but instead of attacking, she was staring at me with a mix of concern and surprise. Emmeline and Hestia had theirs raised out and aimed at Moody.
Everyone except for Albus Dumbledore and Nymphadora Tonks.
After what felt like a fiftieth heartbeat within the same second, I realized that I wasn't quite dead. Hermione rushed at me, looking at me with a mix of shock, surprise, blind horror and elation to discover that I was in fact, untouched and most miraculously, alive.
The same couldn't be said about Moody though. The man had hit his back against the wall and had slumped down to the floor, unmoving.
"Alastor," barked Amelia at last, her voice full of scorn. "Get up! You are only embarrassing yourself by trying to play half-dead."
Right then, the electric eye snapped open, dancing madly, and a grin spread on that twisted, half-paralyzed face.
"Hah!" said Moody. "That was a good one, Potter! Ten… no, twenty points to Gryffindor! For quick reflexes and having the right spirit of a hit-wizard. Even if you're dying, don't let the bastard that killed you survive to see another day."
With a speed that was deceptively fast for a cripple, Alastor Moody got up on his legs, and wandlessly summoned his wand that had rolled away somewhere.
Only I wasn't playing anymore. I had my wand aimed at the crazy Auror's head, my heart still running a marathon every goddamn second. I… I suppose I knew that the horcrux would give me a free pass against the killing curse, but I wanted to hold on to that insurance for as long as possible.
'At ease, Potter. That was just me demonstrating something."
'Demonstrating? You cast the killing curse at me!"
"And you survived."
I tightened my grip on the wand. That Amelia had still to react only kept me from firing one of the ten increasingly dark curses that were running on the forefront of my mind right then. Curses Without End was furious, and wanted to curse Moody to Oblivion, as well as every single person that did nothing while the madman had the gall to cast that bloody Unforgivable at me.
"Mr. Potter," said Amelia, her voice clipped and professional. "I understand the sudden scare but even that served a purpose."
Despite her demeanor, I noted the stiffness in her posture. Professional or not, seeing Moody strike me with the Killing curse must have shook her from inside. That she was still holding back was a testament to her own Occlumency.
The same couldn't be said about Emmeline or Hestia though.
"Miss Jones, Madam Vance," said Albus Dumbledore slowly, the right amount of sternness mixed in his tone. "Please. Put the wand down. Alastor wasn't attempting to kill young Harry there."
"And what if he was?" demanded Hestia angrily, her eyes blazing. "How are you so certain that he wasn't? What if he was some imposter parading around as Moody and here to kill Harry?"
Then she realised that she had in fact spoken a bit too much and held back.
"An imposter," said Dumbledore. "That's a surprisingly paranoid theory. Why would you think that, Miss Jones?"
And right then I realised what was going on. This…. This was a setup.
"She's speaking based on what I've shared with her, Professor," I said out loud. Hermione's eyes went wide, and even Hestia looked a little anxious at my sudden outburst. She was probably fearing I might give away my true identity.
She really needed to expect better of me.
"Excuse me?" asked Albus Dumbledore.
"No you are not excused, Headmaster. A Defence professor, one that you hired, had the gall to strike me with the killing curse. In front of the entire fourth-year's lot of students, the DMLE Director, her assistant, the Head Obliviator, and an entire host of Hit-wizards nonetheless. So no, you are not excused."
My vicious riposte smacked the old man's face, wiping out that tranquil expression.
"My boy —"
"My name," I said. "—is Harry Potter. Kindly use it. And before you ever so subtly attempt to chastise Miss Jones over her claims, kindly remember everything that I have faced over the last three years at Hogwarts. Perhaps the Press should hear about it."
"Such crudeness is beneath you, Mr. Potter," said Dumbledore, his grandfatherly facade still there, albeit barely.
"Is it?" I asked. "Is that why the DMLE Director's arrival gets flunked with half a dozen hit-wizards, yet Hogwarts, which is hosting the prestigious Triwizard tournament and will house three schools and paparazzi for an entire year, gets to have a sorry pair of Aurors at best?"
"Mr. Potter," chastised Amelia in an almost bored tone. "It would be best if you kept your position in mind when you speak. Only the Headmaster has the right to adjust the security for Hogwarts."
That she simultaneously and wordlessly chastised Albus Dumbledore in the same sentence by acknowledging my statement wasn't missed by anyone.
"I'm merely stating my opinion after being openly attacked in the middle of the class, I paused and turned to Moody. "With all due respect, Professor, the previous three Defence instructors have been a stuttering possessed victim, an obliviating fraud, and a werewolf that was careless enough to forget his wolfsbane on a full moon night. I have complete respect for you and your teaching methods, but it's really the mantle you hold that has a terrible track-record."
If anything, Moody's grin went wider. That I had just openly insulted the Headmaster's hiring capability in front of such a distinguished audience didn't even matter to him.
Huh. Maybe there is more to his Mad-Eye epithet.
"Your concern is noted," said Amelia. "I will order an independent investigation about the issues faced by Hogwarts students over the past three years."
I didn't miss that shadow of a smile that floated on her lips as she finished that sentence.
"Is that truly necessary, Amelia?"
"I had raised my concerns about this entire subject of instruction, Albus," said Amelia sharply. "As well as the instructor. Alastor has been one of the best combat instructors the Ministry of Magic has ever appointed. However, teaching Aurors and teaching children are too different things. Frankly, if not for Alastor's role as the security advisor for the period of the tournament, I'd be in favour of replacing him with another."
"Alastor has my fullest confidence, Amelia."
"Good. Because if there is another incident that smears Britain's foreign policy in front of the entourage, your name will be there on the chargesheet."
"I understand," said Dumbledore, frowning. "With that done, shall we continue this session?"
All six pairs of eyes stared at me.
"Uh," I said, taken aback. "I suppose."
"Good," said Moody, once again walking up to the center of the class. "With all that diplomatic crap taken care of, perhaps we can return to the question at hand. As you all saw, I cast the killing curse at Potter. It struck him in the chest. But instead of being dead as a doornail, he's awake, up and angry. Any guesses on what happened?"
Seamus stood up. "He's the Boy-Who-Lived. The killing curse doesn't work on him."
Lavender snorted. "Are you telling me Harry's immortal?"
I winced. Lavender was walking a fine line there.
"No, just that the killing curse doesn't do nothing on him. He's the Boy-Who-Lived."
Moody snorted. "It's possible that Potter might just be, as… What's your name, boy?"
"Finnegan. Seamus Finnegan."
"—As Finnegan told us, Potter is simply immune to the curse. Any other ideas?"
"You didn't cast it properly," said Hermione.
"Oh come on," said Sue Li. "You saw it. He even said the incantation, and it requires no wand movement."
"But that's not all," Hermione argued. "Remember that part about mindset? Sanctity of life?"
Moody barked out another laugh. "Sharp, that one is. Take five points. Indeed, the rejection of the sanctity of life. I have, as an Auror, fought hundreds of criminals and dark wizards, apprehended, and at times of need, even killed in the line of duty. But I have yet to lose my respect for the sanctity of life. And so, I cannot cast the killing curse. One that works, anyway."
"Then… Why didn't my magic stop it?" I couldn't help but ask.
"Because Potter, there was no magic in it. Nothing. Nada. Just a beam of green light. Your magic didn't find anything to resist. Speaking of, good thinking there. A concentrated burst of magic would do just fine to thwart the killing curse, assuming you could place it exactly on its path. Fair warning, though. The killing curse is known as one of the fastest spells out there for a reason."
"An unblockable, unstoppable curse that needs no wand movements and travels in a straight line at high-speed and works every time on something alive," I droned. "Sounds like the perfect tool for a psychopath."
"And now we know why the darkest of wizards used it as their trademark spell," finished Moody. "You cannot, and I will repeat that, you cannot rationalize casting the killing curse as necessary. In fact, the more you cast it, the more you risk fracturing your emotional depth and desensitize yourself to the value of life, and by extension, love."
As he spoke those words, I felt Dumbledore's eyes at me. I intently ignored him.
"What about hate?" asked Daphne of all people.
"No dice," said Moody. "Hate is love inverted. You might hate someone enough to kill them, and that hate is useful in fueling a whole range of dark spells. That said, if you truly hate someone, you could probably kill them off with a first-year spell. Back in the last war, one of the Death Eaters — Camilla Rowle, was fond of making stupid jokes, and then making her victims laugh. Endlessly. They would laugh and laugh and laugh until they died."
He let the class absorb that little fact.
"Not hate, not righteous indignation, not even vengeance is enough for a person to cast a killing curse. It is believed that back in the last war, Lord You-Know-Who made his followers cast it before inducting them into his Inner Circle. It is said that You-Know-Who's Mastery of the curse was so great that he could supposedly nail someone with it from half a mile away. To cast the Killing Curse is to embrace a truth as old as magic itself - life exists at the mercy of power. The caster does not bargain, torment, or control—they simply end. In that moment, the wielder of Avada Kedavra becomes the ultimate authority, the final arbiter, a being who decides the boundary between existence and oblivion."
He paused, if only for a moment.
"Do you understand why being able to cast it would be termed unforgivable? Do you now see why a person capable of casting an unforgivable is never worth a second chance?"
The look on Albus Dumbledore's face was a delight to watch.
Notes:
Find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Next update is on 30th June.
Chapter 157: The Cruciatus Curse
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 4 - TRIWIZARD TROUBLES
CHAPTER 157 - THE CRUCIATUS CURSE
The most intense DADA class was in progress. Though, calling it just a DADA class would not be doing it right. This was a collision of power, morality, and the unvarnished truth about the dangers that lurked in the wizarding world. One thing was guaranteed — Alastor Moody was definitely the right teacher for this job, bringing all his expertise and experience into fashioning a lesson the students of Hogwarts would likely never forget in their lives.
The entire classroom felt akin to a battlefield. The usually lively space was subdued, the charged atmosphere pressing down the assembled students and guests. The fourth-years sat stiffly at their desks, their quills and parchment forgotten as they faced the imposing figure of Alastor Moody continuing his grim exposition on the nature of the Unforgivable curses.
Amelia Bones stood there, her arms crossed, but her posture unrelenting, as though she too, was taking a measure of everyone in the room. Knowing her, she probably was, only her gaze was less focussed on the students, and more on the two authority male figures in the classroom. Emmeline too had her arms crossed, but her gaze remained affixed at Moody, her sharp eyes betraying a quiet unease. Hestia was the same, and every so often, she would glance nervously at me, then at Tonks and then back at the notebook she was carrying in one hand. Even Albus Dumbledore wasn't left unshaken, as he watched the class with a careful eye, paying a keen interest to the students. Every now and then, his eyes would dart further towards the other side of the class where the Slytherins were mostly huddled together.
Nymphadora Tonks on the other hand, remained utterly unfazed.
"It is time we move on to the next Unforgivable curse — the Cruciatus. Much like the killing curse, the cruciatus travels in a straight line, and is characterised by its infamous twisting beam of dark crimson. The incantation for it is Crucio. There are people that prefer to call it the torture curse, since it's function is based on the concept of causing intense pain to the victim."
Moody sneered, his eyes glaring at the students.
"FOOLS! As if being tortured was anything remotely close to experiencing the Cruciatus."
I couldn't help but glance at Draco Mal — Rosier, who was sitting mightily quiet, doing his best to ignore the looks he was getting from his fellow classmates. Earlier during the summer, I had gotten a taste of what it was to be under the cruciatus, twice. The first had been at Draco's hand, and the next, poetically, at his father's. Obviously the pain amounting from Draco's curse was fleeting at best, nothing compared to what I had experienced under his father. If not for my personal experience with bearing agony under Walburga's tutelage, I'd probably have succumbed completely to the latter. Well that, and the raw energy of the yenaldooshi and the cumulative effects of eating those hearts to empower myself.
Still, the fact that Draco could cast an Unforgivable spoke volumes about his character. No wonder Robards and Amelia were mightily pissed at me letting the little bastard go with nothing more than a slap on the wrist.
"The cruciatus operates on principles of raw, primal magic," said Moody. "It is designed to disrupt the mind-body connection, reducing the victim to an entity of pure torment. Unlike physical harm, which targets the body, the Cruciatus curse bypasses all physical limits to inflict pain directly upon the nervous system and consciousness. When cast perfectly, this pain cannot be quantified, dulled or escaped. It's a complete obliteration of sensation, where even the concept of relief is annihilated."
"POTTER!"
I blinked, and realised that for the second time, Moody had singled me out in the entire class. "I am reliably informed that you have been the victim of this curse not once, but twice during this summer."
I stiffened. My episode with Draco in Diagon Alley was pretty much an open secret, and Sebastian Delacour had given a statement about my aid in his rescue and eventual survival against Lucius Malfoy and his goons. But the cruciatus….
"There is nothing to be ashamed of, son," said Moody, his tone ameliorating just a bit. Coming from the mad auror, one might even call it sympathetic. "I contacted Sebastian Delacour over his statement. He told me that Lucius Malfoy held you under the cruciatus."
"Alastor!" Dumbledore snapped irritably. "We do not discuss such sensitive matters in the presence of sixteen-year-olds!"
"Oh, of course not. Silly me." Moody's tone made it clear that he was not even the least bit chastened. "I totally forgot that out of the two occasions, the first involved sixteen-year-olds as the caster and the victim."
Dumbledore sighed and shook his head. "Har— Mr. Potter, would you perhaps, go ahead and answer his question?"
I glanced at Draco for the first time. Narcissa had been clear. I would not start anything. But, this was instigated by Moody and the Headmaster of Hogwarts had asked me to answer the question, in the presence of several notable members as witnesses. Today's events would definitely portray Malfoy in a very bad light, and maybe make things worse for him for the rest of the year. It might even push him further down into a twisted, spiral path, ending with him either causing harm to me and mine, or end up lying dead in a ditch somewhere. Or maybe both.
From that standpoint, it would be wise to mollify the situation as much as possible.
But if I did that, it would paint me in a bad light. Especially with the DMLE standing before me.
Also, I reasoned, if today's actions ended up with Draco being taken away from Hogwarts, it would be for the better.
"Potter?" asked Moody.
The question hung in the air, and I could feel everyone's eyes on me. My throat was dry, and I didn't want to answer. But the look on their faces — demanding, almost pleading — left me no choice.
"How was it?" I repeated, my voice rough, like I'd been screaming even though I hadn't. "It was... awful. But not the way you think."
I leaned back in the chair, trying to steady my breathing, but the memory clawed at me. Living The Role instantly surged up, like a serpent ready to strike. I let it permeate through me, and I knew that whatever I was going to say would convince everyone. Naturally, I was going to stick with the truth this time around.
"That curse at Lucius Malfoy's hands… it wasn't clean. It wasn't sharp or sudden. It started slow, like my nerves were waking up wrong—burning, twisting. Every muscle in my body clenched, like it was trying to tear itself apart. But it wasn't paralyzing, not completely. It wasn't like what you described, you know…. Overwhelming, and complete absence of sensation. This was different."
I glanced up at Amelia, who was listening intents, her sharp eyes fixed on me. She sat unusually stiff, her hands clasped in front of her as though bracing herself against the weight of what she was hearing.
My voice rising slightly, the words tumbled out faster now.
"It felt... unsteady. Erratic. Like the spell wasn't even sure what it was trying to do to me. It hurt, yeah, but it wasn't just physical. It gets into your head, too. I was seeing things—flashes of memories I didn't want to think about. Running from the basilisk, terrified of Professor Quirrell, my parents, hearing them die... all twisted up with the pain, like it was trying to break me, but it didn't quite know how."
Hestia's dark eyes burned with fury.
I looked away, my hands tightening into fists. "And I could feel the caster, too—his anger, his frustration. It bled into me, like it was mixing with my own. It wasn't calculated, wasn't controlled. There was no joy in it, no wickedness. Just rage. And that... that's why it wasn't as bad as it could've been."
Their eyes narrowed, but I pressed on, my voice quieter now. "I don't think anger does it. I think it needs something worse. That cold, sadistic desire to make someone suffer, to see them break and enjoy it. That's what gives it power. And this... this didn't have that. It was sloppy. Weak. But even a weak curse..." I trailed off, rubbing my arm as if the pain were still there. "Even a weak curse is enough to make you feel like you're being pulled apart."
I looked back up, meeting their gaze. "When it ended, the pain didn't just stop. It lingered, like it wanted me to remember. And I do. I remember every second of it. I remember Lucius telling me that the Dark Lord needs me alive. Alive, but only just. So maybe he was taking it easy. And that's the worst part, I know that wasn't even the full curse. It was just... a shadow. A fraction of what it can do."
My voice faltered, but I pushed through, the words bitter in my mouth. "So if you're asking me how it felt... It felt like a warning. Like it was telling me, 'This is what you'll face if you ever meet someone who really means it.' And that thought... that scares me more than anything."
The room was thick with tension, a suffocating weight that pressed down on every student in the class. They had all been silent as I spoke, their faces ranging from pale horror to quiet, simmering anger. Some looked at me like they couldn't believe what they were hearing, as though the thought of someone enduring the Cruciatus Curse—twice—was too much to process.
Hermione's face was a mask of controlled anger, but her eyes glistened with unshed tears. She grasped my left hand tightly, but the silver sheen in her eyes suggested that Draco had better guard his back for the foreseeable future if he didn't want to be skewered and chopped to pieces by an angry werewolf.
Even Ron, who was sitting two rows before me, was visibly shaking. His ears were bright red, and his jaw clenched so tightly that it looked like he might crack his teeth. He kept shooting me sidelong glances, as though struggling. Susan and Hannah, who had both been present when Draco had cruciated me in Diagon Alley sat stunned, their hands trembling. Other students were exchanging wide-eyed glances, and I heard Ernie mutter ' bastard!' under his breath. Parvati, her twin sister Padma looked utterly horrified, their hands covering their mouths as though they couldn't bear to hear another word. Parvati whispered something to Lavender, her voice shaky, and they both cast anxious looks at me, their expressions a mix of pity and fear.
It was right then that I dropped the bomb.
"And the first time I felt the Cruciatus," I said, my voice steady but laced with an edge of steel, "was at Draco Malfoy's hand."
The room froze. The Gryffindors stiffened, their gazes snapping to Draco as though daring him to deny it. The Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws exchanged uneasy glances, the shock and disbelief clear on several faces. Even some of the Slytherins turned to look at Draco, their expressions ranging from curiosity to discomfort.
Draco, for his part, went pale. The color drained from his face so quickly it was as if someone had cast a Disillusionment Charm on him. He straightened in his seat, his jaw tightening as he fought to keep his composure. But his usual sneer wasn't there—only a faint, nervous twitch at the corner of his mouth that betrayed his fear.
He glanced toward Professor Moody first, whose magical eye was fixed squarely on him, spinning faster than Harry had ever seen it. Moody's normal eye narrowed, his lips curling into a snarl. The room's collective attention on Draco didn't seem to faze Moody; his entire focus was on the boy, as though he were seconds away from pouncing.
Amelia drew in a sharp breath, her normally stoic demeanor cracking for a brief moment. Her piercing gaze locked onto Draco, sharp and unyielding, as though she were memorizing every detail of his face. A quiet, simmering anger began to radiate from her.
Emmeline exchanged a glance with Hestia, both of them visibly tense. Hestia's arms were crossed, her fingers gripping her sleeves so tightly her knuckles were white. Emmeline's expression was one of quiet disbelief, but her eyes lingered on Draco, as if trying to decide whether he was irredeemable or just foolish.
Tonks shifted uncomfortably, her dull brown hair reflecting her mood. Her eyes flickered between me and Draco, and for a moment, I thought I saw a flicker of guilt in her features.
Dumbledore's expression, however, was unreadable. His hands were steepled in front of him, and his blue eyes rested on Draco with a calm neutrality that only made the tension worse. He didn't speak, didn't move, but the weight of his gaze was as oppressive as any spell. It was as though he were waiting, giving Draco the chance to speak—or hang himself with silence.
Draco finally managed to speak, though his voice was strained, cracking under the weight of the room's attention. "I—" he began, then faltered, his gaze darting to Moody again. His hands fidgeted with the edge of his robes, a telltale sign that he was losing his nerve. "I didn't—" he stammered, but stopped abruptly, as if realizing that any denial would fall flat.
"It was a weak attempt," I said suddenly, my voice cutting through the silence like a blade. "You didn't mean it. You didn't feel it. But you still tried."
