Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Harry's eyes darted around as he took in the dirty, muddy surroundings he found himself in, confusion visibly etched on his face. A pounding headache forced him to wince and he grabbed his head firmly, his eyes squeezing shut. He desperately sought to remember how he had come here in the middle of a filthy swamp.

His head felt fuzzy, as if he had dived in head-first into something hard. It did not bother him as much though, no headache did ever since that accursed incident in the graveyard of Little Hangleton.

The snake bastard had used his blood in that graveyard to give himself a body, but he left something more inside his head. A gate. It had taken him the entire summer to realize that he was being constantly blasted by a lifetime's worth of memories belonging to the vilest wizard he had ever encountered.

Throughout the next year, the asshole made great use of this gate to intrude in his mind whenever he could, and although his motive was to manipulate the fuck out of him, he inadvertently left traces of himself that were recognized by the Horcrux that lived inside of him.

That was the year when Harry started feeling changes within himself. His behavior changed significantly to the point where everyone in his life noticed it. He started having more visions—flashes of violence, murder, and mayhem. Magic of the foulest kind. Cruelty that knew no bounds. Witches and wizards begging for their lives, throwing themselves in the line of spellfire to save their loved ones, only to fail. The cruelty carried with itself an addictive rush of adrenaline, always waking him up with his heart racing.

Things truly came to a head when Voldemort gave up all pretenses and forcibly intruded into his mind at the end of the year in the atrium of the Ministry of Magic. Harry could not recall ever feeling so much strain on both his mind and magic as he did everything in his power to push him out. He succeeded, but the connection deepened.

The memories were bound to have an impact and they changed him beyond recognition. Gone was the young lad who put himself above others, striving to help anyone in need. He became more observant and apathetic, recognizing things for how they were.

Hermione Granger—the witch who loved to always be in the right and who was always vying for intellectual superiority as if that was all life was about.

Ronald Weasley—a slacker and a dimwit whom he started to relate less and less with.

Albus Dumbledore—the master manipulator who wanted to control every aspect of his life because of that goddamned prophecy.

Harry was finally done playing the good, people-pleaser. He knew what truly mattered to him now.

He had potential, and lots of it. Coupled with the memories he had been assaulted with for the past year–memories that he had no shame in using to further his own ends, he knew he could forge his own destiny. He always felt Voldemort's rush at the sight of those mighty purebloods kneeling at his feet and kissing his robes fanatically as they worshipped him, and he started craving it.

Power… was power. It had taken him years, but he now realized it. There was only power and those who were too weak to seek it. If you had power, no one could fuck with you.

The bitch Pansy Parkinson had been his first and only conquest, but she had been enough. He had always hated that bastard Malfoy and it was what motivated him to go after the brunette. Funnily enough, it was the bastard himself who had done him a solid. The cunt tried to whore her out to his pals, to her sheer outrage. Cornered, she had no hope, and only when she felt the walls start closing around her did he deem it the time for him to step in and save her.

Grateful beyond measure, she had been easy to conquer after that, and he had loved using her whenever and however he could. He relished the way she stared up at him through her thick eyelashes with those eyes full of lust and fanaticism, her black hair firmly gripped in his fist as he used her. She was always eager to please, bobbing her head on his cock as she gagged and spluttered lewdly, and although the sexual stimulation was tremendous, it was that look of utter devotion, worship, and sheer delight in her eyes that always made him spurt his load down her throat. She used to be bitchy with him, but ever since he conquered her, she had been happier than ever before.

Harry began craving that feeling and she made sure to always service him to the best of her abilities. He knew it was Voldemort's influence to a large extent, but his cravings were drastically different from that monster's desires. He might have his memories, but he was not entirely Voldemort himself.

That mad bastard ruled by fear. He craved domination of another kind and Harry did not relate with him in the slightest. He wanted adoration, worship, and submission by love. As Dumbledore always said, it was the most powerful magic there was, and fear didn't even compare.

Pansy had become utterly devoted to him and the rush Harry felt whenever she pleasured him with such motivation was incomparable.

Soon, things took a turn for the worse as the war escalated. By the time Dumbledore died, Harry was already by his lonesome, having slowly drifted away from all his friends. He took up arms against Voldemort and used the bastard's knowledge against him and his forces, much to his former friends' shock and disbelief. Everyone had publicly derided him and his methods, but he could not care less for their approval, not when things had gone so dire. The war meant he no longer had Pansy to service him and although he did derive sexual pleasure from the whores he fucked, something felt missing. The fanaticism and adoration were what he truly craved.

For months, he hunted down Voldemort's Horcruxes on his own, torturing and killing any death eater or snatcher he encountered without any mercy until it was the day of the final battle.

Hogwarts was all but destroyed as the two sides fought against each other. No one was happy to see him, aware of the reputation he had earned for himself. Harry did not care. He had come for Voldemort, not their approval.

He battled Voldemort himself who had by then realized that his Horcruxes were all gone. However, his skill and his powers did not waver in the slightest. For hours, they battled until Harry truly grasped it.

Voldemort was a genius. He had devoted decades to studying various mysterious and dangerous magical arts from across the world. He had split his soul multiple times to prevent his death and he had conducted numerous rituals to enhance his abilities. However, his true genius lay in something that had enabled him to become the most powerful wizard there was.

His Death Eaters, and consequently, the Dark Mark. Only the truly worthy ones were bestowed with that brand of slavery, and it was decided by Voldemort and no one else. It allowed him to command them, it was a sign of their servitude, and the magic linking them allowed Voldemort to draw power from them without any restraints. In a battle of attrition, defeating him without an entire army attacking him at once was impossible.

Harry fought bravely. Harry used whatever magic he had at his disposal. Harry abused the boon Voldemort had inadvertently granted him. And Harry failed.

The Killing Curse hit him squarely in the chest and Voldemort let out a roar of triumph. Everyone watched as the only person who could go toe-to-toe with this monster crumpled in a heap.

Assured of his victory, an elated Voldemort gloated over his adversary's death, lauding him with insincere platitudes when a sharp intake of breath made him whirl around in abject shock.

Harry had a feral smile on his face as he stood, his eyes firmly locked with stunned crimson slits. A wand could never kill its master. Harry knew it, but Voldemort remained oblivious. The Elder Wand belonged to him, and Harry knew he would not die at the hands of Voldemort as long as the monster wielded it.

Their battle began anew and what Harry had been counting on finally happened. Their killing curses met in an explosive collision, emerald streaks of beams enveloping their surroundings, and Voldemort looked assured of his victory until he didn't. The Elder Wand decided to betray its wielder, staying loyal to its true master, as Voldemort's body crumpled and withered away.

His victory did not dawn on him until much later but Harry could not celebrate. A grunt forced its way out of him and he glanced down at his chest. A massive spike protruded out right where his heart was and he fell over before he could even see who had dealt him the fatal blow.

Coming out of his reminiscing, Harry shook his head and grunted as he pushed himself to his feet and apparated over to the hard ground a few yards away. He discovered he did not have a wand and quickly cast a wandless cleaning charm all over himself, conjuring some clothes to wear until he had a permanent fix. He was confused as to what was going on. He had been dumped in a filthy swamp, naked, with no wound on his person. He had no recollection of how he had arrived here, nor did he know where he was.

The confusion was followed by rage. He seethed as he patted his chest right over his heart. He did not know who it was that had killed him, but he would find out and once he did, they would wish Voldemort had killed them.

He was somehow alive. That was a relief. He was not done with his life, not by a long shot. Voldemort had been taken care of, but his destiny remained.

He gazed around as he wondered what he should do when his stomach rumbled. It made sense for him to be hungry. He had no idea how long it had been since he'd last eaten something. He almost apparated away when he suddenly recalled that he was supposed to be dead. Sighing, he cast a wandless glamor charm on himself and apparated away with a soft crack.

XXXXX

Harry decided to avoid wizarding areas for the time being. He grabbed a quick meal from a modest muggle eatery and ventured out, easily snatching some money from a particularly nasty customer to pay.

As he walked along the side of the road, Harry pondered on what he had on his plate now. Voldemort was dead, which meant the Death Eaters would run away with their tails tucked between their legs while the Order would assume power and start prosecuting them. It was bound to be a tense environment with a power vacuum that would probably be filled by a higher-ranked Order member alive. It wasn't something that concerned him.