The words hung in the air like a curse of their own, and Draco visibly flinched. The sneer he tried to muster came off as weak, hollow. "It was just... a spell," he muttered, but his voice lacked conviction. He looked at his desk, unable to meet anyone's gaze.
The silence that followed was deafening. The room felt like it was holding its breath, every student waiting to see what would happen next.
Finally, Moody broke the quiet, his voice low and dangerous. "Just a spell?" he growled, leaning forward in his seat. "The Cruciatus Curse isn't just a spell, boy. It's an Unforgivable. And you're damn lucky you're still sitting there instead of locked up in Azkaban where you belong."
Draco's pale face turned red with shame—or anger, or both—and he clenched his fists, but he didn't dare respond.
"Enough," Dumbledore said quietly, his voice cutting through the tension. He didn't look at Draco but instead turned his gaze at me. "Thank you for sharing your story, Harry. It takes great courage to speak of such things."
The Headmaster's calm words seemed to diffuse some of the tension, but the damage was done. Draco sat stiffly in his seat, his head bowed slightly, the weight of every gaze in the room pressing down on him. For once, he looked small, not the arrogant, sneering boy, filled with hatred that I had come to expect.
No one would forget what had been said—or the way Draco Malfoy, now Rosier had been exposed for what he'd done. The weight of his actions hung over him, a silent condemnation that would follow him out of the room.
Moody leaned forward, his gnarled hand gripping the edge of the desk. "You listened to Potter's narration." His false eye fixed on Draco first, and then swept across the others like a predator surveying its prey. "Maybe some of you now think you know what it feels like? You don't!"
The room grew still, the faint crackle of the torches on the walls the only sound. Moody straightened slightly, his scarred face a mask of grim resolve. His normal eye locked onto me but there was no pity there—only a kind of acknowledgment, a shared understanding of pain.
"The Cruciatus isn't just pain," Moody said, his voice heavy with authority. "It's raw suffering. It's the kind of agony that doesn't just stop at your body. It gets inside you—into your mind, your soul. It digs in deep, tears you apart from the inside out. You can feel every nerve in your body screaming, every thought turning against you. And the worst part?" He paused, his lips twisting into a grimace. "You know it's not going to kill you. No matter how much you beg for it to end, it doesn't. It just goes on and on."
Moody turned his gaze back to me, his tone softening slightly. "You've felt a fraction of it, Potter. Twice, you said. First from a child who didn't know what he was doing." His magical eye swiveled to Draco, who visibly tensed. "And then from someone who knew exactly what he was doing. Someone who meant every second of it."
I didn't respond.
"And that," Moody said, his voice rising slightly, "is the difference. The Cruciatus Curse isn't about power. It's about intent. Real intent. You cast it because you want someone to suffer. Not hurt, not ache, but truly, deeply suffer. And that suffering is supposed to bring you joy. That's why the boy here couldn't manage it properly." His magical eye locked on Draco again, who shrank further into his chair. "Because he doesn't have the stomach for it. And thank Merlin for that."
Moody stepped forward, his wooden leg thudding heavily against the floor, and leaned closer to the group. "But the ones who do? The ones who cast it with that cold, wicked joy? They're monsters. No matter what they look like, no matter what name they carry. They've given up their humanity for the sake of their own sick pleasure. And let me tell you something." He jabbed a gnarled finger into the air for emphasis. "Once you've seen it—once you've felt it—you never forget it. It changes you. Leaves scars, and not everyone is lucky enough to have visible ones."
His gaze softened slightly as it landed back on me, and I wondered if his twisted features were the effects of cruciatus exposure.
"You've survived it, Potter. Twice. That says a hell of a lot about you. More than any title ever could."
Moody straightened again, his face darkening as he glanced back at Draco. "And you," he said coldly, "had better think long and hard about what you did. Because the road you're on?" He gestured sharply with his hand, his magical eye narrowing. "It doesn't end well. Not for you, and not for anyone else who follows it."
Draco didn't reply. His face was pale, his usual arrogance completely gone. He looked like he wanted to sink through the floor and disappear, and for once, no one seemed inclined to offer him any support.
The room fell into a heavy silence, Moody's words lingering in the air like smoke. It was a silence no one dared to break.
"To surmise, the cruciatus curse follows the philosophy that pain is power. The curse does not merely inflict suffering—it asserts the caster's supremacy by reducing the victim to a state of utter vulnerability. Where pain is the universal language, the Cruciatus Curse is its most eloquent expression. That is why the cruciatus is not just a mere weapon of torment, but a profound assertion of control over life itself. It annihilates the very concept of autonomy through suffering, with a singular purpose: to make the victim a vessel of pain so absolute that they are unmade, reduced to nothing but their agony. For obvious reasons, I shall not be demonstrating the curse before you, not even on simpler creatures."
"Why would anyone create a curse like that?" asked Susan Bones.
"Why would anyone create anything remotely designed for torture?" countered Moody. "There is nothing new about dark wizards devising new and improved methods of torturing their victims. But it takes a rare psychopath to twist magic into something like the cruciatus. In fact, legends trace the origins of the Cruciatus curse to the forgotten rituals of the ancient pain-worshippers of Leviathan, an extinct wizarding civilization that revered suffering as the highest truth. It is believed that those sorcerers studied a strange box that supposedly opened a gateway to a dimension dedicated to exploring the extremities of pleasure and pain, and that their development of the cruciatus was a mortal-friendly adaptation of the ultimate torment caused by those summoned through that mystical box."
I sat there, frozen, my hands gripping the desk so tightly my knuckles turned white. It wasn't just the room that felt off—the darkened classroom, the grim, flickering light from the enchanted candles. The words — those words shouldn't have existed together, not in the same breath. Moody's voice, gravelly and harsh, carried the weight of something ancient, something impossibly wrong.
"A mystical box?" asked someone. "What sort of box?"
"That's difficult to say, though some texts call it the Lament Configuration. Dark wizards thought they could cheat their way into its secrets, mimicking the torment the box supposedly unleashed without the need to confront the creatures that the box called forth."
My heart skipped a beat. My head swam.
The Lament Configuration? The puzzle box from Hellraiser?
This wasn't happening. I couldn't be hearing this. My brain fought to rationalize the impossible, but Moody kept talking, his voice drilling deeper into my psyche.
Moody was practically snarling as he went on. "The Cruciatus is the ultimate expression of that sadistic power, a statement that existence itself can be reduced to an endless scream at the whim of the wielder, just like the box answered only to those willing to offer themselves to its horrors."
It hit me like a tidal wave, the realization that this wasn't some fever dream. I wasn't just watching Moody explain magic like I'd always imagined it in Harry Potter. I wasn't sitting in my living room, drifting off while reading The Goblet of Fire. I was here. I was him. Harry. This was real—or as real as anything could feel when you were suddenly stuck inside the body of a teenage wizard in a universe you thought was fiction.
The room around me seemed to tilt, as if the walls and ceiling were sliding away from each other. The weight of Moody's words pressed down on me. The Cruciatus Curse and the Lament Configuration—two nightmares from entirely different corners of my imagination—were now interwoven in a way that made too much sense and no sense at all. My stomach churned as I felt the sheer wrongness of it, the inexplicable familiarity of something I'd never actually experienced.
I wanted to ask questions, to shout, to do something, but my throat was dry, and my voice stayed silent. My mind raced instead, spinning with possibilities. Was I losing it? Or was this just the beginning? If the Lament Configuration existed here, what else did? Would I find Pinhead stalking the Forbidden Forest? Was Voldemort dabbling in something far worse than Horcruxes?
And why, oh why, did I feel like Moody was looking directly into my soul, as if he knew I wasn't really Harry Potter?
My heart pounded so loudly in my ears I could barely hear the rest of what Moody was saying. The words kept tumbling out of his mouth like jagged shards of glass, each one slicing away at the fragile logic I'd been clinging to.
Moody went on. "Some say it's a tale to frighten others to keep them from dabbing into the Unforgivable lore. Others say that the box was destroyed. Codswallop, in my opinion. Dark magic like that doesn't just vanish. It changes hands, disappears into the shadows, waiting for someone foolish enough—or desperate enough—to seek it out again."
I blinked hard, trying to process what I was hearing. The Lament Configuration—here, in the Wizarding World. My stomach churned. Every part of me screamed that this was wrong, that these two worlds weren't meant to collide. And yet, there it was, spilling out of Moody's mouth like it was just another chapter in wizarding history.
I tried to breathe, to steady myself, but the room seemed to press in closer with every word. The flickering candlelight threw jagged shadows across the walls, and I swore I could see shapes moving in them, just on the edge of perception. Something about the way Moody spoke—about how the curse's origins and the eerie similarities with the Lament Configuration —made me feel as if the room itself were alive, listening, feeding on the tension.
"Potter!"
I jolted upright, realizing Moody was glaring directly at me now. His magical eye spun wildly, locking onto me with an unsettling precision. "You're looking pale. Something you'd like to share with the class?"
I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. My mind was a hurricane of thoughts, all of them screaming at me to wake up, to snap out of whatever nightmare I'd fallen into. But the weight of Moody's gaze pinned me in place. The rest of the room seemed to blur, my classmates little more than shadows in the periphery.
"N-no, Professor," I managed to stammer, my voice cracking. The words felt foreign on my tongue—someone else's words. Harry's words. Not mine.
Moody's normal eye narrowed, and for a terrifying moment, I thought he might see right through me—through Harry. His magical eye seemed to linger, spinning slowly, as though peering into something far deeper than my face. Something deeper than my very being.
"Right," he said at last, his voice low and gravelly, before turning away. "The point is, there are forces in this world even darker than anything you can imagine. Things that don't care about wands or curses. Things that hunger for far worse than power."
His words sank into me like hooks, dragging me down into a pit of dread. My mouth was dry, my pulse hammering in my ears. I nodded stiffly, not trusting myself to speak again. The room felt colder now, the air heavier, and I couldn't shake the feeling that Moody's warning wasn't hypothetical. It was personal.
As the lesson dragged on, I kept my head down, staring at the desk in front of me. But my thoughts were a chaotic mess. If the Lament Configuration was real here, what did that mean? Had I stumbled into some bizarre fusion of universes, or was there something bigger at play? And what would happen if the box found its way into the hands of someone like Voldemort?
Or worse... what if I found it?
Notes:
Find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Next update is on 5th July.
Chapter 158: The Imperius Curse
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 4 - TRIWIZARD TROUBLES
CHAPTER 158 - THE IMPERIUS CURSE
Rain lashed against the windows of the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom like an overzealous drummer in a bad mood, setting a dreary tone that promised the day would spiral down from 'tolerable' straight to 'why did I even get out of bed'. Moody, our resident purveyor of doom and gloom, had already treated us to a heartwarming display of the Killing and Cruciatus curses, complete with commentary that could depress a dementor.
Now, he stood at the front like an ominous cloud promising a storm, his magical eye swiveling like it was on neighborhood watch, possibly looking out for late sneezes or unauthorized thoughts.
"Now," he barked, his staff thudding against the floor with a sound that made Parvati jump like she'd been electrocuted, "we've covered death. We've dabbled in pain. Let's graduate to control."
Perfect. Discussing control in front of Amelia Bones, Emmeline Vance, and Hestia Jones. With Amelia's soul refurbished by Voldemort's DIY necromancy kit, Emmeline twisted up by the Lecherous Shrine and an Imperius curse, and Hestia as the enthusiastic spell-caster, it was a classroom dynamic that could only inspire the warmest feelings.
Moody was shaping up to be less of a teacher and more of an ancient warlord as he delivered his grim lecture. The room's dim light threw his scarred face into shadow, making him look like he might start a battle right after class—or maybe just fail us all.
"You've been introduced to the Cruciatus Curse," Moody growled, pacing like a caged beast, each step punctuated by the solid thunk of his wooden leg. "Pain so intense, you'd trade your mother to make it stop. You've seen the Killing Curse—swift, clean, no messy leftovers. But the Imperius Curse..."
He paused for dramatic effect, his mismatched eyes locking onto the class with the intensity of a tax inspector. "The Imperius doesn't just mess with your body. It plays house with your will, renovates your choices, flips your identity for a profit. Under its spell, you think you're free."
With a flick of his wand, a spider ambled out from under a desk, suddenly ballooning in size at his command.
Ron squeaked out a protest that died under Moody's glare.
"One word, one flick, and you're mine. All of you." His wand twitched, and the spider froze, then sprang into the air, doing a backflip that would score a solid ten in the Animal Olympics. "Imperio."
The spider landed, did a little jig that would have been adorable if it weren't so terrifying, demonstrating the curse's lighter side. "Looks fun, doesn't it? But what if I told it to leap from a window, or tickle a dragon's nostril?"
Moody continued, the tone of his voice suggesting he'd only be too happy to demonstrate either scenario. "The first bloke to document the Imperius was Ikh'valar of Haradneth. Ever heard of him?" He eyed us like he was considering assigning homework on it.
Silence. Even Hermione didn't dare.
"Ikh'valar was a charmer, really. Used the Imperius to turn his enemies into party planners for his coronation. His reign lasted longer than most celebrity marriages, all without lifting a wand for violence. Why bother, when he had everyone else lifting theirs for him?"
The spider, now dancing a samba, seemed blissfully unaware of its role in our existential crisis.
"Imperio doesn't need to shout," Moody muttered, almost thoughtfully. "It's the whisper you can't help agreeing with. Makes you betray your best friend with a smile. And it'll feel like the best idea you've ever had."
I shifted uncomfortably, catching Hermione's eye. She was scribbling notes that would likely turn into a dissertation on ethical spell use by dinner. I, meanwhile, was pondering the unnerving ease with which Moody described mental hijacking. Thanks to the Defiant perk, my mind was a fortress, but the others...
"And here's the kicker," Moody concluded, leaning forward as if to share a secret. "It feels good. That's the real horror. It's peace sold at the price of your soul. Want to resist? Better know yourself better than you know your Potions textbook."
As he wrapped up, the rain hammered harder, as if desperate to drown out the lesson. I couldn't decide if I wanted to applaud Moody for his teaching flair or run for the hills. Maybe both. Either way, Defence Against the Dark Arts had never been so ironically educational.
"At the start of this special session, I warned you that this class would be about gaining familiarity with the Unforgivables. I have done all I can to warn you against the killing curse and the cruciatus. However, with the Imperius, we will go a tad deeper. With the upcoming tournament, Hogwarts will become a hub of activity, and despite my best attempts, it is impossible to say when and where danger might find you. Remember, one little flick, one single incantation, and you could be the one casting a severing hex at your best friend behind their back. Or perhaps imperius you to go home and murder your entire family in their sleep. Or perhaps dance on one foot on the roof of the Astronomy tower until you drop —"
Albus Dumbledore cleared his throat loudly.
"I think they get the point, Alastor," said Amelia grimly.
"For that reason, all of you shall undergo a basic Imperius resistance training. With the DMLE Director's order, I shall cast the Imperius curse upon each of you and you shall attempt to recognize its effects, and fight my will. Post that, the Obliviator Vance shall scan your psyche for any residual effects. Quite naturally, this part is compulsory —"
Hermione raised her hand.
"—and anyone attempting to cite violations of human rights in front of you will find themselves sitting in front of those hit-wizards over there, who'll drop Veritaserum down your throat, interrogate and verify that you don't have any ulterior motives or worse, not under the Imperius. Like I always say, CONSTANT VIGILANCE!"
Hermione slowly withdrew her hand.
Moody thumped his staff on the floor again, snapping us out of the collective daze he'd left us in.
"Now," he growled, "Knowing isn't the same as doing. And let me tell you, kids, resisting the Imperius Curse takes more than guts. It takes control. It takes knowing exactly who you are, and most of you don't."
That wasn't the most inspiring motivational speech I'd ever heard, but it certainly wasn't the worst. (That honor still belonged to Lockhart.) I glanced at Ron, who was doing his best to look anywhere but at Moody, and Hermione, who was clutching her quill like it might defend her from impending doom.
"Volunteers," Moody barked, his magical eye locking onto each of us in turn. "Step forward if you think you've got the guts to resist. And if you're scared, well, at least you'll learn what it feels like to lose control. That's a lesson in itself."
The room went silent, save for the rain hammering against the windows. I half-expected someone to faint, but no one moved. Even Neville, who'd faced more than his fair share of terror, was staring resolutely at his desk.
"No one?" Moody's lips twisted into something that might have been a smile if it wasn't so terrifying. "Not a single one of you brave enough to give it a go? Or curious? Or diligent or simply ambitious enough to defy the power of an Unforgivable?"
I don't know what possessed me to stand up first. Maybe it was a Gryffindor thing. Maybe it was a 'let's get this over with before he decides to volunteer me' thing. Either way, my legs carried me forward before my brain could catch up. I noted the strain of my women's faces and did my best not to reflect their anguish.
"Well, well," Moody said, his tone a mix of approval and amusement. "Potter, of course. Always the first to throw himself into danger. Let's see if you've got the mind to back up that courage."
I found myself at the front of the class, feeling like the main course at a dinner party no one wanted to attend. Moody loomed over me, his magical eye doing its unnerving, frenetic dance while his normal one fixed on me with unsettling intensity.
"Here's the scoop, Potter," he growled, his wand at the ready like a duelist's blade. "I'm going to cast the Imperius. I'll try to overwrite your free will, plant a few easy commands in that stubborn head of yours. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to resist. Sounds good?"
Not particularly, but I nodded. What else could I do?
"Brilliant." His voice dripped with a kind of glee usually reserved for villains in a bad spy novel. "Ready? Imperio."
The spell hit me with the gentleness of a sledgehammer to the psyche. Suddenly, my body slackened, my mind floated free, and I was swept up in a current of unadulterated bliss. Worries? Gone. Stress? What stress? It was just me and a sea of serene peace.
But then, like a glitch on an app, the Shrine's influence snapped back, leaving a psychic lifeline dangling at my fingertips.
Unbeknownst to Moody, whose voice now slithered into my ears, smooth and coaxing, I had a secret weapon. "Surrender your wand."
In the books, this was a pivotal showdown—'my' first grand display of mental fortitude. If I resisted, Dumbledore might try other, less pleasant means to pry secrets from my brain. If I capitulated...
Well, capitulating had its charms.
With all the theatricality of a seasoned actor, I unfurled my legs, my hands balling into fists as though preparing for a dramatic revelation. Moody repeated his command, a trace of anticipation in his voice.
Time to drop the curtain on this performance.
My legs carried me forward, each step measured and laden with feigned surrender. Hestia's gaze sharpened, a silent sentinel aware of the stakes. I reached Moody, turned to face him squarely, and held my wand, hilt-side, facing Moody.
Take that, master of mind games.
Moody blinked, the impact of my 'surrender' visibly deflating his expectations. Perhaps he had hoped for something more dramatic, or at least, some form of resistance. The man shared a glance with Albus before quickly cancelling the spell.
When I straightened, there was an almost imperceptible pause as Moody digested my response. His voice, when it finally broke the quiet, carried a note of grudging respect tinged with suspicion. "Well then, Potter," he said slowly, "seems you're not quite the open book one might expect."
I tilted my head, feigning confusion but internally gauging his reaction. Had I played the obedient puppet too convincingly?
"But Professor," said Daphne of all people, raising her hand. "He just followed your directions, didn't he? Doesn't that mean he's vulnerable to the curse?"
Moody tapped his chin thoughtfully with his wand. "Is he now?" His eyes flickered at me, as I turned to return to my seat. "Bother, let us now demonstrate some interesting applications of the Imperius curse." His magical eye spun like it was auditing the room, catching anyone daring enough to look less than completely terrified.
He pointed his wand at Crabbe, who looked about as thrilled as a muggle on a broomstick — high, dry and desperate to get off. "You, up front. What is your name?"
"Cra— Vincent Crabbe."
Moody's lips twisted. "Crabbe. Let's have you do something simple. Ever done a backflip?"
Crabbe's expression soured by the second as if he had bitten into a lemon thinking it was an apple. Crabbe was easily the healthiest among the lot, and definitely out of shape. He had far greater chances of breaking himself in half than doing a successful backflip.
"Perfect," said Moody. "Imperio."
The change in the boy was instant. His usual confused demeanor melted away, replaced by a serene, almost blissful smile. Then, fluid as a professional gymnast, he executed a perfect backflip. The class looked at him with a mix of awe and shock, only for it to turn to horror as he fucked up the last flip and unceremoniously dropped down to the floor, severely spraining himself. Despite the obvious injury, that blissful expression refused to fade from his features.
Instantly, Moody cut off the curse, and one of the hit-wizards cast a stasis charm on the boy, before taking him out of the class, likely to the infirmary.