There was the matter of his bloody killer to think about as well. He could easily pay a visit to someone who had been on the field of battle and extract the answer from them, so that was not an issue either.

He had no assets as such to concern himself with either, having withdrawn and utilized all his money for the Horcrux hunt long ago, and Harry realized that apart from his ambition, nothing was keeping him in Wizarding Britain. But his ambition counted. He wanted power, he wanted conquest, and he wanted the pleasure that the worship, love, and adoration of those women brought him.

But first, he needed a wand. Wandless magic might be convenient but it was taxing, and he was not going to show himself in Diagon Alley so soon after his supposed death. Knockturn Alley it was.

Harry briskly walked into an alley and extended his senses, checking for people nearby. Feeling no presence, he twisted on the spot and apparated away.

His glamor still in place, Harry appeared in the middle of Knockturn Alley and immediately paused. Last he had heard, this place had become even more of a shithole than it usually was, with wanted posters of himself and several others scattered throughout the alley. However, the place seemed alright to him, at least by Knockturn's standards. There were no posters to be found either, and the shops seemed to be operating as usual.

The new administration was hard at work, it seemed. But then, Harry had no idea how much time had passed since the battle and when he woke up in that swamp, so he could not make an accurate judgment.

Suddenly, he sidestepped as a filthy mugger jumped him, a dagger in his hand. It missed his face by inches and Harry glared.

"You dare!" He growled and waved his hand. A silent cutting curse took the mugger's fingers off and he let out a shrill cry. Harry gazed at him in disdain, ignoring the multiple passers-by who expertly ignored the spectacle in a manner typical of Knockturn Alley.

"That's for jumping me," he hissed before he cast a silent summoning spell. "And what do we have here? An enchanted dagger? Must've killed some assholes with this one."

Harry pocketed the dagger and turned on his heel, leaving the mewling mugger on the dirty street. He glared at the others who shrank away from his presence and walked into the most famous establishment in the alley. The bell clanged as he entered and Harry immediately spotted the man tending the counter glance up at him.

"A bit young to venture down here, aren't ya?"

Harry paid the man no heed and walked over to where he saw the wand boxes were. He did not think any of these would be a perfect match but he would take a manageable one until he found better opportunities.

"Careful with those, lad. Blow something and you'll have to pay up," the man called out, making Harry breathe in irritation.

"Shut your trap or you'll be cleaning something else up," he replied with a glare. The man immediately shut his mouth, his hands held up in surrender.

"Take your time," he replied, uneasy. Decades in this business had made him experienced enough to know when he was with someone who shouldn't be crossed, and this young lad in front of him had some of the most dangerous vibes he had ever come across.

Harry ignored the man as he kept trying various wands out, and the man winced whenever he blew a lamp or a piece of furniture.

"This one," he remarked, twirling a pale white wand. "How much?"

"Ten galleons, twelve if you want a holster. And the damages would take it to—"

Harry waved the wand in an arc and the man immediately shut up as all the damage was repaired. His eyes widened at the casual display of silent casting and he gulped when faced with those malicious grey eyes that he swore flashed a chilling emerald green, oddly resembling the Killing Curse.

"I can do it all in ten," he said shakily.

Harry pulled out the dagger from his pocket and placed it on the counter.

"How much?"

The man quickly went to work, pulling a monocle and some apparatus out from under the counter. Harry twirled the wand as he watched him go about his work.

"I can do twenty-five galleons," the man said once he was done evaluating, and Harry raised an eyebrow. "The enchantments are not strong enough. This would've been worth nothing if not for those runes all over it."

Lips pursed, Harry pocketed the fifteen galleons the man handed over. He grabbed the dragonhide wand holster and fastened it properly, trying it out.

"Made of the finest hide from a Ukrainian Ironbelly, the same one as that wand's core. All from the new stock, arrived just a week ago."

"I'll be back if I need something, and I hope it goes without saying that I was never here," Harry said firmly.

"I don't even know who you are," the man said with a shaky smile.

"That's right," Harry smirked and walked out of the shop. He leisurely strolled down Knockturn Alley and he found things most peculiar around him. He expected a sense of unease around him considering how they had been embroiled in a war that had ended not too long ago, yet it seemed as if no war had taken place.

The alley branched out to the left and he recognized it as the black market. He paused and thought about it for a moment, shrugging as he walked over. Perhaps he could find something interesting.

There were multiple stalls lined about a small courtyard and Harry began browsing the wares. Nothing seemed interesting to him and he was about to turn around and leave when something caught his eye. He walked over, his eyebrow raised.

"You know, you could do a much better job even if you're an amateur," he remarked, staring the man down disdainfully.

"What'cha yappin' 'bout, prick?" The man tending the stall snapped.

Harry sneered, "What fool sells tickets for something that doesn't exist? Or are you targeting drunkards to scam them?"

"Again, what'cha yappin' 'bout?"

"Those tickets that you're selling in black, dumbass," Harry replied. "Your father's holding a World Cup in '97?"

"It is World Cup year, shithead. Ireland-Bulgaria final."

Harry snorted. "Yeah, you're a scammer alright."

"Listen, prick. You wanna buy? Stay. Or else, fuck off right where ya came from."

Harry glared at the man who stared back irately. Scoffing, he walked away without a backward glance, smirking when he heard a loud yelp behind him.

XXXXX

Harry appeared in an alley near the park opposite 12 Grimmauld Place. Casting a disillusionment charm over himself, he walked out and started making his way over to the Black townhouse. His cloak was another thing he needed to recover, wherever it was.

Death Eaters had broken into the house when Dumbledore died and the Fidelius failed. He was curious as to what had happened to the house and whether anyone had bothered with it now that he was gone. He did not think anyone would care about a dark and dusty house belonging to the Blacks, particularly when there was nothing of worth to be found inside.

Still, caution was warranted and Harry slowly made his way over. He reached out and twisted the doorknob, frowning when it didn't open. Whipping his wand out, he pointed it against the door, checking for possible enchantments. His eyes widened when he discovered some of the most powerful wards weaved around the property. Instead of giving up, he doubled down, trying to discern the nature of the wards.

His eyes narrowed at his findings. The wards were to keep everyone but a direct descendent of the main line out. No one could cast those wards around the ancestral property of the Blacks, and yet here he was, with the proof right in front of him. He could not make sense of it.

His confusion did not last long as memories of his past self, familiar and yet not, slowly returned, and he could only shake his head at the absurdity of it all.

Beyond all possibilities, he was thrown three years back in time to the summer before his fourth year. As if that was not enough, things were somehow different as well.

Hogwarts started at 14 in this new timeline which meant as a 17-year-old, he was still going to be a fourth-year student. Furthermore, everything seemed to be three years in the future. It felt as if someone had dragged an entire timeline by three years and thrown him right in the mixer. Apart from that, everything was the same—his life, his experiences, and his relationships.

Harry paced around in the middle of the living room of #4 Privet Drive, ignoring the bound and gagged forms of the Dursleys as they stared at him fearfully, shivering after the vicious torture he had put them through. They thought they'd get away scot-free after their dear little Dudders drugged and threw him away in a bloody sewer to teach him a lesson? Bullshit. He was Harry Potter, but he was no longer a dumbass who'd let anyone walk all over him just like that. He glanced at the Dursleys and gave them a look of disgust.

"I can always cut your throats if you find being silent so challenging," he said curtly as he swirled both the wands around. With his knowledge, the trace had been child's play to take care of.

His holly and phoenix feather wand felt brilliant back in his grasp. He had indeed missed her. The other was yew with the core of dragon heartstring and although not a perfect match, it was close enough to come in handy.

The Dursleys immediately shut up, earning a smirk from Harry. He gazed far away in the distance, his mind hard at work. He could not understand just why and how this had happened. However, he did not waste too much time worrying about what was beyond his control. He was in this situation now and he could use it to his advantage. He had power, he had knowledge, and he had the conviction to do whatever he wanted.

His goals were clear in his mind. He wanted power, adoration, and worship; his desire to make women submit to him being prominent. After all, he was going to emulate Voldemort in a few ways. That mad bastard wanted to conquer purebloods, and he wanted to conquer the fair sex. That was all, and if he was going to mark someone anyway, he'd be damned if he wasted it on those who could not pleasure him.

"Like this one," he muttered disdainfully, sneering at a shivering Petunia. This was a different world for all that mattered, which meant he had no family and everything was fair game. However, the horse bitch could only wish.

Ignoring her, he thought about potential candidates. The Wizarding World had a shit load of them, but he did not have any leverage over anyone. He was friends with quite a few of them but he didn't think any of them would submit herself to him right now. He could play the game and something might happen though, who knew?

His musings were interrupted by a familiar owl that flew in and almost collided with the wall. Harry immediately recognized the owl as Ron's new pet Pigwidgeon, a gift from Sirius. He retrieved the letter from the owl, raking his eyes over the parchment.

"So it's that day, hmm?" Harry muttered to himself. Glancing over at the Dursleys, he waved his wand and freed them. Another wave of his wand rendered them unconscious. He was quick to modify their memories to make them believe that he had left for the rest of the summer to visit friends.

"Now then," Harry smirked as he gazed at the letter. "Let's see how far her hero worship can go."

XXXXX

Half an hour later, Harry appeared in the middle of a clearing in the village of Ottery St. Catchpole, gazing at the familiar house in the distance. It was getting dark already and he was sure Mrs. Weasley must be getting things ready for dinner.

His arrival went as expected. The Weasleys were elated at his early arrival. He told them how he could not wait to come over, having missed everyone over the past month or so, and had taken the initiative to arrive on his own. Mrs. Weasley was concerned as usual but nothing much happened.

Harry set his sights on his target early on. That was the reason why he had arrived early, after all. He knew Hermione would arrive the next day which meant he would have trouble gaining an all-exclusive private access to the delight that he knew Ginny Weasley could be. There was a reason Dean looked so happy during that year, after all.

The boy was a bastard though. He loved to brag and although he had not been interested, Harry had heard enough to know how kinky Ginny could be. She was a shy wallflower in front of him, but soon, she would bloom into a sultry redheaded slut.

Throughout the evening as dinner was being prepared, Harry kept taking glances at Ginny, making sure she noticed him checking her out. She was as beautiful as he remembered her being. Her clothing was modest but no less form-fitting. Her tits, high and proud, pushed against her casual top and her tight jeans hugged her long legs, straining against her nice rump.

As he chatted casually with Ron and the twins, he made sure to address her frequently, ensuring she had her input as well. She smiled whenever he addressed her, happy with the attention she was receiving.

He wondered how to escalate things even further when Ron came clutch with a blessing.

"How about a broom race until dinner gets done?" He suggested. Before he could respond, he and the twins bolted outside to the shed, leaving him alone with Ginny.

"Well then, let's go, shall we?" He asked, holding his arm out. Surprised for a moment, Ginny smiled brightly and threaded her arm through his, allowing him to escort her out. He picked his broom up as they crossed his trunk near the exit and slung it over his shoulder.

"That top really suits you," he complimented, eyeing her out of the corner of his eyes as they walked out on the grounds. Ginny was already flushed slightly from how closely they were walking and her blush intensified. She blinked, gazing at him.

"T-Thanks," she replied softly, smiling. "You look really good too."

"I've been working out," he chuckled.

"I can see that," she whispered, biting her lower lip softly as she gazed at the way his shirt fit him.

"Hmm? What was that?"

"Oh, nothing. I said it's good for you," she covered up quickly. Harry merely glanced at her in amusement.

He did not need to use Legilimency to discern what was going on in her mind. Indeed, her hero worship was still very strong. The girl would have slowly started to get over it during the upcoming year but now that he had his sights set on her, he was going to make sure she kept worshipping him.

They reached the shed just as the boys emerged, their brooms held aloft in their hands. Fred and George quickly shot high in the air.

"What about you, Gin?" He asked, glancing at the redhead. Ginny flushed slightly at the way he addressed her.

"What'd you mean, mate? Ginny doesn't fly," Ron laughed. The pretty redhead glared at her brother.

"Look at her, Ron. She's so lithe, like a ballerina. She'd make a perfect chaser, maybe a seeker too," Harry remarked, eyeing her up meaningfully right in front of her brother who seemed entirely oblivious. His eyes seemed to pause at certain spots and he smirked when he saw her squirming in place. The girl was loving it.

"Hah, whatever you say, mate. Come on, let's go."

Ginny gritted her teeth as she glared at her brother who ascended high in the air, joining the twins.

"Here, show him," Harry said, holding out his broom for her. Ginny blinked, gazing at him. Harry smirked. "You can ride my broom. I know you'd be brilliant at it."

Ginny blushed heavily at his wording, not sure whether he was truly insinuating something. With how he was treating and ogling her today, she had a feeling that he was. Her hands shaking, she reached out and grabbed hold of his broomstick. Their fingers brushed and a shiver coursed through Ginny as his magic, potent and dominating, wafted over her. Her breathing escalated, her pupils dilating, and her toes curled. She desperately tried to control herself as she swung her leg over the broomstick, slowly rising high in the air.

On the ground, Harry smirked.

XXXXX

He kept at it throughout dinner, making sure to gaze at her meaningfully as they ate. Ginny's heart was beating furiously, hammering away, as her eyes made contact with Harry once again. She was sure about it now. Her crush was interested in her as well and she could feel her excitement coiling in her lower belly. Her hands shook as she ate, almost spilling her food a few times, but she did not pull her gaze off him. She was brave and she wanted him to see her that way, not as Ron's little sister.

She loved how simply exchanging those heated looks made her feel and she almost groaned when dinner ended and they were all sent to sleep.

"Harry dear, your things are up in Ron's room," Mrs. Weasley told him. Harry nodded and with a meaningful glance toward Ginny, he followed Ron up the stairs. Once she was done helping her mother in the kitchen, Ginny followed suit. She shut the door to her room behind her and quickly started to undress. Her top and jeans pooled by her feet and she stepped over to her wardrobe clad in a modest set of underwear. Her breath hitched when she touched her panties, finding them entirely soaked and all it did was further intensify her arousal.

"Ah, fuck it," she threw herself on the bed and pulled her undergarments off herself, spreading her legs wide apart and pressing her fingers against her hot, virgin entrance. She rubbed her womanhood, groping her breast with the other hand as she leaned back and closed her eyes.

"Ahh Harry…" she moaned, parting her folds and running her finger over her wet, pink slit. "Oh I want you so bad!"

"You called me, Gin?"

Ginny yelped, her eyes wide as she gazed at a smirking Harry who stood, leaning against the wall right in front of her. Her mouth opened and closed a few times as she gazed at him in sheer disbelief.

"H-Harry!?"

"Ah, I guess it's not fair that I'm wearing clothes, right?" He remarked and waved his hand over himself. Ginny's eyes bugged out as Harry's clothes vanished.

"I must say, I love what I see, Gin," Harry said, openly running his eyes over her delectable naked frame. He stood calmly in front of her, naked, with his cock, hard and huge, jutting out at her. "Do you love what you see, Gin?"

Ginny could only nod absently, her eyes firmly trained on his massive rod, and Harry smirked as he began walking closer. He slowly climbed onto the bed, stalking her as if she was his prey (which she was) until he was hovering over her, their faces mere inches apart.

Her heartbeat skyrocketed and she could feel his heat all over her naked front.

"H-Harry," she whispered.

"Yeah, Gin?" He asked, leaning closer.

"W-What if someone comes?"

Harry smirked, amused with her concern. She had accepted this so willingly. Her legs had automatically parted, almost in subservience, and she was ready to give herself to him. Her body language screamed her acceptance.

"Don't worry, Ron fell asleep as soon as he hit the bed, and I've already cast the necessary charms around us," he whispered. "And if someone comes anyway, we're both above the age of consent. That's all that matters. Right, Gin?"

"Y-Yeah," Ginny whispered, shutting her eyes as she felt him leaning closer.

"Gin," he whispered, his hot breath ghosting over her lips. "This might do for now, but I like my women when they dress to impress. I want to look at my women and feel the desire to rip their clothes off. Take care next time onwards, 'kay?"

"I'll do better, Harry," she whispered obediently, her eyes still closed. Harry smirked and closed the distance between them, pressing his chest flush against her breasts as he smashed his lips against her.