"Note, class. Mr. Crabbe has never done a backflip in his life. Yet, when I mentally sent the image of an athlete performing a backflip through the Imperius link, he was instantly able to copy it. What does that tell you?"
"That he's better at following than using his brain for once?" cajoled Ron.
Several people laughed.
"Funny, Weasley," growled Moody. "You're up next."
And just like that, the grin vanished from Ron's face.
"A sufficiently skilled caster can compel his victims to perform physical activities that they have never done before. It can be something as simple as a memory of watching someone backflip."
"But professor," interrupted Padma Patil. "Crabbe didn't do it perfectly. He failed to do the last flip properly."
"Yes, and that shows the limitations of the curse. Even with a perfect casting, and an equally perfect memory, the victim's physical limitations will still affect the result to a degree. As any healer can tell you, our bodies have a pain threshold, and we naturally operate below that threshold. It is why when you punch someone, it is always hard enough to make your knuckles hurt, but never hard enough to shatter your finger bones or dislocate your wrist joint. What the Imperius curse does is that it desensitizes your brain to your pain threshold, allowing you to function through injuries that would incapacitate you normally. Mind you, it does not reduce the pain, but simply keeps the victim's brain from processing it while under the imperius. Quite naturally, imperius victims are more resilient and capable in combat or other demanding situations. In fact, the Death Eaters were supposedly put under the Imperius curse before they were sent on a mission by the Dark Lord You-Know-Who, just to ensure that their performance remained optimal."
The entire class fell silent. I glanced at Hestia, who firmly avoided me.
"Weasley," Moody barked. "What are your electives?"
"Err… divination, and magical creatures, sir."
"As expected. You're going to cast a runic privacy ward," Moody said, as though he'd just asked Ron to tie his shoes.
"A—what?" Ron spluttered. "I don't even know how to—"
"Doesn't matter," Moody interrupted. "That's the beauty of Imperio. You don't need to know. I'll give you the knowledge. All you have to do is do it."
This was a new twist. Up until now, Moody's commands had been about physical actions. Now he was talking about channeling magical theory, something Ron had definitely not signed up for. I leaned forward, half out of curiosity and half out of the sheer inevitability that something was about to go very, very wrong.
Moody raised his wand, and his voice dropped into that unsettling tone he used when casting the curse. "Imperio."
Ron froze for a moment, his shoulders slackening, his face going blank. Then, with the eerie fluidity of someone moving against their own will, he raised his wand and began tracing glowing runes in the air.
To anyone else, it might have looked impressive. Intricate symbols appeared, their light bright and pulsing, as though they were alive. To me, it looked like a disaster waiting to happen. Ron's hand moved with deliberate precision, guided by Moody's knowledge of the ward, but there was something… off. His grip was too tight, his movements too rigid, like he was sketching from a memory he didn't fully understand.
The runes hung in the air, shimmering and fragile. I held my breath, waiting for something miraculous or catastrophic—or maybe both.
"Now hold it," Moody muttered, still controlling Ron's movements. The runes flickered as Ron tried to stabilize them. His hand trembled, and I saw the moment it all went wrong. The glow dimmed, then surged too brightly. The runes shifted, wobbled, and then—
Boom.
The entire ward collapsed in on itself with a loud pop, like a magical balloon bursting. A puff of black soot exploded from the runes, hitting Ron square in the face. He stumbled back, coughing and waving his arms, his freckled features now entirely obscured by a fine layer of smoky residue.
The class erupted into laughter. Even Hermione snorted, though she quickly covered her mouth and tried to look sympathetic. Tonks actually clapped, and Moody? Moody just stood there, looking entirely unsurprised.
Ron wiped at his face, smearing the soot further and making himself look like he'd just crawled out of a chimney. "What—what happened?" he sputtered, his voice slightly higher than usual.
Moody released the curse and stomped toward him, his magical eye swiveling to inspect the ruined runes. "What happened, Weasley," he said, his voice sharp enough to cut glass, "is that the Imperius Curse gave you the knowledge of how to cast the ward, but not the skill or experience to pull it off."
Ron blinked at him, soot still dripping off his nose. "But… I did what you told me to."
"Exactly," Moody said. "You drew the runes. You channeled the magic. But magic isn't just about knowing the incantation or the gestures. It's about finesse. Balance. Understanding the flow of power."
He jabbed his staff at the faint remnants of the runic ward. "You can't fake that, Weasley, not even with the Imperius Curse. I could make you think you're an expert wardcaster, but if your body doesn't know the movements or your magic doesn't know the flow, it'll fail. Every. Single. Time."
Ron nodded slowly, though he still looked confused. I couldn't blame him. Having your face exploded by your own attempt at spellwork wasn't exactly a common learning experience.
Moody turned back to the class, his expression grim. "And that's the limitation of the Imperius Curse. The caster can channel their knowledge into the victim, force them to perform actions they wouldn't normally understand, but there's no guarantee of success. If the victim doesn't have the skill, the control, or the magical aptitude, they'll fail. Maybe spectacularly."
"Like Ron," Hermione muttered under her breath. I elbowed her.
Moody's magical eye swiveled around the class. "Weasley's lucky. A collapsed ward is just an inconvenience. But imagine this scenario: you're under the Imperius Curse. The caster forces you to try a spell you're not prepared for—Apparition, high-level transfiguration, dangerous curses. You fail, and the failure costs you your life—or worse, someone else's."
The laughter in the room died immediately. Even Tonks, who had been smirking a moment ago, sobered. Ron sat down heavily, still swiping at his soot-covered face.
"And that," Moody growled, "is why dark wizards don't rely on the Imperius Curse for everything. Sure, it's powerful. Sure, it's effective. But it's not foolproof. If they want precision, they use loyal followers. If they want chaos, then they use Imperio."
After Ron's runic disaster (which, judging by the lingering smell of soot, had left a permanent mark on both his pride and the room), Moody decided to crank the Imperius Curse up to eleven.
"All right," he growled, his magical eye sweeping the room. "If you're going to learn how to resist this curse, you need to understand how it feels. And if you can't resist, well…" He shrugged, his gnarled face twisting into something resembling a grin. "At least you'll entertain the rest of us."
The class collectively paled, but there was no stopping him. Moody was a one-man chaos machine, and we were his very unwilling audience. One by one, he called us up, put us under the curse, and turned us into unwilling participants in his magical comedy show. I wasn't sure if this was for training or his personal amusement, but either way, it was equal parts terrifying and hilarious.
Justin, always polite and well-spoken, marched up next like he was heading to tea with the Queen. Moody cast the curse, and the next thing we knew, Justin was belting out an old pureblood witching song called "My Sweet Hippogriff Heart."
His voice was shockingly good—opera-level, even—but the lyrics were absurdly archaic -
"My love doth soar on wings so fleet,
Through fog and mire my soul doth meet..."
"That's… disturbingly accurate," Lavender Brown muttered. "My gran loves that song! But Justin's a muggleborn. How does he even know that song?"
"Doesn't," Moody said gruffly. "The Imperius channels the caster's knowledge. He's singing it because I know it."
Justin finished with a bow, utterly oblivious to the stunned faces around him.
Lavender's curiosity ended sooner than she thought, for Moody selected her next, and she immediately snapped to attention like she was in a military parade.
"LEFT! RIGHT! LEFT!" she shouted, marching back and forth with terrifying precision. "TEN-HUT!"
Seamus Finnegan was turned into my personal hype man. After all the 'Harry is immortal' thing, it was oddly satisfying to see him cheering for me in his typical Irish accent. Theodore Nott had turned into a mime — no speaking, just exaggerated gestures and pretend rope-pulling. Pansy Parkinson strutted to the front of the room, shaking her hips and holding two invisible pompoms, cheering for Gryffindor. Malfoy's jaw had hit the floor, and Pansy looked ready to curse Moody into oblivion the moment the curse lifted.
Next up was Daphne Greengrass, and for the first time, I straightened up, wondering exactly how this one would turn out to be. Daphne slowly stood up, exuding an aura of 'I'm too good for this'. It was just as fake as everything else about this girl, which made me even more curious as to how she'd behave with her will stripped off. Moody hit her with the curse, and just for a moment, a shadow of a smirk flickered on her features, before the blissful expression manifested. Maybe I was wrong, but even that imperiused look felt just as fake.
And then she started spinning around the room to a Muggle pop tune I vaguely recognized as 'Dancing queen'. Her posh accent was giving the song an odd dignity. She twirled, clapped and even threw in some jazz hands.
And then Hermione raised her hand to volunteer herself. I didn't know if it had something to do with Daphne, though Moody seemed amused by the challenge.
"Relax, Granger," he growled after casting the curse. "No books. No quills. Feet on the desk."
To our shock, Hermione complied, leaning back in her chair, arms crossed behind her head. She even smirked.
"Ten out of ten,"whispered Neville. "That's the scariest thing I've seen all day."
But the most surprising thing was…
"Imperio," said Moody at Draco, who looked nervous like the others. Moody instructed him to cheer for muggleborn rights, but Draco just stood right there.
"Campaign loudly for muggleborn rights," Moody stressed, but Draco still did not move. The paranoid auror glanced at Amelia and Dumbledore who looked just as curious. Amelia and I exchanged a quick glance, but honestly, I had no idea what could be granting Draco this degree of resistance against the Imperius.
Finally, the auror lowered his wand, and Draco shook his head, clearing off whatever was affecting him. He looked down at his hands, and then at Moody, before turning and returning to his seat, all without a word.
"Alright," said the Auror after he had put each and every student through the grinder. "You all saw the kind of effect the Imperius curse has on you. It strips you off your will, and turns you into a puppet of the caster's making. It doesn't matter if you can or can't cast something. It does not matter if you are even physically capable of performing what the caster intends you to perform — you will do it. Even at the cost of your own life. And you know what's the worst part?"
His magical eye swiveled all across the class.
"It is the Unforgivable that attracts people the most. You may dislike someone, might even hate someone, but it takes a rare degree of emotion to reject the sanctity of life — which is why none but the darkest of wizards tend to use the killing curse. It takes being a psychopath to revel in the suffering of another, but the Imperius is different. It's fun, isn't it? Seeing your classmates commit those funny acts? Just a little bit of harmless compulsion, isn't it? IT BLOODY ISN'T."
He glared at the class, as if daring them to challenge his words.
"To compel someone, you need to believe that you have the authority to alter their mind, affect their free will, to control their very thoughts and emotions. You need to believe that not only is doing that acceptable, but that it is your prerogative to do so. Maybe it starts with something simple, like 'I don't want them to do something'. Or maybe act funny, and just embarrass them. Harmless, right? Then a little more, and a little more. Before you know it, you're invading their mind to find out what they are thinking or feeling, not only because you can, but because it is your right. Do it enough, and you're not compelling them for a purpose, but your purpose becomes to compel. At that point, you are a rabid creature, a dark witch or wizard, and the Imperius is your favorite tool. You are the kind of monster that people like us hunt and throw in Azkaban, if not put down for good."
I hoped it was just a trick of the light, but I could swear that Albus Dumbledore, Alastor Moody and Nymphadora Tonks were all looking at me right that instant.
Notes:
Find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Next update is on 10th July.
Chapter 159: Mastering The Master
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 4 - TRIWIZARD TROUBLES
CHAPTER 159 - MASTERING THE MASTER
In the quiet aftermath of that tumultuous lesson on Unforgivable Curses, Albus Dumbledore sat in the cramped office of Mad-Eye Moody. The dark detectors and magical safeguards hummed softly in the background—apparatus that might have frightened an amateur but were, to seasoned war-wizards, little more than baubles. Dumbledore often wondered why Moody kept such devices on display. Perhaps he was simply paranoid, or maybe he used them to lure an overconfident attacker into error. Either way, they hardly mattered tonight.
That evening's session had taken a turn none had anticipated. The fourth-year students had been the first volunteers for an experiment Moody called "inspired," before the other years would face its consequences. Dumbledore's usually twinkling blue eyes now held a deep concern as he surveyed the room. Amelia Bones sat with her arms crossed, every bit the stern Ministry official, while Emmeline lingered at the edge, her posture stiff with unease. Moody, by contrast, appeared entirely unruffled, his magical eye occasionally swiveling to absorb the scene.
Dumbledore regretted Severus's absence. He had tried to explain that Severus had proven his loyalty time and again—loyalty that now, with Death Eater activity surging, forced him to play dangerous games. But Amelia's objections had come fast and sharp.
"He has your trust, not mine," she declared. "Dangerous or not, I could not see all his cards. How do I know he isn't playing us?"
Dumbledore had almost pressed the matter further, tempted to reveal more about Harry Potter's hidden strengths, but he held back. Such probing might have shattered the fragile peace following the latest disaster.
Of course, openly accusing and setting them up to reveal their allegiances were too different things.
"Alastor, I must confess, today's demonstration was more intense than I anticipated," he said in a measured tone edged with disapproval.
Moody grunted and leaned back in his creaking chair. "The lesson had to hit home, Albus. These children must learn what they're up against. We cannot coddle them."
Amelia snapped back, "There was a fine line between education and recklessness, Moody. They were fourth-year students—not Auror rookies. Casting a real Killing Curse, even as a demonstration, crossed that line. This is Hogwarts, not a battlefield."
Moody's enchanted eye fixed on her with a glare that silenced further debate, and Albus raised his hand in a gesture of quiet plea. "I understood the gravity of our preparations, but we must also consider the psychological impact. Today's session left the students frightened, angry—even traumatized."
Emmeline nodded. "I've spoken to some of the students. They were genuinely frightened. Harry Potter, in particular, seemed deeply affected by the demonstration."
"Deeply affected?" Amelia snorted. "He faced a killing curse head-on in the middle of a class. Who wouldn't be affected?"
"I was present there,"said Albus.
"Just like the debacles over the past three years, I reckon."
Albus winced. He should have known that Harry would have shared his perspective on the past events, both the ones in the recent years and the ones 'in his future'.
A murmur had rippled through the room. Dumbledore murmured, "Every decision I made regarding Harry was meant to keep him safe."
"Forgive me if I doubt your motives," Amelia shot back. "Even if they were pure, Harry Potter is just one among hundreds. I have seen Susan's account of the last three years—though it is no doubt embellished by inexperience. After the recent disaster, we cannot risk another debacle, especially with the Triwizard looming."
Dumbledore's eyebrows rose. "And what do you propose?"
"Privately conducted interviews," Amelia replied curtly. "Harry Potter, Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley to begin with," said Amelia. "All three of them have been at the center of the issues over the last three years. Then, the students from their year. And then the other years."
"That would take a lot of time."
"Which is why Emmeline and I would like to request rooms at Hogwarts for the coming week. If tonight's discussion ends well, Moody will repeat these sessions with the other years. I can have the interviews and Emmeline can assess how these sessions affect the student body. With your permission, I would like to set up a private office attached to my quarters. My assistant Hestia Jones can act as relay between here and the Ministry."
"I did not think the DMLE Director could afford to stay away from her office for an entire week."
"And I didn't expect the Chief Warlock to attempt to hide his follies behind the cogs of bureaucracy, but here we are."
"I think we might be digressing from the topic?" said Emmeline, ever the peacekeeper, ignoring the glares Amelia was sending him. Alastor on the other hand, was enjoying himself, already having drunk twice from his hip-flask during the little heated discussion.
"I ran subtle legilimency forays on the students. Almost every single one of them was horrified by the underlying concept of the killing curse."
"Almost?" asked Amelia.
"Some of them come from Death-eater families," said Emmeline. "It is likely they have seen their family members cast the curse on something, perhaps stray animals or even lesser creatures."
"Or people," growled Moody.
"Perhaps," Emmeline shrugged. "But I am not supposed to run those forays legally in the first place. And deeper investigation would require a warrant. And without concrete evidence…"
"The Wizengamot is already in an uproar," said Albus. "Such an action would incite more problems than it would likely solve."
Amelia frowned, but nodded.
"What I am more concerned about is Potter's reaction," said Emmeline. "Official record says that after the obvious event in 1981, this was his first time facing the killing curse. Yet his reaction was… fast. And visceral."
"He did face werewolves and Death Eaters during the attack," supplied Amelia.
Emmeline nodded.
Albus took a moment to marvel at their theatrics. He knew perfectly well that Harry had faced and done far more than fighting Death Eaters and werewolves on that accursed night. Given the entire debacle with Nymphadora, the two women probably even suspected that Albus knew of their shifted loyalties. And yet, both of them nonchalantly pretended like nothing was amiss.
"Pisswater," claimed Alastor. "The lad has had someone cast the Unforgivables and other curses at him. Repeatedly."
"How do you know that, Alastor?" Albus asked quietly.
"He didn't even flinch when I cast it. All the rest of them, scared as can be. Him? Didn't so much as blink during the Imperius."
"He did follow your commands," said Amelia.
Alastor barked out a laugh. "Ah, that one. I dunno what's worse, that the brat can resist the Imperius without batting an eye, or that he's got the balls to mock me in front of the class."
Albus raised an eyebrow.
"T'was weird, Albus. One moment, my spell hits him, nice and proper. Next, it gets all loose like the whores in Knockturn Alley—"
"Language!"
"—and then it tightens up again, and the boy follows my command," Alastor finished unabashedly. "Imagine my surprise."
"You're telling me he was faking an imperius," Albus mused.
"Dunno. It's possible he was faking it. It's possible my spell might've fizzled in the middle. It's also possible that some Boy-Who-Lived thingy happened when I cast the curse at him. But I can tell you this. There was no hesitation. No stiffening. Not even the slightest struggle. Weird, no?"
Albus stroked his beard slowly. Even assuming that he was faking it was good and bad news. Good, because such precision and resistance against the Imperius suggested a strong and well-fortified mind. On the other extreme, it could potentially suggest a complete conquest by a third-party, but in that case, he doubted Lord Voldemort would pander to the little niceties and frivolous activities Harry seemed too inclined to make. It was a very, very laid back style of gameplay, and not one that Voldemort would prefer.
On the other hand, if any of the other possibilities were at work then…
His thoughts went back to Severus's warnings about the sudden darkening of the Dark Mark, twice in the last week. The first was during the attack at the World Cup, coinciding with the public casting of the Dark Mark in the sky. Severus claimed that someone was drawing on the power of all Marked Death-Eaters to perform something, using a spell that was known only to the Inner Circle. With the DMLE in tatters, chaos reigning rampant, and the werewolves attacking alongside Death Eaters, Albus could not fathom a need for someone to cast it.
Interestingly, Harry Potter was performing necromancy on Amelia Bones right then. Albus was no expert in that discipline, far from it, but even he knew that rescuing a soul that had escaped the mortal body was no mere feat, and required a sacrifice on the same, if not greater levels.
Harry had already displayed his ability to control necromantic power to a degree, having used it publicly to save Miss Granger after nearly killing her accidentally. Had he drawn on Voldemort's memories to gain the spell to drain the Death Eaters and use their power to fuel his necromancy?
It was merely a theory, but not without its merits.
The second darkening of the Dark Mark had occurred just two days later, on the night of the party. As per her memories, Harry, alongside Amelia and Emmeline Vance, had attacked Voldemort's quarters, but the boy had stayed from revealing anything further.
No Dark Marks. No Necromancy. Or at least, nothing that Emmeline or Hestia had 'informed' him, assuming they even would.
And yet, he could not openly charge them with anything. Not without spoiling Nymphadora's secret.
It was a twisted stalemate where both parties had little to gain and everything to lose if they attempted to clear the air. Despite clearly knowing what cards the other side held, they chose to play an oblivious game of theatricality and protocol.
At least until he was completely sure of Harry's intentions. Or his state. And powers. And the inexplicable way in which he was twisting the paths of Destiny.
"There is also the bit where he chewed you out, Albus," smirked Alastor.
"More the reason for conducting the interviews," Amelia harped.
"I suppose that can be arranged," said Albus, frowning. Personally, he was getting rankled by the Ministry's constant interference. First with the tournament, then Harry's 'future revelations' and now all of this. "However, I shall have to be present —"
"Unacceptable!"
"They are students, Amelia," said Albus. "Minors. I cannot in good faith allow them to —"
"You are not allowing them anything," the DMLE Director corrected him sharply. "It's an interview, not an interrogation. Whatever they desire to reveal, or not to reveal, is at their behest. I will not conduct it under duress."
"Duress?" Albus challenged. "I'm the Headmaster of this school. It's my right to know if my students have any issues."