To be continued…

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Chapter Text

Ginny's world exploded in a shower of sparks as she was kissed for the first time, and by Harry, no less—the boy whom she loved more than anything was demanding, he was dominating, and Ginny had no problem submitting to knew he would cherish her to the best of his abilities, and she could count on him for anything.

Harry caressed her soft skin as he kissed her, pressing his manhood against her womanhood. His hands slowly ascended, and Ginny breathed sharply into the kiss when he wrapped his palms around her tits. Harry pulled back from the kiss and lowered his mouth, trailing a line of kisses along her jaw before he buried his face in her neck, sucking and kissing furiously.

Ginny kept moaning under his ministrations, her eyes firmly shut, as Harry squeezed her tits, pinching and pulling her pink, puffy nipples that had become harder than ever. Her hands involuntarily threaded through his hair, pulling him firmly against her.

"Oh Harry… mmm… don't stop…"

Harry had no intention of stopping anytime soon. He descended further and wrapped his mouth around her left breast, sucking her hard nipple firmly before he rotated his tongue around the nub, flicking it. He repeated the motions with her right breast before ascending once again so that he could kiss her.

Ginny seemed much more into the kiss now. Her arms came up to wrap around his neck, pulling him closer as she deepened the kiss. Meanwhile, her legs wrapped around his waist to hold him in place and she began to hump upwards, rubbing her gushing womanhood against his hard cock. His cock slipped between her folds, the entire length dragging across her virginal lips and Ginny gasped, pulling away from the kiss.

Her eyes wide with wild lust, the redhead gazed up at him with sheer desire and Harry what he craved and he was so elated at finally seeing that look in a hot girl's eyes once again.

"Take me, Harry," she whispered.

Harry jerked his hips, gyrating his length all over her wet folds.

"Plead for it, Gin," he instructed firmly.

"Please take me, Harry," she pleaded. "Please give it all to me. Please fuck me. Please, Harry, take my virginity and make me yours!"

Harry ground his shaft against her folds as he kissed down her neck, wrapping his lips around her nipples one after the other as he sucked hard. Ginny breathed erratically, her fingernails lightly scraping his scalp, and reached between them, grabbing a cock for the first time. Impatient, she positioned him against her entrance, rubbing the large head of his cock over her slick folds, parting her lower lips for him. She never thought she would so suddenly become so eager to give her virginity away but she could not control herself.

Harry lifted his head as he pushed forward, and Ginny let out a loud cry as he breached past her pressed his hand against her lower belly where it glowed an ethereal shade of blue and the pain , he pulled back before giving another push, venturing even deeper into her hot, sweltering depths. Over and over, he pulled back and pushed, hovering over her.

Ginny's eyes were full of adoration for him as she held him close, her naked tits and her hard nipples pressing hotly against his chest as he slowly pushed his length inside her.

"Yes, Harry," she whispered. "Take me. Give me everything."

"You sure?" He asked. The redhead nodded firmly, her eyes locked with his. "All right then."

Harry wrapped his hands around her, pulling her firmly against himself. He planted his knees on the bed and pulled back entirely until only the tip remained inside her. With one firm thrust, he pushed through her tight inner walls and buried himself to the hilt inside her.

Ginny's eyes shot open in disbelief under the incredible sensation of pressure deep inside her as Harry stretched her entrance. She was shocked that her virgin pussy was so willing to accommodate his manhood which was freaking massive. She attributed it to her arousal for him that had made her wetter than she'd ever been in her life.

Virgin she might be, but she was no stranger to sex and how things worked, having dedicated herself to learning as much about it as she could, purely out of interest. Her eyes were trained on him, just as he kept gazing deeply at her, gauging her expressions which had been full of shock in the beginning but were now filled with ecstasy.

"I know it's your first time," he said softly, leaning closer, and Ginny's eyes shut as she felt his hot breath against her lips. "I'll be sure to be as skillful as I can when I take you."

Ginny felt the walls of her pussy expand even further as he ventured even deeper inside her, the pressure increasing with every thrust. She gasped out loud when she felt the crown of his manhood slam against the entrance to her womb, her heartbeat skyrocketing as she gazed at him with wide eyes. She felt as if she could feel him in her throat, and her mouth went entirely dry as her body experienced the feeling of the fullness of a cock for the first time, and even then, one as massive as his.

She gasped, her mind filled with awe when she felt the heat from his large, heavy balls erotically caressing the bare skin of her ass, and the realization that her formerly virgin womanhood had taken his entire length inside dawned on her. Ginny gazed up at Harry with lust and desire shining in her eyes, and the pleasure that was emanating from deep within her made her feel so powerful in herself as a girl on the cusp of womanhood, more assured of herself than she'd ever felt before.

Harry kept thrusting in and out of Ginny, relishing in her small gasps and moans of pleasure. His cock ventured deep inside her, massaging previously untouched parts of her pussy, and all the redhead could do was shudder under him as she held onto him firmly, clutching him by his muscular arms for support. The sensation of completeness and happiness she felt while being with him felt so serenely divine, and everything was exacerbated thousands of times when she thought about who it was – Harry, the boy she'd always had such a massive crush on! Simply being with him in this way was stunning, and she had never felt more fulfilled before.

Her satisfaction grew more intense when Harry increased the pace of his thrusts, truly fucking her now. Ginny gasped, moaned, cried, and wildly jerked under him, her hands clasping tightly onto his muscled arms as he kept hammering away deep inside her with fast, furious strokes. She glanced down when he leaned back slightly to let her take in the sight of her pussy, inflamed and pulsing, being furiously invaded by his massive, girthy cock. Her wet folds stretched wide around him, her clit glistening with her arousal, and she watched, utterly fascinated with how her walls were wrapped around him. She bit her lower lip hard and took a deep breath, falling back on the bed as she let him have his way with her. All she did was let out a guttural cry that expressed every bit of passion she had coursing through her veins.

"Oh my! Fuck me Harry!" She wailed, her voice loud and inflamed. Her mind was entirely drowned in lust and her desire for the only man she'd ever wanted, and her every action was dominated by instinct. She was thinking of nothing else, not her parents, not her brothers, and not even herself. She was totally enthralled by the man dominating her, taking her as he wanted, and she allowed herself to fully submerge underneath the surface of her womanly needs.

The pace and ferocity of his thrusts went up another notch and Ginny desperately clawed onto his arms, her eyes wild with arousal. His cock thrust hard and deep inside her with wet squelches and his heavy balls repeatedly flopped against her ass, the naughty slaps and wet claps being accompanied by the redhead's moans and cries of pleasure as the room was immersed in sounds of passionate fucking.

"Oh! Oh Harry! Mmm… Oh yes!"

Ginny's voice was throaty, as erratic as her breathing, and she relished in the feeling of him stretching her wide. It did not take long for a coiling to start building up in her belly. A warm, erotic, pleasure-filled sensation began to develop in her loins, sending a delicious chill through every fiber of her being. Her mouth went dry, her breaths coming out in short gasps as she shut her eyes firmly.

"H-Harry… I… ugh…" Ginny panted in a whisper, seeing stars as unbridled pleasure began to overwhelm all her senses, pulling her into a different world altogether. Her skin felt alive, as if a fire was lit up and yet not burning her up.

She could not describe the pleasure she felt as her orgasm swept over her, profound and stimulating beyond measure. Her mouth clamped shut with a loud gasp, her eyes rolling into the back of their sockets as her legs lifted high in the air and came to wrap around his waist in a vice-like grip. She mewled, shaking her head wildly, her teeth clamped on her lower lip as she tried with all her might to keep herself as quiet as she could.

Ginny's toes curled as she spasmed, pleasure coursing through every vein of her body. Her arms wrapped around his back, clutching him hard against herself as she grunted into his chest, almost crying out as she orgasmed.

Harry held her roughly breathing form firmly in his grasp as he fucked her through her orgasm, feeling her hot and tight pussy walls convulsing around him. She had clamped on him firmly as she erupted, shooting her orgasmic essence all over his glistening cock. She continued to shudder even when her orgasm slowly subsided and she tried to come down from the addictive high, feeling the overwhelming physical stimulation constantly coursing through her.

Harry closed, pulling back as he regarded her, and the smirk on his face made Ginny flush brilliantly. Her face and upper chest matched her red hair and she tried to hide her face behind her hands, only for him to pull them away and firmly hold her in place.

"Did you just cum for me, Ginny?" He asked, his voice deep and husky. Ginny shivered. Merely hearing his voice was now making her react like this.

All she could do was nod, blushing.

"But I didn't cum," he replied. "That's not fair, right?"

Ginny's eyes widened.

"Right?" He prompted once again, an eyebrow raised.

"Y-Yeah," she whispered.

Harry smirked and before the girl could react, he withdrew his cock from her orgasmic pussy, watching her release pour out on the sheets under her. He gave no fucks and grabbed her, roughly turning her around so that she was lying on her front. Grabbing a pillow, he pushed it under her lower belly, hiking her pert rump in the air and angling her ripely for taking.

Ginny's eyes widened at his domineering treatment of her but there was no denying the excitement coursing through every fiber of her being. She let out a breathless smile as she stared at the bed, feeling him positioning himself behind her.

"I hope you don't mind, Ginny?" He whispered as he leaned over, and she moaned when she felt him trail a line of kisses down her sweaty neck, nibbling on her shoulder as he probed her entrance from behind.

Ginny shuddered and braced herself for what was about to happen, knowing that she was in for a world of pleasure now.

XXXXX

"Here you go, Harry dear."

Harry smiled and accepted the plate of scrambled eggs and toast from Mrs. Weasley.

"Looks delicious. Thank you, Mrs. Weasley."

The woman gave him a motherly smile and walked back over to the kitchen counter.

"When are we leaving, Mr. Weasley?" He asked, turning toward the man who was reading the day's issue of the Daily Prophet.

"Tomorrow morning, Harry," Mr. Weasley smiled. "We have a portkey arranged for us on a hill nearby. We'll be meeting Amos Diggory and his son who will also go with us to the World Cup. Be sure to sleep early tonight, hmm?"

Harry nodded and dug into his breakfast. It was relatively early, barely past 8 in the morning, and as expected, almost everyone was fast asleep. After he and Ginny were done last night, Harry had taken his leave quite late and by the time he arrived in Ron's room, the redhead had already been snoring loudly. He had merely applied a silencing charm on the boy and slept soundly. His time during the war had made him used to little amounts of sleep during the night to function properly, and even three to four hours were enough for him now. However, he knew he needed to sleep properly and that his habit needed to change, and it was a work in progress.

He had come down when it was half past seven to the sight of Mr. and Mrs. Weasley working on the dining table. They were expanding and adding more chairs. A small recollection reminded him that in addition to Hermione, Bill and Charlie would also be arriving in a few hours, which necessitated more seating room.

Speaking of the older Weasley sons, he glanced over at Percy who sat quietly at the table, nibbling on his toast with a few sheets of parchment unfurled in front of him. Suddenly, he yelped loudly, the toast flying out of his hand, and everyone turned to him in surprise.

"Oh dear, what happened?" Mrs. Weasley asked as she rushed over.

"Those two…" Percy hissed, his eyes narrowed as he picked up a dirty piece of cloth. Harry glanced down and chuckled to himself. The boy's leg was all black.

"Oh, for heaven's sake!" Mrs. Weasley snapped as Percy threw the cloth into the bin. "Those two… I don't know what's going to happen to them. No ambition or desire to be something, unless you're talking about making as much trouble as they possibly can…"

"It won't come off either," Percy muttered, trying and failing to take care of the black stains all over his leg.

Mrs. Weasley was soon ranting about the twins, complaining about how, despite having no lack of brains, they were wasting their lives and how they'd amount to nothing if they didn't buckle up. Her ranting soon turned into a bellow as she cried out for the twins to wake up and come downstairs. Harry believed the two were in for a nice scolding session early in the morning.

The sleepy pair slowly trudged downstairs and their sleep evaporated entirely at the sight of their irate mother and irritated brother who were glaring at them. Meanwhile, Harry sat silently at the table near Mr. Weasley, both expertly ignoring what was going on with the other four as they munched on their breakfast.

"I've been trying to work here on a report that I've got to finish for the office — how do you expect me to get anything done when you two keep interrupting everything like this?"

"We didn't aim to, Perce," Fred said with an unapologetic grin on his face that was mirrored by his twin.

"Aye. Must've left it there by mistake. Our bad," George shrugged.

"We didn't interrupt any top-secret research of the esteemed Ministry, did we?"

Harry almost chuckled but he managed to keep it in. One glance at Percy told him the man was about to erupt.

"What have you been working on, Percy?" He asked, earning the attention of everyone standing. The twins winked at him before they were whisked away by their mother while Percy sighed, gazing at him.

"A report for the Department of International Magical Cooperation," Percy's attitude had done a complete 180. He looked smug now as he walked over and sat back in his chair. "We're trying to standardize cauldron thickness. Some of the…"

Harry tuned the man out, barely listening to his drivel as he went on and on about his precious job under Barty Crouch and what an honor it was to be trusted for such a challenging endeavor, in his words.

Instead, he was busy admiring the sight of a certain redhead who slowly walked down the stairs, clad in a dressing gown with her hair done up in a bun, twin strands framing her heart-shaped face. As their eyes met, he saw her blush bloom over her features, her pupils dilating as her fingers clutched her gown tightly. He did not need to use Legilimency on her to know just what was going on in her mind.

As for Ginny, she almost started hyperventilating the moment her eyes fell on Harry sitting with her father at the dining table right near the end of the staircase. Unbidden, the memory of their passionate fuck from the previous night rushed to the forefront of her mind and her fists tightened on her nightgown, her heartbeat rising significantly.

"Morning, Ginny," he greeted brightly, and her blush intensified. She slowly stepped down the stairs, stammering a greeting in return as she gingerly lowered herself into the chair right in front of him.

"Had a good night, Ginny?" Mr. Weasley asked his daughter who glanced at him and nodded with a small smile.

"It was a brilliant night yesterday, Mr. Weasley. There was just the right amount of warmth. I had a very good sleep after all the sweat we worked out beforehand," Harry smirked, eyeing Ginny who was firmly staring at the table, her cheeks inflamed.

"Ah, I saw you all racing on the brooms last evening," Mr. Weasley nodded. "We should have a game of Quidditch this evening when Bill and Charlie come. It would be fun. What do you say, Harry?"

"Sounds fun," he nodded, smiling. "When will they come, by the way?"

"Well, Hermione said she'd be ready by 9, so anytime after that, I guess."

Harry nodded and returned to his breakfast, glancing at Ginny who had started on hers as well. The twins sat in front of Percy, their mischievous grins still prominent even though they'd been scolded by their mother first thing in the morning. Those two were trouble, alright.

He left them to their shenanigans and refocused on the girl sitting right in front of him. Ginny was pointedly looking away from him, her eyes affixed to her plate as she ate, and Harry smirked. Flexing his toes, he extended his leg and she immediately froze. The toast between her teeth, she glanced up with wide eyes and found him smirking.

Harry slowly pushed his toes further up her bare leg under her nightgown, caressing her soft calves as he kept climbing. He could sense Ginny's mounting arousal as he kept his eyes locked with hers, feeling goosebumps rising on her skin as he trailed a fiery path on her leg. Gently, he caressed her leg, probing and poking softly, until he reached her thigh.

He gestured for her to scoot forward slightly with his eyes and a heavily breathing Ginny could do nothing but oblige. She shifted slightly, resting her elbows on the table as she allowed him more room, and Harry pounced without restraint.

Suddenly, the redhead gasped, and her father immediately looked at her.

"Everything okay?"

"Y-Yeah," she replied, her voice throaty, and she tried to force herself to focus on her breakfast and not overtly react to how Harry was caressing her inner thighs with his toes, venturing ever so closer to her panty-clad womanhood but never quite touching it. He rubbed his toes all over her inner thighs, feeling her heat against his skin. The thrill of doing this right under the noses of her family members had already made him hard, and considering how Ginny was actively aiding him and even urging him to do more by parting her legs ever so slightly made him believe that she was slowly opening up to this new dynamic of their relationship as well.

Harry had known beforehand that this redhead had a sultry side to her, and it had started to emerge already. As he indulged in this thrilling game, keeping her occupied, hot, and labored throughout her meal, he wondered to himself just how fast he could push her. If things kept going at the pace they were going right now, the prospects looked very bright indeed.