"As you should. But if the students have something to speak against you and this school, we can't expect them to talk with you present there. That would be the definition of duress."
"I'd think that if my students have a problem with me, they'd come to me directly."
"Then, by your own admission, there should be nothing to worry about the interviews."
Albus frowned, knowing a lost cause when he saw one.
"What I am more interested in is Mr. Mal — Rosier," Emmeline corrected herself. "In all my years of experience, I have never seen anyone react to the Imperius like that."
Albus swept his gaze over her to Alastor and then to Amelia and back to the old auror. From everyone's expressions, they were equally mystified. "What can you say, Alastor?"
"I dunno," said Moody, his magical eye spinning madly. "It was like… he was waiting for something."
"For what?"
"No clue," said the Auror. "At least with Potter I knew my curse was bested, or was for a moment. He was in control. But with that brat, it felt like I was hitting a log. As if there was an extra factor that my curse didn't touch. I reckon the brat's wearing some kind of dark object on his person."
Albus stroked his beard slowly and sighed audibly. "Likely from his guardian. Vinda Rosier had the habit of dabbing in mystical artefacts even back then. I wouldn't be surprised if she gave him an enchantment to protect his mind."
"An unnecessary problem that would've been solved if only Harry Potter hadn't stopped the case from getting registered," Amelia half-growled.
Albus exchanged a careful glance with Alastor. When Amelia was at Hogwarts, she was a trigger-happy spitfire, someone that people crossed at their own peril. But ever since she joined the Hit-wizard Corps, her behaviour had taken a hundred and eighty degree turn, turning her into a frighteningly composed individual, diligence and pragmatism made manifest. The death of her family, and the Potters, with whom she was remarkably close, obviously affected her adversely, but Amelia had used that grief to transform into a beacon of perseverance and sheer competency, rising up the ranks until she sat at the apex of the military ladder.
But now, that old spitfire was beginning to show itself once again, and Albus was worried it was a side-effect of whatever necromancy Harry Potter had used on her.
He had paid careful attention when she had entered Hogwarts earlier during the day. Not for the first time, he cursed his prior decision to deactivate some of the more esoteric wards of the castle to bring in the Mirror of Erised to capture Voldemort. Not only had that failed spectacularly, Nicholas's Philosopher's Stone had been destroyed as a result. He had told Harry that Nicholas and Perenelle had decided to destroy the Stone and embrace the next great adventure, to spare him from unnecessary guilt, but now he couldn't stop thinking about it.
Why had Quirinus immolated by Harry's touch? While he would be the first to tol the power of Love, especially unconditional love, it did not explain exactly why Lily's sacrifice created a power so potent and terrible that it stopped the killing curse and destroyed Voldemort's body. Had she come across something during her work at the Chamber of Destiny? Was that what manifested as a latent energy inside Harry's body? Or was this 'time-travelling' variant responsible for the erratic shifts in Destiny's paved paths?
It was like the more he tried to seek answers, all he got were more questions.
"What would you have me to do, Amelia?" he asked baldly.
"Keep a close eye on Draco Rosier. Utilize Auror Tonks's abilities to decipher what he is up to. His rivalry with Harry Potter is an open secret, and the recent events have only worsened things. What's to say that Vinda Rosier isn't using the brat as a tool against Potter."
As opposed to keeping an eye on Harry? Albus mused. "Are you certain you're not allowing your current role as the Potter regent to eclipse the neutrality the DMLE Director needs to operate under?"
Amelia looked at him with disbelief. Albus was suddenly aware of the anger in her dark eyes. It was like a potion simmering in a cauldron; one wrong ingredient and the whole thing would explode.
"I'm perfectly aware of my duties as the Director, Albus," she seethed. "It is because of said duties that I am choosing to interview the students instead of directly interrogating you over poor management of Hogwarts over the last three years."
"I have never —"
"Never?" Amelia challenged. "You openly mentioned the third-floor corridor during the welcoming feast. Declaring something a no—go area to children is like waving a red flag to a bull. I know James would have been up to the third-floor that very night."
"Amelia, it is essential for an educator to allow his students to make mistakes and get burned from them. The lessons we learn from experience shape us far more than those learned in the classroom."
"And what life-lesson were you aiming to teach them with a XXXX beast on the other side of a door charmed with a basic locking spell?"
Albus sighed heavily. "It was meant as a —"
"Trap for Voldemort? In a school full of children under your care, Headmaster? You hid the Philosopher's stone at Hogwarts; forcibly licensed the entry of a Grade-4 dark artefact into the Hogwarts halls, and used James's son, Harry Potter, as bait for one of the darkest wizards in British history; and you did it inside a place that is supposed to be the safest place in the entire nation. Tell me again, how do you put your student's safety above your personal goals, Headmaster Dumbledore?"
Dear Merlin; the boy really had talked about his adventures.
"You accused my Potter regency of clouding my neutrality as DMLE Director. Let me assure you, Albus, that if not for neutrality, I'd have already put you into custody, instead of interviewing other students, when Harry has supplied me with memories of the last three years."
"What are you truly after, Amelia? We both know that after the recent fiasco, the public and press are eating out of young Harry's mind. I'm certain between everything Harry has told you, even Cornelius would not be averse to pushing me out of the Headmaster's position. But I assure you that everything I have done has always been in Harry's interests."
"You know, I think you actually believe that."
The reply disconcerted Albus.
"You really don't see your mistakes as mistakes but perfectly fine decisions," Amelia said, exhaling. "It's truly pointless to argue with you then. Headmaster, if you would be so kind as to provide us with the required lodging premises in this castle, we can continue with our work. If not, I can ask my assistant to come back with a Ministry warrant, and set up an interview bench at Hogwarts. Or barring that, ask her to prepare a press statement citing your treating the castle as your personal fiefdom."
"That is beneath you, Amelia."
"Director Bones, if you please, Headmaster."
Both glared at each other. Neither wanted to step down.
Alastor on the other hand, kept on watching.
"Professor Dumbledore," said Emmeline. "I have to ask, just why are you intent on resisting these interviews? Or us, residing in this castle, for that matter? All we want to do is find the vulnerabilities that you might have ignored, accidentally or otherwise. We are on the same side."
She met his eyes meaningfully.
Are we? Albus wondered, thinking of Harry's words and his proclaimed agenda. But on the other hand, the more resistant he offered, the more he would push this Harry into thinking he was the same person he knew. Also, it might give him a better idea of where both women stood with Harry. Hmmm… Perhaps an armistice could be reached midway…
He frowned. "I'll ask some of the Hogwarts elves to prepare some rooms for you. But I'll tell you this. If you attempt to threaten me again, I shall not be lenient next time," he finished coldly.
"We won't have to," said Amelia. "Next time, Harry is attacked in your castle, he'll be under orders to react back with lethal force. And I will be right there, with a Ministry warrant claiming your removal. I am the Potter Regent after all. It's my responsibility to take care of the Family Lord."
There was silence in the room as Amelia's parting comment hung in the air. Both women walked out of the door, leaving Albus exhaling slowly, letting the silence hang.
"Albus," asked Alastor slowly. "Just what are you doing?"
Albus reached up and rubbed his eyes. "I'm trying to keep from repeating… or perhaps, making mistakes I might make in the near future."
"Are you?" asked Alastor, tilting his head. "Because from my perspective, you're just making stupid moves."
Albus stroked his beard and sat down with a sigh, wondering how much to reveal.
"I know you told me there was a chance the boy might be possessed by the Dark Lord. Well, he's definitely not possessed. He might be an imposter, but if he is, he's a damn good one. But I feel like there is much that you are not telling me about the boy. I can't help you unless I know what to look for."
Dumbledore leaned back into his chair. For a moment, he thought about casting warding charms, but this was Mad-Eye Moody's office. Anything that could get past his paranoia would definitely get past his own.
"What are your impressions of the Potter child?"
A darkness marred the grizzly auror's features, twisting them even further. "The boy is a killer. Oh he hides it well, better than any of your Slytherins, but anyone with eyes can see him for what he is. Honestly, I'd have pegged him to be an imposter."
"If only things were that simple…"
"It never is," growled Moody. "I've killed my fair share of people, Albus. And sometimes, killing is a necessity. But there's a difference between killing for pleasure and killing to protect or survive."
"And what is he?"
Alastor met his gaze. "The boy is a monster."
Albus had no response to that.
"But he's a monster you can work with. He'll try to limit casualties, not because he worries about the people that might get hurt, but because he doesn't want to draw attention and complicate his own plans. He'll stay down, not because he wants to protect innocents, but because the peace means his own people won't get killed or in trouble either. He'll probably even help you, or the others, not because it's the right thing to do, but because he knows it will help him in the end."
Albus nodded slowly. Alright. He could work with that.
Harry wasn't being possessed, or had suddenly turned into a twisted psychopath. He was still consistent with the image Nymphadora painted of him. A war-hardened veteran, much like Alastor himself, choosing to make the difficult choices to suit his own agendas. They might be selfish, might result in bloodshed and chaos, but in the end, it was aimed for the greater good of those they cared about.
As Alastor put it, Harry Potter might just as well be a monster, but he was a monster he could reasonably predict. Compared to the likes of the others he had faced, that was a good deal.
"A monster that is brazen enough to fake being under the imperius?"
Alastor gave him a slow look.
It was the sort of look he was used to giving others, so finding himself at the receiving end of the same treatment felt nauseous.
"Brazen?" laughed Alastor. "I suppose you might say that, because you're missing the subtleties he has demonstrated. He has not been brash about seeking out conflict with others, and has instead focussed on his studies and trying his best to suck up to Flitwick and Babbling. I do not know what his goals are, but he's being remarkably cunning about it. Cunning enough to manipulate even you, Albus."
"How so?"
There was that slow look again.
"What do you think happened here, just moments ago?"
"Amelia showed us that she has chosen to side with Harry, despite his chaotic agenda. Even if it risks the stability of our nation."
The auror took a sip from his hip-flask and gave him a long-suffering look.
"You invited those two lasses here from the Ministry under the pretext of these sessions, just so that you could catch them with their hands in the cookie jar. You expected them to react when I cast the killing curse at the brat, or worse, panic when I placed him under the imperius. You expected to hold them by their cunts and have them play ball. You knew it, they knew it, and they knew that you knew it. As did Potter. And what did he do? He twisted the entire setting into a narrative that shifts the focus on you."
Albus frowned. Alastor's words made sense. If Harry had shown Amelia his memories of the events of the last three years, then there was little she needed to build a case against Albus over mismanagement and abuse of his position at Hogwarts. With the current climate, she might not even have to work that hard to twist things in a way that ended up with him looking like a misguided, crazy man at best, and a nefarious villain at worst.
In that light, collecting more 'evidence' from the other students would gain her little other than to….
It hit him like a bolt of lightning.
"It…can't… be."
He remembered Harry's expression when Alastor had cast the Imperius on him. The absence of resistance had felt almost… lazy. It was like he was playing out just out of mockery. He remembered the visceral hatred oozing out of his words when he had made Dumbledore the object of his frustrations. Finally, he remembered how he had both captivated and horrified the entire class with his experience of being under the cruciatus, indirectly painting Malfoy like a rabid beast, turning all public perception against young Draco.
And he did it without a single bad word or accusation.
"Of course."
So this was how it felt. He, Albus Dumbledore, had been the one playing on a rather small board, focussed only on a tiny corner. He had aimed to set up a trap for Harry, and Harry had used his little plan to give Amelia a greater bargaining chip.
Albus snickered.
Just like Albus had no way of proving that Amelia and Emmeline and the others were involved with Harry in a devious plan to destroy the nation's peace without giving up Nymphadora, Harry had no way of proving that Nymphadora had somehow revealed what she knew from him, and used it to his advantage. If he didn't know better, he'd think that he revealed the information just to ensure that it would reach Albus that night.
He snickered again.
"...Albus?"
It was funny, to think, that Harry Potter had used Albus's own behaviour against him. He had expected, no, he had counted on him finding some way to gain information out of Nymphadora Tonks. It didn't matter if he gained it from some future experience. It didn't matter if he knew Albus to such a terrifying level as to predict his reaction. It didn't matter if he knew of Tonks's former double persona — in the end, all that mattered was that Harry had thrown the bait and he, Albus Dumbledore, had taken it.
Hook, line and sinker.
Another snicker escaped his lips.
All these years — sixteen, was it? Yes, sixteen years since the fall of Voldemort since the events of 1981. Sixteen years of staying deluded and assured in his power and knowledge that his own power to predict the future would never do him wrong. Had he become that arrogant since his defeat of Grindelwald that he had forgotten what being bested by a better opponent felt like?
Albus laughed.
Peace has made me weak, he thought sardonically, appreciating the irony. Victory has defeated me.
He laughed.
Relentlessly and hysterically, he laughed and laughed and laughed at the sheer mad irony of it all. He laughed to the point that Alastor probably wondered if he had gone mad.
Well played, Harry Potter. Well played.
Notes:
Find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Next update is on 16th July.
Chapter 160: Revelations
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 4 - TRIWIZARD TROUBLES
CHAPTER 160 - REVELATIONS
The room was bathed in soft twilight, the shadows blending into the curves of Amelia's body as she sat opposite Harry in the jacuzzi, her mind hazy from the day's exhaustion.
"More wine?"
"Won't say no," said Harry, closing his eyes, to kick back and relax. Amelia reached for her wand, and summoned another bottle of Ogden's Finest, pouring the bottle into the wine glasses.
"You better not talk about this to the others. I'm not supposed to be handing this to a student."
"You're not supposed to be fucking a student either."
Amelia giggled, and raised herself up, the water doing amazing things to her curves. She spread his legs apart, and slipped in, both of her arms draped over his legs and her back leaned against his crotch. She felt his cock stiffen, remembering the very first time she spent with him inside a bath.
Nestling between his legs, she reached back and brushed his cock aside so it wasn't stabbing her in the back.
"Better?" He asked.
"Hold me."
Harry put his arms around her, with her breasts resting on them. Amelia laid her head back over one of his shoulders and he leaned forward, touching her cheek with his. Her fingers trailed lightly over his legs.
"Nymphadora Tonks betrayed us," she half-hissed, half-whispered. "I'm sure of it."
The thought of the young metamorphmagus, perhaps one of the best auror cadets she had seen in a while, one of hers, betraying her to Albus Dumbledore knotted her stomach. Regardless of whoever or whatever she supported, the DMLE was hers, and by extension, every single member. The sheer idea that one of hers was choosing to stand against her made her blood boil.
She itched to just cast her out of Auror service. Or have her interrogated by the Intelligence unit. Or just feed her veritaserum and find out everything she had been up to. But if she did that, she would be going against the law. More importantly, she would go against her own principles.
She could take Tonks down, but to do that, she'd have to defeat herself.
Unacceptable!
And then there was Albus Dumbledore. A mind that had played the game for longer than she was alive. One whose strategies went layers upon layers deep. His brilliance was undeniable, but so was his capacity for manipulation. How much of their recent interactions were his genuine concern, and how much was calculated orchestration?
Silently, she pulled his hands over her, digging further back into his chest.
Harry was her partner. The one person Amelia had decided to trust fully, and entrust all her fears and desires. She could only see bad results across the board if he was keeping her in the dark about his ongoing and upcoming plans. And that didn't include the bad taste in her mouth at the idea that he might even be lying to her.
Still, that didn't discount the fact that she thought he was juggling with forces beyond his control. As much as he pretended to be on the top of things, Amelia had, more than once, seen the mask fall off his face, seen genuine panic when things began falling apart. She admired his tenacity and his ability to conjure miracles out of his arse from time to time, but that didn't mean he made the right choices every damn time.
She didn't trust those women he kept around. Hestia Jones had her priorities straight, but if it truly came to choosing between what was right for Harry and what he wanted, she had a slight suspicion that Hestia would just follow through Harry's orders instead of worrying about his safety. She was a skilled lieutenant, but definitely not a protector.
The werewolf girl, Hermione Granger, was skilled, but inexperienced. Emmeline Vance was perhaps the only one in the entire group Amelia could trust to act as necessary, but truth be told, she knew little about her Head-Obliviator personally. Something she was planning to change soon.
That just left Anastasia Greengrass and Narcissa Black, and Amelia didn't trust them as far as she could throw them.
With a catapulting charm, amplified thrice over.
"All of this could have been avoided if you had just obliviated her," she murmured.
"Wow. The DMLE Director talking of illegal obliviation. How times have changed!"
Amelia scowled, and pulled herself up, but Harry held her back. His deceptively strong hands just held her close, as tight as possible, breathing her in. Slowly, her resistance drowned, and her thumb stroked his arm gently, the relief of being back in his arms somehow doubled with the worry that had troubled her nights for the past week.
"Don't. I'm just messing with you."
"I'm not going anywhere," she said, exhaling, and leaned forward a bit, pushing back and pressing her round arse against his cock which was still hard beneath his swim trunks, and then gently swiveled her hips back and forth, up and down, and round and round grinding against his cock.
His trunks vanishing a second later only amplified the sensation.
Her hands disappeared under the water, as she leaned back against her again. Wiggling her hips, she pushed the thong of her bikini off. She pulled it up and out of the water with one hand and dangled it in front of my face, displaying what she had just done before tossing it on the floor beside us. Harry grabbed her hips in his hands, and lifted her with astonishing ease. Amelia held her legs open in expectation, and readied herself. She was about to experience what she had done back at her manor.
And she wanted it badly, more badly than anything.
"I smell your need, Amelia," he whispered. "Go ahead. Take it."
She held his hands and pulled him back towards the bedroom, and he obeyed. She fell upon the bed, and pushed herself up, spreading her legs further to make space. But instead, he reached down and grabbed her ankles, and with a forceful tug, yanked her back down the bed, till her arse was right on the edge.
"Oh!" Amelia groaned in surprise. Still holding her ankles, Harry pulled them up and around, resting them on his shoulders. Freeing his hands, he reached around one of her bare legs with one arm to hold them in place, and with his other hand, he reached down to grab his cock, pointing it directly towards its intended goal. Taking a small step forward, he angled his hips until his cock rested in place, pressing ever so slightly against the entrance to her waiting pussy. With his manhood in place, his other arm was now free to join the first, wrapping around her legs. Criss-crossing his arms, he opened his palms.
"Take my hands," he commanded, his hands waiting for hers. She didn't hesitate to comply, reaching down to grasp their hands. This was the moment of truth, the moment of destiny. After quite literally dying, she needed to believe that she — that her body, was just as she remembered. And having him skewer her insides with his mighty cock was the best way to do that.
Merlin! She practically felt like a virgin about to be deflowered. Her head falling back, she took a deep breath, and looked at him, embracing what was about to come.
"Fuck!" She groaned, as he pushed his cock forwards, meeting resistance against her tight pussy. It was so small and snug, and his cock felt big, so big.
"Goddamn Amelia, you feel tighter than before. I didn't think that was even possible."
She should have been crying out loud at being speared. Instead, all she felt was peace. A serene expression formed on her lips.
"Blame yourself," she said. "You practically regrew my virginity back."
Harry wasn't backing down, and her pussy was as ready as it was ever gonna be, burning with need, soaked with her juices. Something was gonna give, and they both knew it. Finally yielding, her plump pussy lips parted, allowing entrance to his battering ram, the head pushing inside of her.
"Ugh, not so fast!" she groaned, the size of his cock head almost too much to bear for her underworked pussy. She had not been joking about the regrowing of her virginity. When Harry had healed her body, somehow he had healed it back to the optimum level, and this was her deflowering. No matter what she had experienced before, this was the deep end, and for her pussy cared, she was attempting to take the biggest cock she'd ever encountered. But she was taking it like a champ, allowing more of him inside of her. The walls of her pussy soon swallowed up the entire head and first inch or two of his big dick.
"Mmm..." Harry grunted, flexing his hips, pushing more and more of his dick into her pussy.
"AH! FUCK!" She screamed out, her body shaking as it adjusted to the sheer size of the invader burying itself inside of her. With another moan, she fell back, doing her best to adjust to his size. It didn't matter if she had memories of having it in her before several times, it never felt bigger. She gripped his hands hard as they pulled at each other. Harry flexed his strong hips again, pushing more of himself into her. Soon... over half of his lengthy prick was in her pussy.
"Keep going... keep going..." she sighed, her throat tensed up as she adjusted to his size. "All the way!" Having given her his one shred of mercy, he wasn't gonna give her another. Yanking her hands towards him, he gave one last unholy thrust forward at the same time, burying the remainder of his huge dick into her insanely tight pussy, his torso colliding with her arse.