XXXXX

Throughout the breakfast during which both Mr. Weasley and Percy took their leave, Harry kept stimulating Ginny. He touched and caressed her relentlessly but he never touched her where she wanted him to. He could feel traces of her wetness and the slowly increasing heat of her quim against his toes, and he could see the mounting frustration and desperation in her eyes.

However, he remained firm and did not give in, making her more and more frantic and aroused. She was gripping the arm of her chair tightly with her free hand as she ate with as much composure as she could muster, all the while keeping her eyes on Harry who was leisurely talking to her twin brothers as if nothing was going on under the table.

The thought had come to her the previous evening, and she wondered once again just how he had changed so much in only a few months since the year's end. The thought did not linger for long in her mind though, overwhelmed as it already was with his teasing ministrations. All she thought was that she was ecstatic that their relationship had evolved in this manner, and she felt nothing but excitement at the prospect of taking things further.

"Moving on, I heard your mother talking about something called Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes. What's up with that?" Harry asked the twins who grinned excitedly.

"Oh, it's our baby, Harrykins!"

"The fruit of our past, the merit of our present, and the prospect of our future!"

With a smirk, Harry turned to Ginny and asked, "You got any clue what they're talking about?"

Ginny breathed in sharply, trying to control her emotions and working to keep her voice in check. Still, her voice came out a bit strained as she smiled at her brothers who grinned.

"Mum found this stack of order forms when she was cleaning their room. Price lists of things they've come up with. You saw one this morning with Percy."

"The Blow-up Blowturd is a nasty bit of work," Fred smirked.

"Shows its true effects after a few hours," George matched his twin's smirk.

"We got to test it out somewhere."

Harry snorted, his gaze shifting back to Ginny who breathed heavily and continued in the same strained voice, "They've made all sorts of things… fake wands, trick sweets, all for fun and laughs…"

"We were planning on selling it all at Hogwarts to make some money to… well, fund the shop really," George shrugged.

"And well, our dear ol' Mum didn't like it. Burned our forms an' all, she did," Fred muttered. "Said we didn't get as many OWLs as she expected. Who needs grades?"

"Exactly, as if a sheet of parchment can decide our life," George snorted. "Like hell we'll get a boring desk job at the Ministry like Dad or perfect Percy. All we want to do is to open our joke shop."

"And this joke shop's name is Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes? Pretty unique, I'll admit," Harry replied.

"Everything's unique about it, Harrykins, just like us," Fred smirked.

"Oh? Do tell me more about it then," Harry replied, matching the smirk.

More than an hour passed with Harry constantly stimulating Ginny as he and the twins talked, with her chiming in every so often in the same strained voice. It was taxing to even remain composed, let alone speak without letting her brothers get suspicious of something fishy going on, but somehow, she managed. She could see the amusement Harry was getting at her predicament but she could not find it in herself to get mad at him, for this was unexpectedly thrilling for her in all sorts of ways.

The sound of the floo flaring made them look over and only then did Harry relent. He did not let up without leaving a final message though, and Ginny let out a sudden gasp when she felt his toe poke her entrance right over her damp panties for the barest of moments before he gently slid his foot down her leg, leaving a wet trail of her arousal along her soft skin. He gave her a cocky smirk as he stood up, and Ginny felt a jolt of thrill shoot straight through her core as she laid eyes on the evidence of his arousal poking firmly against his trousers.

Harry utilized his Occlumency to control his boner as he turned around and watched Bill and Charlie emerge from the fireplace, followed by Hermione who was holding her trunk in one hand and her cat Crookshanks' cage in the other.

From the distance, he gave the brunette a once over and smirked to himself. She looked exactly as the older Hermione did, which meant her bushy brown hair was a thing of the distant past. Now, her brunette curls had a shine to them, undoubtedly aided by her knowledge of cosmetics and other materials that she had come to know about with age.

She was wearing her usual attire which consisted of a long-sleeved top and jeans. Both hugged her curves snugly, and she had some to be truly proud of. It was not a surprise that she had attracted the eyes of lechers like McLaggen and later, Ron as well.

However, in this timeline, she had attracted the eyes of another lecher who happened to be very possessive of those he deemed his, and he had no desire to let anyone else claim her.

"Harry!" Hermione beamed as she came closer, her arms outstretched in the gesture of a hug and Harry met her halfway with unhidden eagerness, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her feminine form flush against his muscular frame. He held her firmly, sinking his fingers into her back as he clutched her to himself, and Hermione's eyes widened just a tad. This hug simply felt… different from their usual hugs. She closed her eyes however, attributing his enthusiasm to him simply missing her, and breathed in his scent, letting it waft over her senses. He smelled as he always did, but something was different… something she couldn't quite put her finger on.

Meanwhile, Ginny stared at them as they hugged, feeling something coiling in her gut at the sight.

Slowly, Hermione felt him pull away and she stepped back, regarding him with slight surprise.

"You've grown quite tall in these last few months," she remarked, having to tilt her head upward slightly to gaze him in his eyes.

"Innit? He's as tall as us now," Fred grinned as he and George arrived and exchanged a friendly hug with the brunette who finally turned to Ginny, hugging the younger girl with a smile. Meanwhile, Harry introduced himself to Bill and Charlie as they shook hands cordially.

Mrs. Weasley arrived soon and began fussing over the newcomers while Harry took his leave after telling the woman that he'd wake Ron up and send him downstairs pronto. He felt both Ginny and Hermione's eyes on him as he walked up the stairs and smirked to himself. Ginny must be beyond aroused now, and Hermione must've not missed how different his touch had felt. She was too perceptive to overlook it, and he was looking forward to that conversation, if she even brought it up.

Whistling softly, Harry walked into the room and shook his head as he gazed at a sleeping Ron and he realized the silencing charm he had cast on him was still active. Chuckling, he took the charm down and grabbed the jug of water from the table, pouring its contents over the ginger's face.

Ron sputtered, shooting upright, his eyes wide in shock as he wiped the water off his face.

"Blimey, mate! What was that for!?"

Harry merely pointed towards the clock, and as Ron looked at the time, his eyes shot open. He cursed and bolted towards the bathroom, leaving behind a smirking Harry who sat on what was his bed, absently stroking Hedwig's feathers as his faithful snowy own planted herself on his shoulder.

"What a moron, eh, Hed?" He chuckled.

Ron emerged from the bathroom fifteen minutes later, all ready for the day. Harry was genuinely surprised to see that he was done so soon. Normally, Ron would take his time in the bathroom.

"See ya in a bit, mate," he cried out and bolted out of the room, almost colliding with someone as he made to rush downstairs.

"See where you're walking, idiot!" Harry heard the familiar voice cry out as she came into his line of sight, still wearing her nightgown. The redhead turned toward him and her features immediately shifted.

Harry remained perfectly at ease as Ginny slowly walked into the room, leaving the door slightly ajar behind her. She stopped right at the edge of the bed, staring down at him.

"Something the matter, Ginny?" He asked, his lips curled slightly as he gazed at her in amusement.

"Y-Yeah," Ginny replied softly, and Harry watched her as she slowly unfurled the ribbon that tied her nightgown, pulling it slightly apart. He was pleasantly surprised to notice that she was wearing nothing but her undergarments under it. However, his eyes noticed nothing apart from one aspect of her skin which had been modified very recently. "I want to ask you about this."

Harry watched as she shivered slightly and pulled her damp knickers down, gently tracing her finger over the black bolt of lightning engraved on her skin. It started right below her navel and stopped barely an inch above her clit.

"What does this tattoo mean, Harry?" She asked softly, her eyes affixed at Harry who merely stared back at her, his lips curled. The mark had manifested, and it was black, which meant things were halfway done.

"Go out and fly as much as you want, Hed," he gently told his faithful owl who gently nipped at his ear and shot out of the window, leaving them on their own in the room. Releasing a soft breath, Harry pushed down on the bed and stood up, staring Ginny down. The redhead could not stop the shiver that coursed through her body as she took in the intense look on his face.

"What do you know about Voldemort's Dark Mark, Ginny?" He asked, and Ginny's eyes widened as she stared at him in surprise.

To be continued…

Chapter Text

"What do you know about Voldemort's mark, Ginny?" Harry asked, casting a privacy ward around them.

Ginny stared up at Harry in surprise, her eyes wide.

"Anything?" He probed, gently reaching out and pushing his hands through the nightgown she was wearing. The redhead's breath hitched as his bare skin came into contact with hers, and she felt him gently trace the mark on her skin as he gazed at it with a small smile on his face.

She had heard of the mark Harry was talking about, but only in passing. No one liked to talk about those times, especially her parents. It was only by chance that she had stumbled upon this information.

Voldemort used to mark his followers to distinguish them. It looked like a skull with a snake slithering through it. She had never seen it or even heard what else it did apart from making them part of an organization, but from that description alone, she could imagine how hideous it must have looked.

Harry's fingers came to a stop right at the end of the mark, an inch above her clit, and Ginny shivered when he caressed her lower belly before gently tying her robe up, patting softly. He took her hand and made her sit on a chair, taking his seat on his bed. They sat mere inches apart, and Harry leaned forward. This close, Ginny could smell the scent of him that she now knew as intimately as any other person ever could, and it pleased her immensely.

"Not much," she replied softly, telling him all she knew about the mark, and Harry nodded.

"It's not surprising that you don't know much, if anything about it. Not many people do," he replied, scratching his chin. "Even I wouldn't… if I didn't have this."

Ginny gazed at the faint bolt of lightning visible on Harry's forehead.

"I would tell you everything soon, but a lot changed in the last few months," he continued, making her shift her gaze back to him. "I know a lot of things I bet no one else but Voldemort himself does… and that includes Dumbledore as well."

Ginny's eyes widened as he nodded firmly. She could not detect any hint of a lie from Harry and she reached out gingerly, taking his hand. Harry gazed down and smiled.

"One thing I discovered is that Voldemort will return to power soon, maybe even in a year," Harry revealed, and Ginny's wide eyes bugged out further in fear. Harry grasped her hands firmly. "And when he does, he will have his followers back with him. I don't need to tell you what kind of abhorrent assholes they all are."

He most certainly did not.

"And when it happens, he will come for me and all the people I am close with," Harry continued. "I am the living, breathing proof of his failure. Ever since I arrived at Hogwarts, he has showed up in one way or another. Last year was different, but it was all connected. And when he comes for me and people I care for, I want all of us to be prepared."

"What are you saying, Harry?" Ginny asked cautiously, her hands shaking in his grasp.

"I want allies, Ginny," he replied. "People who I can trust beyond any doubt. I don't want a repeat of Pettigrew and my parents. And this is my way of ensuring I have those allies. This mark… I developed it. It ensures the people who bear my mark will never betray me and will always remain loyal to me. We will share everything, from happiness to sorrow to all the pleasures of life."

Ginny gazed at his hand that pulled away from her grasp and landed on her thigh, stroking gently. His mere touch sent pleasure thrumming through every fiber of her being and she let out a small sigh, her toes clenched. Harry gazed at her with a small smile.

"Can you truly fault me for ensuring this given what we're about to face, Ginny?"

The redhead shook her head mutely, biting her lower lip. She fully understood where Harry was coming from. He had suffered so much, and always for others. He needed all the help he could get. Furthermore, his reasons were perfectly understandable. His parents were dead because someone they considered a friend betrayed them. Obviously, he would want to ensure something like that never happened to him.

"I knew I could count on you," Harry said, smiling as he lifted her hands and planted a soft kiss on her knuckles, making her blush. He chuckled at her reaction.

"Come on, Gin. After what we shared last night, you're still blushing around me like this?" He teased.

The memory made her flush once again, and Harry let out a small laugh.

"Don't laugh at me like that, you dolt!" Ginny groaned, trying to pull her hands off his grasp, only to fail. He was too strong for her.

"Sorry, it's just that you're too cute when you're like this," Harry chuckled, and Ginny couldn't help but smile cutely at that. She allowed him to lean forward and kiss her again, beyond elated that she could be like this with the man of her dreams.

Their lips caressed each other softly for a few seconds before he pulled back, gently tugging on her bottom lip for a moment.

"There is something I want to make it clear, though," he said seriously, and Ginny sobered quickly. She gave him a nod, indicating that she was listening attentively. Harry continued, "You won't be the only person bearing this mark. That should be obvious."

Ginny nodded. Harry needed capable allies, and she alone would never amount to much, if any.

"And the only way for me to mark someone is if the person submits to me willingly and when they are fully open and receptive to the very essence of my magic."

Ginny was not an idiot. She knew perfectly well what he was talking about, and her breath hitched. She had this feeling that it would be like this. She did not know why or how, but the thought had struck her a while ago. There was no way she could have him all to herself. She understood it perfectly well. Harry was a powerful wizard, and even though he could limit himself, there was no way one woman would ever be enough for him. It was the classic case of Merlin and his harem – something that was a part of wizarding folklore that had been told to witches for generations as a story.

"This is how I believe Voldemort marked his followers as well," Harry said offhandedly, fully bullshitting. In truth, he had no idea if it was the truth or not, and frankly, he could not be arsed to care enough. It fit the story he was weaving here, and that was all that mattered to him.

Ginny did not need to hear it and she had accepted it already. She gave him a nod of understanding, and Harry smiled.

"Thank you, Gin. I knew I could count on you."

"You can count on me for anything, Harry," she replied, smiling. However, the next second, her smile transformed into a smirk as she leaned forward and whispered huskily, "Or do I call you My Lord or Master from now on, like his followers must call him?"

Harry's manhood throbbed at the remark, and the memories of his time with Pansy in his previous timeline resurfaced in his mind. She used to call him 'Master', and it pleased him to no end.

Gazing at Ginny, he gave her a smirk and whispered throatily, "I didn't think you had this side to you as well, Gin."

"Only for you, Master," she whispered back, and Harry breathed deeply. Her expression and her voice were too alluring right now and he didn't think he would be able to control himself if he let this continue at this rate. It was daytime and everyone was awake. Anyone could come in at any time and he didn't want this to be revealed anytime soon.

Gazing at Ginny, he reached out and gently grabbed her throat, making her breath hitch as he pulled her toward himself.

"Only when we're together or in the company of our other allies that I'd be gathering," he told her, making her grin.

"And does that list include a certain brunette who arrived today?" She asked coyly. "I didn't miss how you greeted her, Master."

It must be the magic of his mark – their bond at work, Harry rationalized in his mind. She had accepted this as eagerly as she had accepted him the previous night, and it gave him full confidence in her. She was fully loyal to him, and soon, when the magic of the bond secured its place within her, her mark would reflect it as well.

"She is a brilliant witch, my closest friend, and has grown into a fine young woman, Gin," Harry replied huskily, gently nipping her lips. "It'd be foolish to not form a bond with her."

"I'd love to help you out with her then," she said eagerly. "What would you have me do?"

Harry chuckled. "Calm down a bit. There's no need to be so eager," he said. "It will all happen in due time. Hermione is not like you or other witches, Gin. She will try to analyze this to the end of the world if she can, and as much as I appreciate this trait of hers, it can be a pain in the arse sometimes."

"Too true," Ginny agreed with a throaty moan, nodding as she felt his hand working her up.

"Yeah, which is why we need to push her logical side back and bring her emotional side forward for this," he said, his hand caressing her inner thigh under the nightgown, stimulating her. "Then, she will be more agreeable to this arrangement. Things need to be balanced out with her a bit. Only then will she be of the most use."

"Makes perfect sense," Ginny nodded. "Oh Harry… I need you in me again."

"Already? Oh, you greedy girl," he teased, probing her lower lips gently as he gazed at her. She looked like a mess, all right. He had half a mind to just give her what she wanted but he refrained. Teasing her was more fun. "I always knew you had this side to you."

"Only for you," she moaned. "Oh yesss… right there…"

Harry chuckled and ignoring her protests, he slowly withdrew his fingers from her.

"Clean them off," he ordered, watching in elation as she eagerly took his fingers, slick with her juices, in her mouth and sucked them clean. Her gaze was locked with his, desperately wanting and full of adoration, and Harry breathed raggedly.

This! This was exactly what he craved. This look of sheer devotion toward him in their eyes. It felt better than anything else in the world, even more than killing those assholes!

"You should go back to your room and relieve yourself now," Harry suggested. "I'll take care of you soon, I promise."