Amelia screamed out, feeling filled to the brim with an insane amount of cock. She knew that she had taken it before, several times in fact, but she also knew that this beast would never quite fit inside of her. But she'd have it or die trying, or else she just might go insane. With everything else happening, Harry's cock was the one constant companion she had, her rock against the tumultuous maelstrom of destiny crashing against her shores. Her pussy adjusted around the invader, spasming as it molded itself around his bone-hard pillar, her cunt practically reshaped by his dick.
"Deep enough for you?"
"NNNN… MY CUNT! FUCK! CUNT! NEVER…. SAME…. AGAIN! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!"
The orgasm came rushing like a waterfall gushing down a cliff. Her breath steadied mere moments later. For a long moment, both lay in companionable silence.
"Amelia?"
"Hm?"
"You know you can ask it, right?"
"...I've no clue what you're talking about."
Silence.
"Amelia?"
"Hm?"
"I know you're thinking it, and will go on thinking it, and I'll go on knowing that until you say it. So, go ahead. Ask it."
Amelia scowled. Was this how others felt when she cut short all the song and dance to get to the heart of the matter without giving two fucks about diplomacy?
"About that night… when I was possessed…."
"I wouldn't call it possessed," said Harry with just a trace of levity. "It was more like a subtle influence. There shouldn't be any lasting damage. As far as possession goes, it was pretty harmless —"
"That's not the point," Amelia uncharacteristically snapped at him in genuine anger, pulling herself back up on the bed to meet his gaze. The next moment, she regained her composure and pulled him into her, his cock sliding back into her pussy. "I.. for a moment, I genuinely believed that letting you, the necromancer you, in charge, was the right and only option. Anything else was unacceptable. Everything to do with your incubus side felt wrong, as if you were simply cheating on me with others with Auror Tonks and —"
"You're right," he held up his hands in surrender. "I screwed up. It was… incredibly foolish of me to absorb Voldemort's power. I… I didn't think."
"What do you mean by that?"
"Me and Voldemort are connected by this scar," he admitted. "Back in my old life, I was just told that it was a curse scar. One of the many, many half-truths that Dumbledore strung me with. A leftover of the time when he attempted to kill me as a baby."
"I'm guessing it's more than that?"
"It's a door. A door into both of our psyches, our magic, our souls, if you will. Remember that time when I had that dream shortly after returning from your place?"
Amelia nodded. "You said you unwittingly tapped into your connection earlier."
"Actually, I think it was the reverse. Whatever Voldemort did, it enhanced our connection, and he unconsciously drew in my incubus powers." He let out a soft sneer. "Not something he liked, for sure."
Amelia remembered that scene where the child-form clawed and bit into the woman's tits. It was mildly more than just repulsive. She pushed herself deeper down his cock and pulled his hands over her breasts, almost protectively.
But even more than that, the conclusion horrified her.
"He… he can tap into your powers?"
"Correction. We can tap into each other's powers. Not that he'd willingly do it. He lacks the first thing needed to exercise my charm."
Amelia blinked, before it hit her. Harry smirked.
"He sacrificed his Old man Thomas to elevate himself further. Apparently sexual desire can very easily morph into feelings of affection, and affection is anathema to Voldemort's apotheosis."
She didn't know whether to feel glad or nauseous at the image.
"But I digress. That night when I had the dream, Voldemort had unwittingly opened that door between us, letting my incubus powers flow through, while giving me insight into his mind. But you know the thing about doors is, they open on both sides."
A grave expression settled on his features. "I was flooded with his necromancy. It oozed out of my skin. I was fucking Hermione, and the necromancy… it flooded into her. I… I panicked, and gave in to my instincts, or… his instincts, I suppose, and coalesced all that power back into myself."
Amelia opened her mouth to chastise him before she thought better of it. "And?"
"And I succeeded. Thankfully Dobby was able to procure some goblin-made weapons from…. from the Black townhouse, and I channeled the power into them."
Amelia remembered Hestia and Emmeline using daggers to fight the werewolves. She had just thought they were cursed. But if they were enchanted with necromancy, no wonder they had such effects on the beasts.
But more importantly…
"I'm guessing Miss Granger was tainted by it."
"Dark magic leaves traces. The necromantic energy didn't kill Hermione, but it twisted her lycanthropy."
"Accumulation of anomaly," She muttered. "I imagine you're attempting to understand what she's become… becoming?"
Harry shrugged. "Not by much, except that she's a necro-beast."
There was an itch in the back of her head, as if someone was screaming a foot away from the back of her skull that she was an idiot for not spotting something obvious.
"Ring any bells?"
"...nothing right now. But I might find something later."
After combing through the DMLE Restricted Archives. Or the Hall of Obscured History or the Ministry Secrets Archive. Merlin knew that the Wizengamot had 'sealed' away quite a collection of 'obliviated histories' up there.
"What happened at the World Cup?"
Harry breathed out slowly again, regathering his thoughts. "I can only guess. Partly from what I experienced and partly from the insight through our connection."
"Go on."
"The attack on the World Cup wasn't just to strike terror into the hearts of the people, or cripple Wizarding Britain by killing you, and a significant number of the DMLE. It wasn't even just about the insurgency within the ranks either. At best, they were by-products. Side-benefits. It was a… harvest."
"A harvest? Of what?"
"Souls," said Harry. "Life energy. The spirits of the dead, the dying, their hopes, their despair, their curses, the lingering emotions… all of it. Lucius Malfoy had an enchanted dagger on his person, designed to do just that. A concentrated pot of energy like that… any necromancer worth his salt could use it to enact a variety of effects."
"What do you think He would have used it for?"
Harry frowned, clearly wondering how much to reveal. "There exists a necromantic convergence ritual, called the Hollowing. You'd need a vessel, preferably something soaked in death. A sacrificial totem, a hor…. something to hold the souls temporarily, like that dagger. And you need the event to be ghastly enough. That shocks the souls, makes it easy to drag them into the ritual. Else it's like pulling teeth, I swear! There are some incantations, and there you have it. A metaphysical buffet, complete with appetizers, entrées, and dessert. And you're the gluttonous piglet scarfing it all down. before you metabolise them into godhood."
"Godhood?"
"Well, not in the literal sense, but close enough. Something that could've given Voldemort a really awesome return, which makes me wonder, why didn't he try that the last time around? Merlin knows he might've even pulled it off!"
A ravenous hunger flickered across his features. "Obviously, I wouldn't have done that, but there were alternatives. I could have drawn all that energy directly into myself, and elevated my necromancy to a greater level. It would taint me, yes, but it would get me a closer feel to the boundary between life and death. I could twist the power into crafting mass inferi, using Contagion and hemomancy, or perhaps undead warriors like the Chinese emperors did with their armies. Or fashion some dark artefact, not unlike the Serratura. Instead of all that, I committed something atrocious."
"You helped the dead have their vengeance."
"Exactly, such a waste," he said and Amelia noted the displeased expression on his face. Not for the first time, she wondered if Harry was truly as unaffected by the necromancy as he portrayed or believed himself to be.
"What happened during the attack on Voldemort?"
This time he paused, his eyes shifting rapidly. It was hilariously easy to see he was going out of his way to not give any relevant details about this 'connection' as he put it. She didn't know if he was doing this because he was afraid of her realizing something, or if he didn't trust her because of… what happened.
Suddenly, she wasn't sure she wanted to find out.
But his little reveal earlier had some interesting implications.
"That snake," she said slowly. "It too shared something like your connection, didn't it?"
He flinched. It was barely perceptive, but she saw it.
"You've got to understand that the snake was immune to magic. Well, conventional magic, anyway. You and Emmeline could have thrown your best curses at it until the two of you were blue in the face, and you'd only manage to annoy it, at best. But my animagus form… me — that's different. I share the same taint that it does. Spiritually, we have the same energy."
"The one thing you can't defend against is yourself," muttered Amelia dourly. Nobody knew that more than her.
"If you have already absorbed necromantic power twice with no repercussions, what went wrong with Voldemort?"
Harry frowned again. "I… I can only guess."
"Good enough for me."
"That child… thing, the snake...it was a part of a set. An extremely defined set. Somehow, this has been, for lack of a better word, emphasized exponentially, to the point that it's almost a rule in itself. The set is somehow more important to this thing than itself."
"This thing, meaning Voldemort?"
"...Yes, and no," he hesitated. "That child-like thing was Voldemort, that much is — was, certain. But the set, that's… more closer to being Voldemort? Ugh, this is difficult. A more accurate representation of what Voldemort is, was, can be, I suppose? Somehow, that child-thing was part of that greater whole, and it is this greater whole that gives it its complete identity."
Amelia suppressed the ominous chill that snaked down her being.
"...Harry, you — you're part of that set, aren't you?"
This time Harry did flinch. "I… am." He met her eyes, hesitance clear in them. "It is why we share this connection. It is what… I am assuming, gave me the power of Parseltongue. It's what allows me to sense whenever he's nearby, and at times, to dive into his subconscious."
"And I suppose he could do the same?"
A hesitant shake of his head was her answer. "Not to my knowledge, no. Part of it is… whatever Li— whatever my mom did, when she sacrificed herself to save me. Part of it is the wards at Privet Drive, which is why Dumbledore made me live there. Or maybe it's because I spend most of the year inside Hogwarts —"
"Not Hogwarts," said Amelia briskly. "Albus Dumbledore removed several of the original protective barriers back during your first year to allow entry of a certain Mirror, one I believe you are well-acquainted with."
"Bugger," he muttered. "It's like he's going out of his way to—"
"Arrange confrontations between yourself and the Dark Lord?"
Harry stayed silent.
Amelia grabbed his palms and pulled them between her breasts tighter. The sheer idea of losing him to the Dark Lord sent shivers down her spine. Harry had accomplished so much, he had come back to the past. Unknowingly perhaps, that feat gave Amelia the chance at life she had not even believed possible, and now, after all this, the fact that the shadow of that monster was far from gone from their lives made her want to wrap Harry up in cotton wool and depart to some faraway country.
"When Emmeline killed that child-thing, all of Voldemort's energies exploded outward. Given how potent it was, I can only imagine he was juicing up for quite a while in that form. I thought… I thought I could just absorb it like before, and that's where I fucked up."
Amelia twisted her body, meeting his eyes. "How?"
"I… I never stopped to consider that there's more to necromancy than raw power. When I took in that energy, I took in… more. His essence. I didn't know if it could affect our connection, make it more potent, that letting him live on as a wraith could ensure he got a greater connection to me, now that we were so closely entwined. I was stupid. I didn't think."
"I… I see," she said, still processing this new information. She could definitely believe what he was seeing. For all his planning and games, Harry was rash by nature. What did he hope to accomplish, though? Was it only to save her and Emmeline from being scorched to death? Or was there more?
"Why did you do it?"
"It doesn't matter now. It's occurred to me since that night that my plan is… beyond madness."
"...Harry?" she asked, uncertain of what he meant.
He raised his gaze, looking at her straight in the eye. "There is a reason why the opposing powers of Incubus Lord and Necromancer exist within me, and why I can… so to say, jump from one to the other. But it isn't without cost. What I did that night was… to bridge the gap, in a way. And that backfired on me. Luckily, I managed to backtrack things before it was too late."
"You compensated with your incubus powers, didn't you?"
He stiffened.
Amelia laughed at his expression. "Don't be so surprised. I might not be an incubus, but I have my fair share of experience with succubi. The allure is as much part of them, as is their magic. If you didn't bother keeping your allure down at the World Cup, I gathered there was another reason why you feel so… normal at Hogwarts."
"It's tied to that, yes."
"And that's the complete truth?"
He grimaced. "It's as close to the truth I can offer that you can accept."
Amelia scowled, but didn't press. But it was clear that the mood was completely destroyed. Pulling herself further up on the bed, she crossed her legs, giving him space to sit.
"What about this… set? I'm guessing it contains more than just the three of you, correct?"
"Seven," muttered Harry. "Unless I'm mistaken."
"Seven," She whispered, unsure whether to be awed or horrified. Seven was one of the most powerful numbers in Arithmancy. Repeated seven times, an amplification set into any spell, ritual or concept. But the next moment, her Occlumency slid her mind back into focus. "So, if the snake is destroyed, that leaves…. Five, including Voldemort himself."
"Six," corrected Harry. "I'm still one. Not that I plan on destroying myself any time soon."
"But you know how to get rid of it?"
"Sort of," he said with a cagey expression. "There are advantages to having this connection. It's a priceless asset I'm not giving up."
"That priceless asset nearly killed Hermione Granger!"
"It's also what helped bring you back."
"And made me a liability," Amelia growled, not willing to give up the fight. "Harry I… the last thing I want is to become a tool for that dark wanker against you. As far as I am concerned, no amount of positives can equal that negative."
She let out an irritated huff, allowing some of her body language to relax. "In all my years of living, if there was one thing I truly believed to be my own, it was my fortified mind. But this summer… it has shattered all my paradigms. You came into my life, breaking every single rule I had crafted for my life, and made me jump on your cock screaming for more. You twisted my relationship with Susan; you raised me back from the dead, gave me more magical power than I can even believe, and now this happened… It's like I can't even tell if I am me at this point."
Harry swallowed a grimace, not meeting her eyes.
Amelia opened her mouth to chastise him some more, before she thought better of it. She dropped herself back against the bed, and looked away.
"Harry, tell me the truth. What's really cooking inside that head of yours?"
"That," came a surprisingly feminine voice from above her, one that sent shivers down her spine. "Is the biggest question of all, isn't it?"
Amelia spun around, her eyes widening at the sheer impossibility of what she was seeing.
"Good evening," said Narcissa Black, naked as the day she was born, straddling her exactly how Harry had been just a second ago.
Amelia opened her mouth to draw in a terrified breath…
Amelia Bones's private quarters, Hogwarts.
"GAAAAH!"
The sound of her roomie screaming made Emmeline jump in surprise. She quickly drew her wand and rushed to the Director's bed, who was now sitting upright, panting as if she'd just run a race.
"Director! What's — what's wrong?"
Amelia looked around for a few seconds, before accepting that she was firstly, in her living quarters with Emmeline; secondly, awake, and most importantly, not naked.
"Just…" she breathed. "Just a bad dream."
"Really?" asked the obliviator skeptically. "You screamed when you awoke. Did anything happen?"
Amelia shook her head. "Not really. Just… a nightmare, I think." She frowned, as she tried to remember.
What was I dreaming about when I woke up? Something about… Harry? Narcissa Black?
Closing her eyes, she used her Occlumency to assert control over her mind palace, and try to retrieve it. But the memory of the nightmare refused to come. Amelia was left only with the firm impression that it was something important that was lost to her now. Something she would need to recover sooner rather than later.
Notes:
Find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Next update is on 23rd July.
Chapter 161: Rising Tensions Part 1
Notes:
I came to know that someone named NeverluckySMILE has stolen this story and is posting it on Webnovel as HARRY POTTER - SEDUCING DESTINY. It would be much appreciated if you can report this person.
webnovel.com/ book/harry-potter-seducing-destiny_31821180908245205/chapter-1-musings-of-a-god_85443767867333643
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 4 - TRIWIZARD TROUBLES
CHAPTER 161 - RISING TENSIONS PART 1
Cho had always found the Hufflepuff common room to be the warmest in the castle — not in temperature, but in atmosphere. The golden light from enchanted lanterns reflected off the stone walls in a gentle glow, and the round doors that led to the dormitories felt like the burrows of some peaceful animal rather than the quarters of competitive teenagers.
Which was why Cedric Diggory pacing like a storm cloud felt so utterly wrong.
She'd come in with the idea of comforting him, maybe even teasing him a little about the usual good-natured grumbling she expected after the Ministry's announcement. Instead, what she found was something cold brewing beneath that golden warmth — Cedric's smile was nowhere to be found.
"They really think we're not enough," he muttered, half to himself.
Cho leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. "You mean the age change?"
He stopped, turned sharply. "They dropped it to sixteen, Cho. Sixteen."
She nodded slowly. "Yeah, I heard. Not exactly fair, but it's probably political, right? I mean it's a joint decision by the Ministries —"
"It's an excuse," Cedric snapped, louder than she'd expected. "An excuse to get Harry bloody Potter to participate in the tournament. It's like they don't even think of us as worth anything. I'm a sixth year Prefect. Davies? He's the Head Boy, even though he's a smug git. There's Johnson, and Bole, and so many of the sixth and seventh years that can represent Hogwarts. But no! They want Harry bloody Potter because he cast a protego or two to help that Frenchman, De Lacor something—"
"Delacour," Cho helpfully supplied.
"Yes, him. So Potter's the Ministry's golden boy, and the rest of us are just… placeholders?"
That struck her. Cedric never talked like that — not about Harry, not about anyone. He'd always been the kind to give everyone the benefit of the doubt, even people like Zacharias Smith, who didn't deserve it. Even Davies, who had always been a pain in the arse to Diggory over the years, never got an audible reaction out of him.
But over the past few days, her boyfriend had been increasingly irritable about the Triwizard tournament. At first, she had thought his father must have sent him a letter, but he hadn't. Amos Diggory was apparently away on Ministry business.
"You think Ha… Potter asked for this?" she asked gently, trying to gauge where this was coming from.
Cedric scoffed. "That's not the point. It's not about him asking — it's about the system bending around him, again. They've made it clear. We're not enough. They had to lower the bar just to get him in. Makes us look like we're not even contenders."
She hesitated. There was a tightness in her chest — not fear exactly, but something bordering on it. Cedric wasn't wrong. Not really. The school was shifting. Cedric had been adored as the 'King Puff' ever since fifth year, but since the start of term, Hufflepuff House had shifted. Susan Bones, one of the loudest voices in the House, had shifted to Harry's side. As had Hannah Abbott. She had of course heard about Amelia Bones taking over as the Potter family regent shortly before the summer ended, and already there were whispers about something going on between Potter and Susan varying from a secret romance to rumors of a betrothal round the corner.
It didn't help that Potter, apart from coming into his family fortune, had the most unfair growth spurt that had him looking like he was twenty instead of sixteen, while filling up nicely in the right spots. Before the summer holidays, he looked malnourished, especially with those baggy clothes, despite all the goodness that quidditch had done to his body. Now though?
Cho remembered glancing at Potter at the Welcome feast. Gone was the baby fat, the malnourishment and those glasses. Instead was a young man as tall as Cedric, with his messy black hair, and a face that was a mix of rugged handsomeness and cunning smoothness, standing with the belief that the world was his to command. She had seen his sharp, alluring, emerald eyes flickering across the hall, as if stalking the entire Hall for prey.
She didn't know about the other bits, but Harry was definitely a contender now, at least in the looks department.
"Ced… You're… you're overthinking it."
"Am I?" Cedric's voice rose. "Have you seen how everyone's talking? Even in our House. People are wondering if we're just going to roll over and let Potter take the spotlight again. Like he deserves it by default."
Cho opened her mouth to respond, but he wasn't done.
"Last year, I beat him at the Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff Quidditch match. He was stupid enough to go and get shit-faced with the dementors, and fall off his broom, while I caught the snitch. But you know what they say? That I only won because he was surrounded by dementors. As if my own skill doesn't even matter! Why? He's got the fame, sure. But I've got the record. What I don't have is a narrative. He's got a sob story, a scar, and now apparently the Ministry's backing."
"Cedric," she said carefully, stepping closer. "You're starting to sound like—"
"Like someone who's tired of playing fair in a game that's rigged?" he cut in, gaze burning. "Good. Because that's what this is."
Cho shifted uneasily. She decided this wasn't a good time to tell Cedric that she had been dreaming of Potter recently.
"I don't want to fight Harry," Cedric said after a pause. His tone softened, but the edge didn't vanish. "But I won't let them bury us. Not like this."
Cho found herself nodding before she could stop. "So what do you want to do?"
Cedric looked at her, really looked, and something passed between them — not quite trust, not quite desperation, but close. "We're going to talk. Properly. House-wide. I want every Hufflepuff, fourth year and above, in the Common Room tonight. They need to know this isn't just about Harry. It's about how we respond when we're told we're second-rate."
"You want to rally them."
"I want to remind them who we are."
Cho bit her lip. Part of her still felt this was all too fast, too reactive. But the other part — the part that had watched the Gryffindors eat up the rumor like honey, that had seen Roger Davies nearly explode in frustration at breakfast — knew Cedric wasn't alone in his thinking.
"All right," she said at last. "I'll talk to Summerby and Reed. They'll get the word out fast."
"Thank you," Cedric said, some of the fire in his eyes replaced by something gentler. "Really."
She offered a faint smile. "Just don't go full Gryffindor on me and start shouting speeches from tables."
That pulled the ghost of a grin from him. "No promises."
As she turned to go, Cho felt the warm air of the common room press against her skin — but it no longer felt comforting. It felt close. Heavy. Like something inside the house had shifted, and there was no going back.
For the first time since the Tournament was announced, she wasn't sure who she was supposed to cheer for.
As she stepped toward the corridor, Cedric called out again — quieter this time.
"Cho?"
She turned back, one hand still on the rounded door frame. He wasn't pacing anymore. Just standing there, eyes shadowed by the flickering lamplight.
"Do you think I'm wrong?"
She froze.
Cedric had always been composed — reliable in a way few others were. That question, stripped bare of confidence, shook her more than all his anger from earlier.
"No," she said softly. "Not wrong. Just… different."
He tilted his head. "Different how?"
"You're not usually the one who starts fires," she said with a faint smile. "You put them out."
He looked down, one hand rubbing his jaw. "Maybe it's time someone lit one."
There it was again — that sense of a tide shifting beneath her feet. And she wasn't sure if she was swimming with it… or being swept under.
She walked back toward him, each step echoing against the common room stone.
"I'll help," she said again, firmer now. "But you need to be smart about this. The last thing we need is Dumbledore catching wind of some sort of anti-Potter movement. You aren't Draco Rosier."
Cedric nodded. "No banners. No slogans. Just clarity."
Cho chuckled dryly. "You've been rehearsing that one, haven't you?"
"Only for the last ten minutes," he admitted.
A pause stretched between them. Then Cedric said, "You think he knows?"
She blinked. "Knows what?"
"That the rule was changed for him?"
She hesitated. "Maybe? You can never be sure about Potter. Half the things we hear about him, I'm not sure if they're just rumors or something else."
Cedric let out a long breath. "That used to be enough of an excuse."
Cho didn't respond to that. Because deep down, she wasn't sure it was anymore.
Later that evening, after classes had ended and dinner had been picked clean, Cho found herself walking the length of the Hufflepuff corridor once more. The hallway was buzzing. Word had spread fast — Summerby, true to form, had passed it to three friends, who'd each passed it to three more. The result was the slow build of movement and murmured expectation in the air, like the pressure before a thunderstorm.
She reached the common room again and slipped in just as the room was filling. Had this been Ravenclaw, the others would have demanded a non-member leave during a meeting, but this was Hufflepuff. And being Cedric's girlfriend had sort of given her an honorary position.
Cedric stood in the middle like he'd been carved from something older than nineteen — taller, broader, a little sharper around the eyes than the boy she'd met years ago on the Quidditch pitch. He didn't say anything at first. Just let the silence build.
When it was quiet enough that the only sound was the gentle gurgle of the barrels behind them, he spoke.
"Alright. I won't waste your time. I know there's a lot being said. In the corridors. In other Houses. Even in this very room. And I think it's time we stopped whispering and started talking — honestly. The Ministry lowered the age limit for the Triwizard Tournament. Originally nineteen. Now, sixteen."
He let that hang in the air.
"They're saying it's about inclusivity, but let's not pretend we don't know why. They want Harry Potter in the Tournament."
A few students murmured. Some nodded. A few frowned.
"They're bending the rules," Cedric continued, his voice steady. "And it's not the first time. Every time something happens — the attention, the headlines, the drama — it all circles back to him."
"You sound jealous," Susan Bones cut in, folding her arms.
Cedric blinked, but didn't flinch. "Maybe I am. Just a little."
The honesty disarmed some. A fifth-year boy near the sofa chuckled nervously.
Cedric continued. "I've worked for this. We all have. Studying. Training. Excelling. For most of us, the chance to represent Hogwarts with honor, is a dream. And now, the message from the people above — the people who are supposed to believe in us — is that our dreams don't matter unless they fit the narrative."
He met Susan's eyes.
"I'm not angry because he's Harry Potter. I'm angry because I'm being told, because we all are being told — quietly, carelessly — that we're not enough. That Hogwarts needs someone more special. That our years of preparation, of excellence, our dedication — none of them stack up against one boy with a scar. And you know what? That stings."
Cho stood by the wall, watching the effect. Heads nodded. Shoulders squared. Even the usually shy ones looked more alert.
"I think we all feel it, whether we admit it or not. Last year, I scored Runners-Up at the Under-19 duelling circuit. I've got top marks in every Defence course, every Transfiguration class. I've been putting in the hours every single day, quietly, day after day. And I'm not the only one that does. Alicia Spinett from Gryffindor got a chance to intern with the Falmouth Falcons, but nobody talks about that. Roger Davies, our Head Boy, wrote a paper on the Potion of Effulgence, and got an invitation to the Alchemist's Convention at the Arcanum Magisterium. But nobody writes about that. The Prophet isn't writing about any of us. It never does."
The entire hall was now whispering.
"All it takes is one glance at Potter, and everything else falls into the background. If it's not about the mysterious disappearance of a professor that had attacked him, it's about him being a parselmouth. Stories. Endless stories. Trips to the mythical Chamber of Secrets, battling some monstrous basilisk that nobody, not even the petrified victims can remember, and if nothing else is available, then it's about the mass murderer that comes to Hogwarts to attack and kill him. It's like Potter is the only one worth the media attention, and we're all just… scenery. Supporting cast. Waiting for the Chosen One to step into the spotlight again."
Zacharias Smith snorted. "As if! You might as well believe in those Adventures of Harry Potter story books."
"Then I guess the Bulgarian and French Ministries believe in them too," snapped Susan, attracting everyone's attention. "The Wizengamot session? The Minister's press statements? Am I the only one that did any reading?"
Finding blank faces gawking at her, Susan adopted a condescending leer. One she had seen her aunt employ way too many times at lesser people to stop them in their tracks. One that she had herself gotten face-first several times over the summer.
She exhaled. "You're not wrong, Cedric. "
That surprised a few people. Even Cedric tilted his head slightly.
"You're right to be frustrated. You're right that this doesn't feel fair. And I know you've worked hard. You deserve respect for that."
She paused, letting that settle — soft, measured, but deliberate.
"But you're also letting your pride blind you."
"What do you mean, Susie?" asked Ernie Macmillan.
Susan stepped up and stood next to Cedric, arms crossed but spine straight. Her expression wasn't of anger, but disappointment.
Just last term, her standing next to him would have demonstrated support. Now, it was a symbol of their House shattering, their faith slowly dividing and falling into chaos.
And there was only one person on Earth that Cedric could blame for it.
The tension in the room returned, a low murmur spreading behind her.
"You talk about the Ministry twisting rules for Harry. But you leave out why they're bending over backwards. And not just the Ministry — the world. You say they want Harry in the Tournament? You're right. Because without him, there wouldn't be a Tournament at all."
Zacharias scoffed somewhere near the back, but Susan didn't waver.
"Sebastian Delacour — France's Minister of External Affairs — gave an interview to the international press less than a week ago. He said, and I quote, 'Harry Potter saved my life and my daughter's life. He is owed a debt that France will never forget.' That's not some school rumor. That's from the man whose signature was required for the Tournament to even happen."
She stepped closer to the center of the room now, her voice rising.
"Harry fought off Lucius Malfoy during a diplomatic assassination attempt. He healed the French Minister after he was cursed. And he personally saved him and his daughter from a death trap no fourth year should have even known how to handle."
Some heads turned. Faces were shifting. Even a few of the seventh-years looked unsettled.
"And while France softened when they'd have nearly pulled out of the Tournament because of that attack, Bulgaria saw an opportunity. They wanted the basilisk sales deal so badly, they started pandering. The Bulgarian Minister gave three pro-Britain interviews, all highlighting Harry's role. Why? Not for patriotism. Not for Hogwarts. Because they didn't want to lose face in front of the ICW. And the best way to make Britain look good — was to make Harry look good."
"Then why not just make him the Hogwarts Champion?" Cedric all but seethed. "Why go through this farce?"
"Because," said Susan. "The Ministry and Hogwarts actually cares about the dedication you and all of us put through, Cedric. It didn't make Harry the Champion by default, it just gave him, and everyone from fourth year and above, a chance to become the Champion. If you're so sure that you deserve being Champion, put your name in and see if the goblet selects you. Yes, the age limit was dropped. Yes, it's political. But not because Harry's some Ministry puppet. Because he's the only reason we're hosting the Tournament at all. The Ministry didn't bend the rules for him to get a free ride. They bent them because he already paid the price before any of us even saw the Goblet."
Cedric opened his mouth, but Susan raised her voice.
"I'm not saying you shouldn't want to compete, Cedric. You're talented. You're capable. And you do deserve it. But don't turn this House into an echo chamber of resentment because you feel overlooked by the spotlight that, frankly, Harry earned in fire and blood."
There were murmurs now — some in agreement, others uncomfortable.
"And don't stand there and say we should 'stand behind Hufflepuff' if what you mean is 'stand behind your bruised ego.'"
That landed hard.
"I'm loyal," Susan said, more softly now. "To this House. To this school. And yes, to Harry. Because loyalty doesn't mean closing your eyes when it's inconvenient. It means standing with the people who've earned it — even when everyone else wants to tear them down."
She turned to the room, addressing them all now.
"You want to train for the Tournament? Good. Do it. Be ready. Be proud. But don't pretend the world hasn't already chosen its symbol — because whether you like it or not, Harry Potter is the reason Hogwarts is part of this tournament's history again."
Susan stepped back. Not smug. Not triumphant. Just firm.
"I'll support anyone who gets chosen by the Goblet. Including you, Cedric. But I won't stand by while we rewrite the truth to make ourselves feel better."
She stepped down, and Cedric staggered, flabbergasted at her sudden and vicious riposte. Cho watched all of her boyfriend's carefully-built arguments scatter in the ash. For a moment, she wondered if all of this had been a bad idea…
And then Zacharias opened his mouth.
"Yes, Susan. We know exactly where your support lies. Your aunt's the new Potter Regent. Convenient timing, isn't it?"
"That's unfair!" Hannah snapped.
Gasps and murmurs followed.
Susan's face went cold. "You think I'm supporting Harry because of my aunt?"
"I think you've done a full reversal since summer," Zacharias said. "You used to call him reckless. Now he's your golden boy?"
Susan stepped forward. "My issues with Harry were personal, not political. But I've seen him take blame for things he never started. I've seen him stand when people like you would've folded."
Zacharias opened his mouth to retort, but Hannah raised her voice, surprising them all.
"Can't we just admit that both things might be true?" she said. "That Cedric deserves to compete. That Harry might not have asked for this. That the Ministry's choices are the real issue, not each other."
The room shifted. Some heads nodded. Others didn't.
"Susan is right," said Cedric at last. "But in a tournament that has already been bent on giving Harry Potter a seat at the table, what's to guarantee us that the selection won't be a sham? That it's all an illusion of fairness, guised under some ancient artefact that's enchanted to select Potter no matter what?"
"What are we even talking about then?" asked Susan, crossing her arms. "Must there even be a Triwizard tournament?"
Cedric shrugged. "There is."
Neither said anything. Meanwhile, a camouflaged little lizard listened to every single thing from the wall.
Similar events were unfolding in Ravenclaw house. Someone among the Hufflepuffs must have shared something with some Ravenclaw, and the next thing they knew, Ravenclaw Common Room was playing host to a similar setting.
The common room table that was supposed to be for homework, but tonight it held only the smoldering remains of civility.
"Just say it," snapped Roger Davies, slamming his palm down hard enough to rattle ink bottles. "Dumbledore's playing favorites. Again."
Around him, the common room buzzed, students clustered in tight circles, ears tilted in like dogs scenting blood. Cho leaned forward, watching Roger more closely. Something in his face had gone beyond irritation — it was pride, wounded and bleeding.
"He's Headmaster," said Padma Patil, her arms folded tightly across her chest. "Favoritism is a strong word."
"Oh, is it?" Roger scoffed. "First year — Potter gets special dispensation to fly in McGonagall's class and winds up on the Quidditch team. Second year — the school practically shuts down, and who's allowed to wander the castle after curfew while everyone else is on lockdown? Third year — Sirius Black, werewolves, private lessons, broom upgrades. And now this year, the Goblet rule just happens to be lowered right in time for him to enter."
Anthony Goldstein raised a brow. "That's not Harry's fault."
"No, it's Dumbledore's," Roger growled. "And we're all pretending we don't see it because Potter has a scar and a sob story."
A few students snorted. Even Terry Boot, who usually kept quiet, muttered, "He's not wrong."
Padma's voice cut through. "You're just being paranoid."
Roger glared at her. "Am I? Are we?Or did everyone forget the Quidditch World Cup? The Death Eater attack? Where was Dumbledore? Who stepped in to 'save the day'? Oh, right. Potter, who just happened to be there, again."
"That's a stretch," Anthony said, frowning.
"Is it? Or is Dumbledore grooming him?"
The room stilled.
"Grooming him for what?" Padma said, voice hard.
"To take his place," Roger said. "To be the next Head of the school. Or the Ministry. Or the ICW, for Merlin's sake. Whatever throne Dumbledore's eyeing next."
Frankly, Cho thought Roger was being ridiculous. But there were some things you just didn't do when your boyfriend was fighting with a similar stance.
"Is it? Because I see the way the staff treats him. I've been in meetings with the Head of Houses. I've watched how Flitwick makes special notes on Potter. Apparently Dumbledore keeps Potter for last during the teacher meetings. It's not favoritism. It's succession."
"That's enough," snapped Su Li, her voice colder than the lake. "He's a sixteen-year-old boy, not a bloody prince."
Roger turned to her. "Then why does the world treat him like one?"
A fifth-year girl piped up from the corner. "Because he saves people."
Roger rounded. "Does he? The way I see it, he's just that reckless to dive into danger headfirst all the time. A bloody Gryffindor! And somehow, Dumbledore just rigs the point system year after year just to make sure Potter's House wins."
"It's not his fault he's there," Padma said.
"No — it's Dumbledore's fault for putting him there."
"Or maybe he just trusts Harry," said Anthony quietly.
Roger turned on him. "Then he shouldn't be Headmaster. He should be Potter's godfather. Because he sure as hell is not treating the rest of us equally."
"That's not fair," Padma said. "Harry doesn't ask for any of it."
"Doesn't matter," Terry Boot chimed in. "He gets it. Power. Recognition. The Goblet age-drop is just the latest example. Cedric's one of the best duellists Hogwarts has ever seen! I'm going to be a Potions Master and go places. Bloody hell, Cedric and Johnson are both being scouted for the Spring Leagues. This is about representing Hogwarts by the best and brightest, and now we're supposed to believe that somehow, fourth years need to be given the chance too? Because sixth and seventh years aren't good enough? That's not a joke — that's an insult."
Another voice — Morag MacDougal, quiet until now: "What if he does get picked? What happens to the rest of us? What happens to the whole point of the Tournament?"
"They'll call it fate," Roger said bitterly. "They always do."
Su Li stood. "You all sound like Slytherins."
"Maybe they're just the only ones willing to say it out loud," Anthony murmured. "Don't know about you, but I don't want to see myself just be a pawn on Dumbledore's chess board."
There were nods.
And far away in a corner, Luna Lovegood quietly closed her eyes, like she was listening to a conversation only she could hear. She didn't even care for the tiny little grasshopper that was buzzing around the room.
Outside the House walls, the castle felt different. Staircases shifted a little faster. Paintings whispered a little louder. The walls listened — and something inside Hogwarts, something older, stirred at the sound of rising voices.
The Tournament hadn't even begun.
And already, the war had.
Notes:
Find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Next update is on 29th July.
Chapter 162: Rising Tensions Part 2
Notes:
I came to know that someone named NeverluckySMILE has stolen this story and is posting it on Webnovel as HARRY POTTER - SEDUCING DESTINY. It would be much appreciated if you can report this person.
webnovel.com/ book/harry-potter-seducing-destiny_31821180908245205/chapter-1-musings-of-a-god_85443767867333643
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 4 - TRIWIZARD TROUBLES
CHAPTER 162 - RISING TENSIONS PART 2
Hermione sat near the fire, legs curled beneath her, one hand stroking the binding of a thick black-leather tome she wasn't reading. Her other hand held a quill hovering above her parchment, unmoving. She hadn't written a single sentence in twenty minutes.
Her eyes, however, read everything: every movement, every whisper, every flicker of emotion bleeding across faces too naive to know they were being watched.
The Gryffindor common room stank of sweat, wool, and rising smoke — the kind that lingers after fireworks, or just before something explodes.
No one was studying. No one even pretended to. Clusters of students whispered furiously near the fireplace or the windows, their words half-swallowed by the low roar of the conversation.
Someone — Seamus maybe — had said something stupid. Something about Harry. Something about the Goblet. She hadn't heard the words. She didn't need to. The tone was enough.
"...Ravenclaw's saying Dumbledore's grooming Harry to be the next Minister of Magic."
That one came from Lavender, who wasn't even bothering to lower her voice.
Across the room, Seamus said to Dean. "Ten thousand galleons, mate. Imagine what I could do with that. A firebolt, a flat in Diagon Alley and then some to keep in the bank. Maybe a new wand for me mam. She'd be so proud."
Dean chuckled. "You can't even hold your wand straight without blowing up something during Charms. You'd get flattened by the First Task."
"As if you'd do any better," Seamus scoffed. "Hey, I know, maybe Neville will be Champion."
Poor Neville, who was drinking something, instantly threw up, spitting it at Katie Bell sitting right opposite him.
"Yakk!" She screamed, as Alicia hurried forward to cast a Scourgify.
"No, no thanks, I'll just let Harry put his name in," the poor boy mumbled.
"I heard the Hufflepuffs will be submitting a petition to Dumbledore," said Lavender Brown, who was plugged into the Hogwarts gossip vine. Whenever, whenever, if something was happening at Hogwarts, then Lavender knew about it. Rumour was that she had used her family gold to finance an inter-house tabloid, and was looking for potential columnists.
"They want Harry to not participate in the tournament," said Lavender. "Diggory is convinced that the tournament is a sham, and the organisers are using the Goblet of Fire as an excuse to choose Harry as the real Hogwarts Champion without appearing to choose favorites."
Hermione's claws itched beneath her skin.
She thought she had it bad when Harry had confided in her about what happened in his prior timeline, about how the moment his name came out of the Goblet of Fire, his world turned on him. His friends, classmates. Even Ron. They didn't stand with him. They didn't believe him. Instead, he was left to walk into death traps alone while the people he cared about whispered behind their hands.
And now, they were doing it again.
Granted, things were different this time around. In fact, one could almost call the circumstances opposite. The last time, Harry hadn't put his name, since no one below the age of seventeen could get past Dumbledore's Age Line. This time, the organisers had intentionally lowered the age limit, allowing Harry, alongside every fourth year and above, to try their luck.
The last time, Harry had been just a fourth-year, with barely enough skill to cast a Protego without Hermione teaching him. He had been little more than a spectator, and knew as much about the tournament as any other muggleborn. This time, he was a predator, a powerful incubus lord whose skill at magic often left her floundering in self-doubt, one who was one of the most charismatic men she had ever interacted with, and one that was literally playing against the entire Wizengamot in a game of shadows. He had all but defeated his greatest enemy, and was now at school to further his agendas. The little ego-games of school children barely registered on his radar, much less spared any thought.
And yet, there they were, rising up in rebellion against the idea that Harry might be selected as Hogwarts Champion. As if by doing the same thing, they weren't showcasing their own insecurities and limitations.
Honestly, Hermione couldn't be bothered with giving a fuck about them. Cedric Diggory was, in her eyes, a dead man walking. In the original timeline, he had been killed by Peter Pettigrew right before Voldemort returned to life. She already had a hard time classifying him as anything more than 'future corpse'. But the fact that this little sonofabitch was throwing a temper tantrum and provoking all of Hufflepuff, when Harry had practically lived with the guilt of seeing him die and being powerless to stop it in his original timeline made the beast inside her snarl.
The werewolf had no patience for nuance, for half-truths dressed up as opinions. It didn't want to listen to Lavender Brown simpering about 'real champions', or Romilda Vane's oily charm. It didn't want to hear Ginny Weasley, soft-mouthed and sharp-eyed, weaving silken suggestions that smelled like treason.
They were turning the castle against him.
Again.
And Hermione could taste the blood in the air.
"Oh please," Parvati Patil was saying. "Bar Harry Potter from putting his name in? Has Diggory gone barking mad? The press will have a field day. I can already see the headlines. The newspapers will paint him as a loser and a fool, afraid of losing to Potter. They'll claim he's panicking, afraid that his single victory against Harry in Quidditch was a fluke."
"Assuming the Headmaster even entertains that proposal," snorted Fred. "It'd be bloody ridiculous!"
"Right'o. Ten thousand galleons, mate," said Seamus. "You'd be a fool not to want to get that."
"Harry doesn't need ten thousand galleons," said Alicia. She paused, and then looked around, expecting rebuttal. When nobody objected, she continued. "I mean, he just came into his family fortune, didn't he? And from what the newspapers claim, he'll be making several hundred times that amount from the basilisk sales alone."
Hermione, who did have an idea of exactly how much gold Harry had at his disposal, couldn't help but snort at that. Yes, her lover was filthy rich, and he wouldn't be getting richer or prosperous by ignoring potential opportunities like the Triwizard tournament. Even ignoring the prize money, the sheer amount of international exposure that he could garner would be incalculable.
Especially with every single newspaper — international and domestic, eyeing on the Goblet, expecting to see his name come out.
The fools from Hufflepuff could cry foul all they wanted, but the truth was that Harry Potter's name sold the papers, not their demands born out of their insecurities over falling under Harry's shadow. Not that they'd ever really understand that.
As if to prove her point, Exhibit A just entered into evidence.
"Well, I don't know what Diggory is up to, but I'm putting my name in."
She didn't look up. Didn't even need to.
Ron Weasley scribbled furiously on a crumpled scrap of parchment. His brow was furrowed, lips tight, as if the act of writing his name was a battle with destiny.
Her lips curled — just slightly.
"Really, Ron?" she said, soft and sharp.
He was standing near the center rug, puffed up and pink-faced, quill still in his hand. He didn't look at her directly.
"Why shouldn't I? Everyone's acting like it's just for the older kids, but the rules changed. Anyone can win now."
Hermione smiled slowly, like a wolf baring its fangs in sleep.
"Anyone?" she repeated. "Is that what you're telling yourself?"
He bristled. "I've got just as much chance as Cedric or Roger—"
"Or pigs flying out of the Astronomy Tower," she said, her voice a blade dipped in honey. "This isn't chess, Ronald. People have died in this tournament."
A few chuckles. Someone snorted behind him.
Ron flushed deeper. "I'm not a joke. And I'll make you see that for yourself."
Hermione stood up. A sudden wintry draft spread across the room.
This…. This was just like how Harry had described. In the future-that-was, Ron had chosen to walk away from them when they needed him most. Left him in the tent, left her in the tent, and made his choice — again and again and again.
And now?
He was doing it all over again.
Hermione clenched her teeth and growled in her throat.
It wasn't just rage.
It was something deeper. Bone-deep. Pack-deep.
A memory wrapped in fur and blood and moonlight.
She turned away from the bastard, the scar on her right arm itching, burning — the one she'd gotten fighting beside Harry when no one else could stand.
She had chosen him then.
And she would choose him now.
Ron Weasley could choke on his jealousy.
Let him try to win a tournament he had no business entering. Let him think that his stupidity and brawn was enough to outmatch skill. Let him parade himself in front of her like a stag in rut, imagining for even a second that she could be his.
He'd left.
He'd betrayed them.
And now he wanted her?
Now that Harry stood taller, richer, brighter than all of them?
Now that Hermione had grown claws to protect the one person in this damned castle that had never turned away from her, not even once?
She bared her teeth. The wolf in her didn't forgive. Didn't forget.
And neither did she.
She stepped forward slowly, barefoot against the rug, each step smooth and silent. Her presence pressed down like gravity.
"See what?" she said, circling him like he was meat left too long on the butcher's table. "That this is your moment? That if you enter, and by some miracle—some fluke of fate—you're chosen, I'll suddenly forget every pathetic little whimper you've ever made. That I'll fall to my knees and worship the brave, bold boy who finally stood tall."
Ron flinched, jaw clenching.
She leaned closer, her breath feeling like heat against his cheek.
"Is that what you want, Ron? My approval? My attention?" Her tone was sickeningly sweet. "Or is it my body you're after?"
Gasps rippled through the room. Lavender's hand clamped over her mouth. Seamus stood frozen mid-stretch, one arm half-raised like he'd forgotten what it was for.
Ron's lips parted, then shut.
"Oh don't be shy now," Hermione said. "This is what you wanted, isn't it? All eyes on you. You've spent years biting your tongue every time someone praises your best mate. Now's your shot. Be a man. Show us you're worth the parchment your name's scrawled on."
She reached out and snatched the crumpled entry from his trembling hand. She didn't tear it — just looked at it, lips curled, then let it fall into the fireplace.
It hissed and burned.
Ron's breath hitched.
"Ten thousand galleons," she murmured, turning her back to him. "That's a lot of money. Might've bought you a better spine."
She stepped away, brushing imaginary dust off her arm.
"Here's some advice, Weasley," she said, loud enough for all of Gryffindor to hear. "You want to be a champion? Start by not tripping over your own need to be seen."
The silence was a scream.
And then she was gone, vanishing up the stairs like smoke rising from the coals.
Behind her, the common room sat hollow and stunned — the ghost of her words clawing at the walls long after her footsteps faded.
The silence in the common room was still thick when Ginny slipped away from the crowd. Ron was standing near the fire like a boy freshly gutted, his face blank, the charred edge of his Triwizard entry curling in the flames. No one approached him.
No one approached Hermione either.
She was already gone — swept up the stairs, barefoot, silent, and untouchable. She left behind only the memory of heat and humiliation, as if she were the fire itself.
Ginny sat on the window ledge, arms wrapped around one knee. She didn't speak.
She didn't need to. After all, she had just watched it all unfold — not with shock, not even with sympathy, but with a cold thrum in her chest.
Hermione Granger, the golden girl, the werewolf, the one with claws behind her books, had torn Ron to pieces in front of half the House.
And the shocking bit? Ginny loved it.
Oh, she hated that she loved it, but she loved it all the same.
Hermione was most beautiful when she was cruel — radiant, powerful, inhuman in the way only something touched by magic and blood and ancient things could be. She had Harry's attention. His respect. His heat. His everything.
Ginny had been in Harry's bed. She'd felt his mouth on her throat, heard the way he said her name — but it had never been her name alone. She was borrowed warmth. He never needed her.
Not like he needed Hermione.
Or that Jones woman for that matter.
And Ginny was done being the girl he smiled at absently between rituals and runes.
"Well, that was something."
She turned to find Romilda, smelling of perfume and bitterness, her hair tossed over one shoulder, as she slid onto the bench beside her.
"You saw that?" Romilda asked.
"What's to see?"
Obviously that was a rhetorical question, for Romilda continued, ignoring her response.
"I should've kept him. I had him. End of last year, before the term ended. If I'd known what he'd turn into... Merlin, the power on him now is just…."
She trailed off.
A tiny smirk played on Ginny's lips. "You thought he was just a notch for your bedpost."
Romilda shrugged. "Didn't know he'd become a castle."
"Yeah, and we're not the only ones that missed it," she said, gesturing at Lavender who sauntered in their direction, twirling her curls around her finger, eyes flicking around the room.
"Can you believe it?" She whispered. "Hermione just declared war."
"What are you talking about?" asked Romilda, frowning.
Ginny exhaled. For all her exuberance, Romilda missed the more subtle powerplays. She, still supposed she couldn't really blame her, given how subtlety barely had any need to exist inside the Gryffindor common room.
"In one shot, she practically yelled that Harry was the Alpha in the tower, and that she was his feral queen. She might've used Ron to make a point, but it was a challenge to every guy out there."
"Isn't that… you know, going to get matters worse?" asked Romilda, confused.
"For the old Harry, perhaps," said Lavender. "Last term, he was the silent, brooding type. Choosing to hide away in obscurity. Hermione challenging the status quo would've made things tough for that guy."
"Harry doesn't hide in obscurity anymore," said Ginny. "He shines in audacity."
"Exactly," said Lavender. "Hermione didn't try to quell the tension. She elevated it to the degree that all focus is going to be on Harry, like it should."
Ginny looked between the two of them. She knew them — ambitious, pretty, calculating. And shallow like hell.
Neither of them could be trusted. But she didn't need trust right now. She needed tools.
"What are you suggesting?" she asked, voice low.
Lavender smiled. "Why, we take the game back."
"By doing what?"
"Well, if Harry Potter is going to get all the male attention, we'll give him the female one," offered Romilda.
"I don't know if you've noticed, but Harry Potter isn't exactly starving for attention right now," Ginny scoffed. "Especially the female kind."
She remembered his birthday party. At the people invited.
And something told her that Hestia Jones wasn't the only older woman interested in her.
"You think you're going to seduce your way past a werewolf?" Ginny asked, eyes sharp.
"A werewolf that's practically screaming to be left alone?" whispered Lavender. "Already she's living in separate quarters. Think that's going to change any time soon?"
"Makes no difference,' said Ginny bitterly. "Only gives Harry more incentive to skip being here and fuck her all he wants."
"So we give him a bigger, better incentive," said Romilda, her voice conspiratorial. "While Hermione's burning bridges with her brother, making enemies in every corner, and scaring off the weaklings — we're going to become the face of reason. Of comfort. Of stability."
"Haven't you heard? Susie Bones is playing the same exact thing. She went against all of Hufflepuff and Cedric and voiced her support for Potter. Think she's not angling for something fierce? What if the three of us join arms, and seduce Harry together?"
But even as the idea settled, Ginny felt the iron sting of resentment deep in her throat.
She didn't want equal footing.
She wanted to win.
And if the other two thought she'd share whatever throne came of this, they were dumber than she looked.
The two dunces thought they were playing checkers with Harry. Maybe they even thought that with Hermione isolating herself from the rest of the house, they'd be able to get more of Harry's time with impunity.
Fools!
But even fools had their uses. The two would serve as a proper distraction against Hermione who practically went all Dark-Queen on everyone else. And while the two poles were busy negating each other, Ginny would squeeze in and have Harry for herself.
Like she deserved.
Still, she smiled. "Alright," she said. "Let's begin."
Across the Tower, Angelina Johnson watched from the stairs.
Her arms were folded, and her face was unreadable, but her jaw was tight.
She'd heard the rumors too — how Harry had walked away from the Ministry richer than a Gringotts vault, how he'd handed a betting slip to Fred and George last summer and made them thousandaires overnight.
They worshipped him now. Called him "boss" in private. Even Lee Jordan had started echoing their praise.
And Angelina?
She'd been left behind.
She'd flown harder, trained longer, led the team through brutal losses and near-misses — and still, he was the name everyone spoke. Not her. Never her.
Angelina didn't speak to the girls gathered in the window.
She didn't need to.
She had her own game to play.
But in that moment, watching Ginny Weasley smile like a blade being sheathed, she realized this year wasn't about Triwizard champions.
It was about queens.
And some of them were ready to kill to rule.
The Slytherin common room flickered green and gold in the hearthlight, casting the walls in a slow, rippling glow. Water dripped somewhere far behind the stone — rhythmic, pulsing, like a slow heartbeat echoing beneath the dungeons. This was a world of shadows, stone and teeth.
But Daphne Greengrass didn't sit in the shadows. She wore them.
She lounged across the emerald chaise like a bored queen, bare feet tucked beneath her, head resting against one pale arm. The silver in her hair clip caught the firelight. As did her eyes, which were fixed at Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini, who were arguing over a game of wizard chess like it mattered.
It didn't.
None of it did.
Except for him.
Harry Potter.
The anomaly in the system. The spanner in every pan. The one piece not made of wood or glass or simple, predictable ambition.
He was the storm.
Everyone else was just playing tag in the rain.
Daphne inhaled slowly. From across the room, a pair of third-years whispered something about Hermione Granger's outburst and Ron Weasley's disgrace. Daphne tasted the words on the air like perfume. Bitter. Embarrassed. Salted with secondhand humiliation.
Delicious.
She closed her eyes and let it pour into her — that hot, messy emotional runoff. Confusion. Insecurity. The tangled lust that Brown wore like lip gloss. Ginny Weasley's coiled jealousy. Vane's quiet, predatory hunger.
It was a buffet.
And none of them knew they were feeding her.
Blaise finally noticed she hadn't spoken all evening. "You're quiet, Greengrass," he said, smirking slightly, idly tapping a bishop against the tabletop. "Planning something?"
"Planning is for the predictable," she said. "I'm just watching."
Blaise raised an eyebrow. "You've been 'just watching' for days straight. Ever since the Goblet rumors started."
She opened her eyes.
"I'm savoring the moment," she replied. She stood, stretching in a lazy coil, like a cat sensing birds on the edge of the garden. "And no, not the goblet. The response."
Theo raised a brow. "Of what? Granger losing it in front of her House?"
Daphne tilted her head. "Granger? No, no. That was nothing. A little territorial posturing. Necessary, even."
Blaise frowned. "So what are you savoring, then?"
She stretched languidly, like a cat waking in silk. "The way they're all scrambling. Flinching. Reacting. They think this is about the Tournament. About age rules. Or favoritism. Or Merlin help them, romance."
She chuckled — a dark, low sound that made Theo glance over warily.
"They think they're playing chess," she continued. "But they're all playing Clue. Blundering through hallways, trying to find out who killed the social order."
"And you?" Theo asked. "What game are you playing?"
Daphne smiled. "I'm watching the castle turn into a stage. And I'm the only one not clapping."
The fire popped behind her.
Blaise leaned forward slightly, cautious. "You think someone's deliberately engineered this?"
"I know," she said. "The ripples are too clean. Too elegant. A little whisper here, a silence there. And now look — Gryffindor's eating itself. Ravenclaw's in a logic spiral. Hufflepuff unity is gone. And we —" she gestured around the room, "—are sitting here, pretending we're not fascinated."
And the funniest bit? Harry Potter himself hadn't even said a word. But every House was bleeding because of him anyway.
She paced slowly in front of the hearth. She could feel it — in the way people walked faster past certain portraits now, in the way the staircases turned more eagerly toward whispered corridors. Hogwarts itself knew something was coiling in the dark.
Something bigger than a tournament.
And maybe it was Potter.
Maybe not.
But he was always near the center when the pattern frayed.
Theo crossed his arms. "You're obsessed."
Daphne's lips parted in a grin. "Of course I am. You can't smell the storm and pretend you're indifferent. I still don't know who or what is behind this, but I'll find out."
Daphne turned slowly, one finger trailing across the stone shelf. They didn't understand. They couldn't. They didn't feel what she felt — the tight, radiant crackling of emotion rising across the school. Like heat under the floorboards. Like breath before a scream.
She was feeding constantly now. Ginny's jealousy. Romilda's growing desperation. Ron's seething shame. The fear of ordinary students realizing they were extras in someone else's story.
It was intoxicating.
But even that paled beside the low, electric hum that vibrated along her skin whenever she passed him in the corridor.
She never spoke to him. Never reached. Never touched.
But she felt it — the weight of something just behind his smile.
Daphne didn't know what it was.
And that, finally, finally, made her curious.
Not afraid.
Not cautious.
Just hungry.
"And what happens when you find out?"
"Why darling," she said, voice like velvet wrapped around razor wire, "that's when the real game begins."
The dungeons had gone quiet.
The heavy lake-water hush settled thick against the stones, muting the usual creaks and hisses. Moonlight filtered in through the enchanted windows, pale and blurred like the skin of a drowned pearl. The other girls were asleep — breathing slow, rhythmic, forgettable.
Daphne lay still in her bed, eyes open in the dark.
She wasn't dreaming.
She was listening.
The sheets were cool against her bare legs. Her breathing, shallow. Her thoughts low and curled in on themselves like smoke.
She'd been feeding all week. Sipping from fear in the corridors. Gorging on whispered insecurities. Letting jealousy from Gryffindor girls melt on her tongue like sugared fire.
And yet, something tonight was… wrong.
Not sour. Not spoiled.
Resistant.
Somewhere in the undercurrent — in the unseen river of feelings that flowed through the castle like veins under skin — there was a pulse that didn't belong to her.
It didn't fear her.
It didn't recoil or collapse.
It was tasting her back.
Daphne's lips parted. She inhaled slowly, not breath but feeling.
Desire.
But not romantic. Not even adolescence.
Predatory.
And beneath it, a calm so profound it made her stomach tighten — like stepping into a lake and realizing too late there's no bottom.
She turned her head slowly on the pillow.
The dormitory was the same. Drapes swaying gently. The others murmuring in sleep.
But something — someone — was brushing against her through the atmosphere of the school. Not touching her physically. Not even mentally.
Emotionally.
It felt like someone else had reached their hand into the sea she swam in... and was now trailing their fingers along the current.
A ripple.
Not hers.
Not summoned.
Not fed.
Aware.
Daphne closed her eyes and sank deeper — into herself, into the river of whispers that wasn't made of words but of tension and warmth and that subtle ache that passed from student to student in sleepless beds.
There.
She found it again.
It was... smooth. Cool. Intentional. Like silk sliding over steel.
It pressed against her senses with no introduction, no threat, no signature.
It simply said - I see you.
She exhaled, her pulse quickening — not in fear, not even in thrill.
In recognition.
Whoever it was didn't want to frighten her. Didn't want to break her mind or bend her will. They weren't a dementor, and they weren't clumsy.
They were… curious.
And that, more than anything, made her mouth curl into a slow, delighted grin.
Someone was inside the current.
Someone was responding.
She didn't know if it was a dream. She didn't care.
She licked her lips and whispered to the dark, a breath barely audible. "Come find me, then."
The ripple paused — and she felt it pause, like a held breath.
Then it was gone.
Withdrawn.
Silent.
But it had heard her.
And that was enough.
Notes:
Find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Next update is on 9th Aug.
Chapter 163: Rising Tensions Part 3
Notes:
Sorry for the delay. I was going through a terrible phase in my life, where familial, medical and financial troubles hit me repeatedly. I swear it was getting hit on the face with Murphy's Law -- whatever can go wrong, will go wrong. Not that the situation has abated, which it hasn't, not even in the slightest, but at least I got to the point where I wrote a chapter. Updates will resume now. I will try to give extra updates this month to counter last month's. And no, that's not a challenge to the universe.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
BOOK 4 - TRIWIZARD TROUBLES
CHAPTER 163 - RISING TENSIONS PART 3
An excerpt from the Daily Prophet…
A TOURNAMENT FOR ALL… OR JUST ONE?
CONTROVERSY BREWS AT HOGWARTS OVER AGE SHIFT AND SPONSORSHIP POLITICS
By Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent
"The Triwizard Tournament returns to Hogwarts for the first time in over a century — but not everyone is raising their goblets in celebration."
For the first time since the last blood-soaked failure of the Triwizard Tournament in 1792, Hogwarts has been selected to host the legendary magical competition. International cooperation is at an all-time high, thanks in no small part to the daring heroism of young Harry Potter, who reportedly saved French dignitaries from assassination and aided in the aftermath politics of the highly publicized Quidditch World Cup disaster.
For many, Mr. Potter is more than a boy. He is a symbol — of resilience, of unity, of a future Britain that doesn't bow to fear.
But in the aftermath of Harry's many public victories, questions are beginning to bubble beneath the surface of the celebration.
As per the initial Directive submitted to the ICW earlier in December last year, the age requirement for entry into the Triwizard Tournament stood firm at nineteen years, allowing only students that had passed their OWLs successfully the chance to submit their candidature. But after a surprising emergency session held behind closed doors on August 30th between the Heads of State of all three participating schools and other relevant personnel, the age requirement was quietly lowered down to sixteen.
No official statement has explained the shift.
And while it has allowed a significantly larger pool to submit their names for the competition, one name has gained far more attention than others.
Harry Potter.
The coincidence, to some, feels less like a happy accident… and more like preparation.
Insiders from the Department of International Magical Cooperation suggest the rule change was a "collaborative decision," citing pressure from unnamed foreign ministries and "recent demonstrations of magical maturity from younger witches and wizards."
No names were given.
But one cannot help but note that the only young wizard of age sixteen currently hailed in both French and Bulgarian press is… our own.
Let us be clear — Mr. Potter is a hero. His actions have earned him international gratitude. No one forgets the image of him dueling beside the French Minister or offering healing magic far beyond his years. The wizarding world owes him a great deal.
But here at home, questions are quietly gathering around Headmaster Albus Dumbledore.
Was it truly necessary to reduce the age limit for a deadly tournament whose previous attempt led to fatalities?
And more pointedly — Was this done at the urging of Hogwarts' own leadership?
Whispers abound that the Hogwarts Board of Governors received the new age rule as a fait accompli — bypassing the usual vetting protocols. Several have expressed concern that "this Tournament is being shaped around Harry Potter's legacy, rather than skill."
Dumbledore, ever silent on procedural matters, has so far refused to comment. Naturally, the internal tension at Hogwarts is reportedly escalating. Anonymous sources from within the school confirm that certain upper-year students, particularly from Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, are growing vocal in their frustration.
"We respect Potter," one sixth-year student said. "But the rest of us aren't training our entire lives to be outshone by a boy who's already been on the front page ten times before his fifth year."
This reporter also notes whispers of unrest between former friends, including one known to be Potter's longtime companion, now said to be preparing his own Tournament entry.
Even more curious: Hogwarts' own Hermione Granger, an academic darling until recently, has reportedly developed a sudden violent streak when it comes to defending Potter — including an incident in the Gryffindor common room that sources described as "embarrassingly public."
Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge, when reached for comment, praised Potter's international achievements but clarified:
"This is not about one boy. This is about tradition, about unity, and about the future of magical education. The Ministry supports the Tournament — and Hogwarts — but we will be observing closely to ensure no individual, no matter how famous, is afforded undue advantage."
Sources suggest the Ministry may be assigning an official observer to Hogwarts during the Tournament.
There is no doubt that Mr. Potter is a remarkable young man, and one whose courage has inspired not just Britain, but magical communities across the world.
But when a competition built on danger, legacy, and diplomacy suddenly reshapes itself around a single boy's profile, the question must be asked:
"Is this the resurrection of an age-old tradition? Or the crafting of a coronation?"
Only time — and the Goblet — will tell.
Until then, the world watches.
Office of the Minister of Magic…
The office of the Minister for Magic had never felt so cold.
Not even the enchanted fireplace, crackling with bottled summer heat, could thaw the quiet that had settled after Rita Skeeter's article had made its way to every corner of the country.
Minister Cornelius Fudge sat behind his enormous desk, fingers steepled, eyes narrowed at the front page of the Daily Prophet. Rita Skeeter's article was spread before him like a dissected animal. The reporter had proven useful in the past, but she remained a dangerous quantity nonetheless.
The smell of over brewed tea lingered in the air, curling through the walnut-paneled room like a nervous thought.
Cornelius slowly stirred his cup. No sugar. He'd lost the taste for it recently.
The door creaked open.
"Minister, you wanted to see me?"
Dolores Umbridge's voice was all butter and arsenic. She glided in wearing a pale pink robe and a matching bow perched in her curls like a rosette on a toad.
Fudge gestured without looking up. "Close the door, Dolores."
She obeyed.
He didn't speak right away. Just tapped one plump finger on Harry Potter's face — right there, top left corner, looking noble and irritating.
Dolores took the seat across from him without being invited. She folded her hands neatly over her clipboard.
"You've read it?"
"Three times," she trilled, as though admitting to a guilty pleasure. "Miss Skeeter does have such… bite. Quite improper, of course, but most entertaining."
He placed the spoon down with a little more force than needed.
"Did the article displease you, Minister?"
"I feel like I'm stranded, Dolores. None of this… none of it makes sense. I always knew Lucius was slippery, yes, but this? Stirring up half of Europe, then vanishing — ruining his own name, his own reputation. And for what? To leave me standing here with the mess? With a— a blasted hero-shaped hole in public trust?"
"Hem! One that was very quite nicely by a Potter."
"Yes, that's the bit that doesn't make sense. I've met the boy — polite enough, quiet, doesn't care for the spotlight. Not what you want in politics, no, but harmless enough. Of course, he's been famous since he could toddle, so maybe he never needed to chase it. Then there was that whole Black business last year — dreadful — but the dementors sorted that neatly. Only now… this summer… it's as though the whole world's gone mad and he's at the centre of it."
Dolores said nothing.
"Taking over his family fortune. The entire thing with letting Lucius's brat off the hook despite the unforgivable, his dealings with Narcissa Ma… Black… All of this… unexplained mess that Lucius caused and vanished, leaving Potter in charge of House Black's assets… None of it adds up."
"You think there's a conspiracy?" She asked slowly.
"I think… I think somebody's been playing a clever game from the shadows," Cornelius muttered, then quickly added, "Yes. Clever. Though I can't— I won't say who. Not yet."
"Potter?"
Cornelius shook his head, or at least, tried to, before freezing midway. "I am… I can't be sure. Had this been last year, I'd have said no. But I've met him at the World Cup, Dolores, hobnobbing with me and the others like a seasoned politician. But… no, maybe a tool at best. Not this… malicious."
"If I may, Minister," she cooed, "doesn't it sound ever so like Albus Dumbledore? He does love his secrets. Perhaps a few… gentle reminders in the Prophet might help. Nothing cruel, of course — just a little polishing of the Headmaster's halo until it shows the cracks. Keeping the Golden Boy golden of course!"
Fudge sighed. "That's the problem, Dolores. He is golden. Gilded in every paper from here to Paris. France adores him. Bulgaria's singing his praises. And now this Tournament — this bloody Tournament — is shaping up to be a pottery wheel spinning around one boy's legacy."
A dark scowl formed on his face. "And then there is Bones. She's no longer the neutral DMLE head. I remember the Bones and the Potter families go way back. Taking up the Potter Regency… She's taken the boy under her wing. Publicly. Legally. She might be up to something."
He exhaled, slow and bitter. "With Lucius gone, I don't have a pureblood purse to lean on. The Montroses are too cautious. The Notts and Selwyns? Too bloodthirsty. The Gamps are cowards. And Potter's faction — Potter, Black, Bones — is clean. Too clean."
"Dangerous," Dolores corrected.
"Worse," Fudge said. "They don't need me."
He stood and crossed the office, facing the enchanted window where artificial daylight streamed over an illusion of Diagon Alley. A family of magical mannequins shopped cheerfully in the frostless spring, unaware that their Minister was watching them crumble from within.
"They've taken the press. They've taken the narrative. I can't even call the boy reckless anymore — he's the reason the French and Bulgarians signed on to this bloody Tournament in the first place."
He turned.
"And now Amelia Bloody Bones is the one overseeing his vaults, his political protection, his public face."
Dolores smiled a little. "Which means you can't touch him. Not directly."
Fudge tapped a finger to his temple. "Exactly. If I push too hard, I'm the Minister who bullies orphans and war heroes. I'd look monstrous, Dolores, monstrous. But if I do nothing… Well, then he grows. And grows. And suddenly I'm the Minister who let it all happen."
Umbridge's eyes glittered. "Then perhaps it's time to prune the garden," she purred, adjusting her bow. "You know how dangerous it is when weeds are allowed to spread."
Fudge looked at her for the first time. "Prune? Are you barking mad, Dolores? We can't touch the boy! At all!"
"Of course, Cornelius," she backstepped sweetly. "I only meant… making certain he didn't get an overinflated sense of ego from all this. Children often become arrogant, forgetting who their betters are. Harry Potter should understand who's at the helm."
Cornelius nodded like a weary elephant.
"Perhaps, Cornelius, if you allow me, might I make a suggestion?"
"If offered in good faith, I suppose."
"Perhaps it might be possible to send me to Hogwarts? The British Ministry has yet to approve of an official liaison for the Tournament. I can ensure that the tournament follows all the approved compliances and nobody is… rigging it for their own purposes. And unofficially…."
"You can keep an eye on Dumbledore!"
"And Potter," she added softly, before bowing her head. "With your permission, of course."
Fudge frowned. On the one hand, the idea had merit. On the other hand, he knew the woman was as caustic as they came. He really hoped this wouldn't come back to bite his arse.
"Fine. But whatever you find out, bring it to me first. And we'll decide together what's in the best interest of magical Britain."
Umbridge's fingers twitched. "Minister, if I might suggest, a little diplomatic power would be good. No doubt you know that Albus Dumbledore will offer his own resistance."
"True. True."
"And then there is Potter, and the other students," she said sweetly, almost relishing it. "Children can be so tiresome when they think they know better than their elders. Staff too. But rules are rules, Minister, and I do so love enforcing them."
"If you — if I make you the liaison, you cannot continue holding your post as Senior Undersecretary, Dolores."
"Perhaps you could just keep the position suspended for my time there?"
"Alas," said Cornelius. "These are strenuous times. With the Triwizard happening at the door, having my Undersecretary suspended would look ill on me. I was thinking of the Weasley boy — Perky, I think his name is. Headboy from this year's exams, but Barty has him working for him."
Something dark flickered in the woman's features. "No, no, I refuse to have someone with little experience muddle things up. I take my job responsibilities very seriously, Minister. Perhaps, I might offer a name?"
"By all means."
"How about… Priscilla Edgecombe? She works in the Archives Department."
"I hardly think —"
"It's like you said, Minister," said Umbridge. "These are strenuous times, and you need someone competent at your side. Plus, her daughter Marietta is at Hogwarts — in Harry Potter's year too, I believe. I'm certain she could come in… useful."
Cornelius considered that. He knew a losing battle when he saw one. "I suppose I can rely on you to arrange the paperwork."
"Of course, Minister," said Dolores sweetly. "Anything for you."
Inside Amelia's temporary quarters at Hogwarts…
The room was silent except for the slow crackle of wood in the hearth and the soft scratch of a quill against parchment.
Amelia Bones didn't look up from the Prophet she was annotating. It was already marked up in red ink, neat slashes of cursive spilling across Rita Skeeter's article. She knew the piece by heart — had before the eggs had even gone cold at breakfast.
Hestia Jones sat cross-legged with her wand and a cloth, oiling the wood in slow, almost prayerful strokes. Emmeline Vance had claimed the windowsill, sleeves shoved to her elbows, legs tucked up, riffling through a thick blue dossier.
None of them had spoken much since morning.
It was better this way.
"I didn't think Skeeter could do subtle," she said at last. "She accused everyone — Dumbledore, the Goblet, the Ministry, judges, everyone but Harry."
"Sometimes you can just leave the target blank and paint everything else too," said Emmeline.
"Crafty cow," muttered Hestia. "This isn't a hit piece. It's an invitation. She's telling Fudge — if you want to move against them, now's your moment."
"And Skeeter never works for free," said Emmeline.
"Someone's paying her," said Amelia. "Someone's playing a nice little game and trying to distract us by talking about all of these people."
Her fingers traced the corner of the article, now folded to show only the headline.
"... resurrection of an age-old tradition? Or the crafting of a coronation?"
The implication was clear. Harry wasn't just participating — he was being anointed. And Dumbledore was once again cast as the aged puppet master pulling his strings.
But no one would dare to question Harry directly. Not with the blood of werewolves still drying on his wand, nor with the French Ministry singing his praises, or with Bulgarian editorials calling him "the Iron Youth of Britain."
Instead this was an attempt to undermine the structures around him. Sow doubts in the roots — not the fruit.
"Fudge will obviously react to this," said Emmeline.
"Cornelius Fudge is a simple man," said Amelia. "So long as he thinks he's stable, he'll turn a blind eye to things. But conversely, make him think there's a risk to his stability, and he can be very quick to decide. Even rash."
"I don't think losing his cash cow Malfoy made him stable, Director," said Emmeline. "Malfoy's death sent him running for the hills buck naked. I don't think he'll do anything but react."
"And that's an image I really didn't need," Hestia quipped.
"I fear that's right," exhaled Amelia. "Fudge is probably scared of Harry, but I'm guessing he's far more terrified of me."
"You?" Emmeline smirked.
"I'm the one who knows where the bones are buried," Amelia said simply, smirking at Emmeline at her clever use of the pun. "And now I'm sleeping in the same tower as his biggest liability. I'm the Potter Regent, and the DMLE Head. And, he knows this, I can't be bought. Lucius Malfoy might have been a thorn on the DMLE's back all this time, but with House Black and Potter's aid, Cornelius knows that the DMLE will spring back to form soon. If I know him right, he thinks I am the puppeteer making Harry jump."
"Too bad it's the other way around," said Emmeline. "And it's Harry's cock that's making you jump."
Amelia glared at her. "I remember telling you —"
"No private discussions," said Emmeline, raising both hands in surrender. "But don't worry. I warded the place."
"Wards can fail."
"Oh I know," said Emmeline. "Which is why I left trackers to help us identify if there's anybody attempting to bypass the wards."
Amelia scowled but didn't comment.
Emmeline strode across the floor and began reordering the parchments. Student rosters. Incident logs. Daily psychological profiles. The tension at Hogwarts wasn't abstract anymore — it had names, voices, and fault lines.
"Seventeen student incidents this week," she read out softly. "Ten arguments turned verbal. Four physical. Three magical."
Albus Dumbledore had gotten old. In his haste to get all his opponents in one basket, he had ignored what he was giving them. The poor fool had never really thought about the implications of letting a seasoned Legilimens a free reign on the student body under the guise of checking for 'residual effects of the imperius curse'.
And, while it was illegal to cast Legilimency upon a student without prior permission, the same couldn't be said about using eavesdropping charms or enchanted little familiars to spy on them.
"I heard Susan was quite vocal about her support for Harry," voiced Emmeline, and Amelia smirked. She was rather proud of how far her little Susie had grown this summer. Not only was she resisting Diggory, she was attacking anyone who questioned Harry's integrity. Hannah Abbott was with her — no surprises there, while Macmillan was cracking under group pressure, but hadn't quite broken yet. The Patil twins were surprisingly on Harry's side, though whether that was because of loyalty or private agendas remained to be seen.
"I don't understand," said Hestia. "From what Harry told us, the Triwizard Champions were originally selected from sixth and seventh years. What changed?"
"Harry did," said Amelia. "As much as we hate to admit it, the Triwizard isn't just a scholastic competition, it is a show. A commercial enterprise upon which a lot is staked. Harry saved Sebastian Delacour and the Bulgarian Minister of Magic is already in Harry's pocket. Between all that, and saving Britain's arse from the Quidditch World Cup massacre, lowering the age was a political thank you, wrapped in a favor."
"Even if that favor gets him discredited?"
"Not their problem," said Amelia with a scowl. "The Department of International Magical Cooperation claimed that recent events showed that magical maturity is not solely defined by age. They have heard the tales, read about the exploits, and the basilisk sales deal is the icing on the cake. Diggory and Davies can yell and protest all they want, but the truth is that the international audience wants to see Harry Potter performing on the international stage. Lowering the age limit is merely an excuse to legitimize his participation."
"So… if Diggory and the others want to become the Hogwarts Champion…" Hestia began.
"Then they'll have to prove that they are better than Harry Potter," said Emmeline. "Though it's more interesting to see Albus's reaction over it. Not that I'm surprised, after everything."
Amelia pursed her lips. The Headmaster didn't seem even the slightest discomfited. If anything, he looked satisfied. Like a gardener watching kindling catch on damp wood and knowing it would eventually light.
She exhaled.
To the casual observer, Albus Dumbledore appeared every inch the genial sage — eccentric robes, twinkling gaze, maddening riddles laced with syrup and shadow. But Amelia had served through two wars and across four Ministers. She knew predators when she saw them.
And Dumbledore — for all his sweetness — was a strategist.
No. He wouldn't intervene in the unrest bubbling up across Hogwarts. Not until he was certain he knew how far it would go.
That was the part that twisted inside her — a slow, iron-cold clarity. Dumbledore saw this growing student rebellion as a diagnostic tool. A pressure gauge. A barometer for the ideological fault lines running through a new generation of witches and wizards. Amelia wanted to pretend she was wrong, but this was the same man who had hidden the bloody Philosopher's stone in the third floor of Hogwarts and then told the students about it.
The Ministry, Amelia thought, would have moved quickly — with decrees, with discipline, with punitive restructuring and restricted speech. That was how Cornelius operated. How Bagnold had before him. Control through policy. Stability through force.
But Dumbledore?
Dumbledore wanted them to reveal themselves.
Amelia leaned back in her chair, eyes fixed on the crackling fire. She replayed the expressions of the students during the forum — Cedric's controlled outrage, Davies' accusatory logic, even Zacharias Smith's cautious insinuations. All of them had been navigating a system they didn't trust anymore.
And Dumbledore had let them voice it all.
He hadn't defended Harry. He hadn't defended the school. He'd let the tension fester, let the Ministry fumble its defense, and waited, as if he wanted to see what Harry would do.
Because what would interference do?
If Dumbledore silenced the unrest, the anger would turn to Harry with renewed vigor. If he punished the students, they'd unify against him. Either way, he would polarize the school.
Instead, he was doing nothing.
Not out of neglect. Not out of hesitation. But because he understood the oldest rule in warfare and politics alike.
Never interrupt your enemy when he is making a mistake.
"Director, in all his tales, Harry never mentioned a student uprising. Nothing like this."
"In his tales, he was little more than a puppy that had been kicked too many times, as a fourth year. Not the… Harry, we know." She exhaled sharply. "Like it or not, the future is changing, for better or worse. We have to be ready for whatever curve balls it throws our way. Speaking of," she turned to Hestia. "Have you gotten the data I asked for?"
"About the Goblet?" asked Hestia. "Still in the cogs. The Department of Mysteries is being quite cagey about it."
Amelia frowned.
"Did you say who asked for it?"
Hestia bobbed her head. "They claimed that the Goblet is the presiding judge for the Triwizard Tournament. They claim that leaking the history of the goblet might allow a third party to enchant it. And as the Regent of House Potter, you are officially in 'conflict of interest'."
She arched an eyebrow. "I am also the DMLE Director."
"They are advising to select someone from the Auror squad to act as the DMLE representative in this case. They even suggested you consider Auror Gawain Robards for this."
Robards? Amelia mused. Robards in many ways, was much like her. Focussed, rule-abiding, often to a fault and nut stubborn. His track record was practically unbeatable, and the only reason he was still not Chief Auror was because he lacked any and all sense of tact that was often necessary in dealing with the bureaucracy.
Still, it was mightily odd for the Department of Mysteries to stick their nose into Ministry bureaucracy.
"If I might ask," said Hestia. "Why are you interested in the Goblet's history?"
At her raised eyebrow, Hestia clarified. "I mean, you already knew that the tournament was in the works for quite some time. And you said it yourself, given Harry's performance during the World Cup, the lowered age requirement is a thank-you wrapped in a favour."
"That was before I knew about the committee's decision to let the Goblet be the judge," said Amelia. "If Voldemort put Harry into the Triwizard and had him survive the tasks, there has to be a reason for that, right?"
"He was portkeyed —"
"If all that sick bastard wanted was to portkey Harry to a foreign site, use his blood and kill him, then there were endless ways to do so. There was absolutely no need to twist the entire tournament to select a fourth Champion, and make him survive dragons, mermen and all sorts of dangers just for that. Make no mistake, Harry might be a survivor, but back then, he was just a fourth year. We cannot expect him to know exactly what Voldemort had in mind."
"But Voldemort is —"
"What? Sealed away? Didn't stop him from trying to possess me, did it?"
That shut her up.
"Send a letter to the ICW Archives. See if it is possible to get a courtesy copy of the Goblet's history. After what happened at the World Cup, I don't want to find myself dealing with the repercussions of dealing with a magical relic that nobody truly understands."
"What if we just cut short this red tape and get the details directly from one of the organisers?"
"Miss Jones," said Amelia curtly, turning over the pages of her file. "You are the assistant to the Director of the DMLE. Surely you do not expect me to allow you, much less join you in anything illegal?"
She grabbed a quill and underlined a name.
"Absolutely not," said Hestia with a straight face.
"Good," she said, and held the file up. "I have marked some names in there. Some of them have unflattering histories, which might cause issues in the tournament proceedings. We don't want anything to ruin our image."
"Absolutely," Hestia repeated, and grabbed the file.
"Good, so long as we are in agreement."
And then she turned and left.
Hestia watched her go, and then opened the file. Inside it was a list of people that were involved in the Triwizard. And among them, was underlined a single name.
Ludo Bagman.
Notes:
Find me on https://linktr.ee/penthusiast
Next update is on 12th September.
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He_Who_Should_Probably_Not_Be_Named on Chapter 2 Wed 04 Oct 2023 07:21PM UTC
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Paul2500 on Chapter 2 Wed 12 Jun 2024 01:05AM UTC
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Axccel (Guest) on Chapter 2 Fri 27 Oct 2023 12:21PM UTC
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Buttbonker (Guest) on Chapter 2 Mon 06 Nov 2023 10:36PM UTC
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