"I'll hold you on to that," Ginny replied. With a parting kiss, she stood up and gingerly walked away. Harry smirked as he gazed at how she was walking. She must be feeling it down there today, and yet, she wanted more. Truly a wanton woman, that one, exactly how he had known she would be. She was still a bit reserved, but she would be out of her shell very soon.

Shaking his head in amusement, Harry got up and walked out of the room. Perhaps he would kill some time talking to the Weasley boys now. It wasn't as if he had anything worthwhile to do with his time right now.

XXXXX

It did not take long for Hermione Granger to notice that something was oddly weird about her best friend now. He seemed much more outgoing, having seamlessly blended in with the older Weasley brothers. Previously, he would've remained slightly reserved with them, opting to stay by Ron or the twins since he'd known them previously, but now, he seemed at perfect ease as he talked and joked with them.

It seemed as if a weight had lifted off him, and Hermione found herself getting curious as to what might have happened.

She had not missed the change in behavior of a certain redhead toward her best friend either. It was an open secret that Ginny had been quite taken with Harry ever since his first visit to the Burrow. The girl used to blush around Harry, unable to meet his eyes, but her inhibitions seemed to have evaporated entirely now. A part of her wanted to attribute it to her growing up but Hermione had a feeling something else was afoot.

She had noticed them exchanging looks a few times throughout the day – looks she couldn't really decipher, and she resolved to broach the subject with Ginny at the right time.

Another thing she had not missed was how Harry did not stick close to Ron as he always did. In fact, she had not seen them interact much at all. It was almost as if he was branching out… exploring other connections, and she was unsure how to feel about it.

They had played Quidditch while on different teams, and she was sure she was not the only one shocked at the skill on display, both by Harry and Ginny. There were no keepers, with her, Ron, Bill, and Charlie on one team, and Harry, Ginny, and the twins on the other. To say it was a close contest was a white lie, for Harry and Ginny had smoked their team. He had also beaten Charlie, who Ron had proclaimed to be even better than Harry, in multiple snitch chases, even pulling off a move that Ron called the Wronski Feint, to everyone's shock. Thankfully, it happened over the pond and Charlie was not injured in any form.

The older man had taken his defeat graciously and everyone now saw Harry in a new light, with Bill even theorizing how he could go pro if he wanted.

Harry was not the recipient of all the attention though, with all her brothers praising Ginny for her link-up play as a chaser and her agility on a broom. The girl had soaked their praises with pride, even taunting Ron who grumbled at being bested by his little sister.

It was an amusing evening for all but Hermione, who'd been having this feeling that things were not what they seemed. As they helped set up the dining area, Hermione kept sneaking glances at Harry, her eyes filled with curiosity and indecision. Something was off, but she could not put her fingers on what it was.

The crowd was big, and the Weasleys had decided to have dinner outdoors. Arthur and Bill sat on opposite ends of the table, with Percy sitting to his father's right, followed by Harry and the twins. On Arthur's left sat Charlie, followed by Ginny, Hermione, Ron, and Molly.

Percy and his father were talking about Bertha Jorkins and her disappearance – something Harry expertly ignored. He was perfectly aware of her fate and she was not coming back.

He had thought about taking care of matters that he knew would soon require his attention, but he could not be bothered. He didn't really care as much, and he had his own plans that would benefit greatly from Voldemort's return to power. The snake-faced bastard could play his little game if he wanted, for he held all the pawns in his hands.

Harry rolled his eyes when Percy cleared his throat meaningfully and alluded to the Triwizard Tournament – something that made Ginny, Hermione, and Ron curious when the man gazed meaningfully at them. The man was too full of himself, and if he was being honest, he deserved everything the twins did or were planning on doing to him.

On the other end of the table, Molly Weasley was fussing over her eldest who expertly waved off her complaints about his long hair, his piercings, or that fang necklace.

It didn't take long for their discussion to shift toward the Quidditch World Cup. England had been humiliated by Transylvania, Wales lost to Uganda, and Scotland was thrashed by Luxembourg. Ireland remained, and they were supposed to play against Bulgaria the next day in the final.

Ron was, as Harry already knew, a massive Viktor Krum stan, and he did not hesitate from proclaiming for all to hear that Bulgaria would thrash Ireland, much to his brother Charlie's amusement who rightly pointed out how Krum was only one man and he had his money on Ireland.

Suddenly, Harry recalled the trap the twins had fallen into in the other world and he interjected, "Are you into betting, Charlie?"

"No child of mine would be a gambler!" Molly interjected swiftly, eyeing all her children across the table warningly.

Charlie quickly shook his head as he stuttered out a negative answer.

"I know Mum would kill me if I did that," he laughed nervously, eyeing his mother who nodded curtly before she returned to fussing over Bill who, Harry could see, was barely tolerating her disapproving remarks over his hair and earrings.

"I've heard a lot of people, especially in high places, use these events to target gullible people into betting a lot of money and refuse to give them their fair winnings afterwards," Harry intoned, gazing at Hermione who nodded.

"That is why muggle sports and such have proper authorization for betting," the brunette replied. "You need to obtain a valid license and only then can you accept any bets. They deal with tax authorities as well. It's a proper system."

"The muggles surely have fascinating ways of doing things," Arthur remarked in wonder. "We do not have such a simplified procedure. It makes sense to keep things so streamlined, doesn't it, Percy?"

"True," the man conceded with a nod. "I would love to know more about this. With Bagman happily enjoying his privileges instead of running his department properly, someone's got to take care of things."

Harry rolled his eyes once again at the theatrically self-important tone as he gazed at the twins meaningfully. Those two were known to indulge in a lot of betting activities at Hogwarts Quidditch matches. He had done them a favor here by trying to bring their attention to the risk and if they still did not learn and went ahead with the foolishness from his previous world, then they only had themselves to blame.

Dinner was over soon, and as the others got to clean up, Harry walked over to a nearby tree with Ginny, Hermione, and Ron following right behind him. They watched the gnomes running about, laughing madly as they were being chased by Crookshanks, and his lips quirked slightly at the silly display.

"I've been meaning to ask you this Harry… have you heard from… you know…" Hermione trailed off, her eyes shifting to Ginny who was staring at Harry. He gazed at the brunette and chuckled.

"I think we can trust Ginny, Hermione," he said. The redhead grinned brightly at him while the other two gazed at him in surprise before they exchanged a glance.

"You sure, mate?"

"Are you saying you don't trust me with whatever this is, Ron?" Ginny asked hotly, and her brother quickly put his hands up in surrender.

Meanwhile, Hermione gazed at Harry's back curiously. He had still not turned around, staring in the distance, and her questions grew. He was different, but why and how?

She decided to put it out of her mind for now and asked, "From Sirius. Have you heard from him?"

Ginny's eyes widened slightly as she eyed Hermione who gazed at her with a small frown.

"Sirius Black, Ginny. He is innocent of his crimes. Peter Pettigrew was behind everything and he framed Sirius for it. He'd been living in your family as the rat Scabbers and he managed to escape a few months ago," Harry summarized for the redhead who nodded dumbly. Ron and Hermione exchanged another glance.

Harry had truly forgotten about Sirius. He found that he did have care for the man in his heart and now that she had mentioned it, he wondered if he could do something to help him out.

Resolving to think about it later, he continued, "I did hear from him, yes. He's doing fine. That reminds me though… I should write to him again. It's been some time. I planned on doing it last night but… something more important came up."

Ginny blushed faintly at that while Hermione nodded in understanding. She opened her mouth to ask something once again when Harry beat her to it.

"There's something I want to tell you two," Harry said, turning around to stare at Ron and Hermione with an intense look in his eyes that took them by surprise. They gazed back at him with their eyes widened slightly. "But not now. We'll talk on the train."

"Is it about Sirius?"

"It's about Voldemort," he said candidly, making them jerk in shock.

"Harry!?" Hermione whispered, aghast, as she stared at him.

"What?" He chuckled as he watched Ron gaping at him.

"You can't just drop his name like that!"

"Oh, come off it, Hermione," he scoffed. "I don't care. And you two should stop being so afraid of his silly made-up name."

"It's not about being afraid," Hermione replied. "You just took us by surprise."

Harry shook his head, scoffing. "Come on, Mrs. Weasley's calling us all."

He led the way, with the rest following suit, and Hermione's questions only grew. She had to know what was up with Harry, and how he had changed so drastically in only a few months.

XXXXX

They were roused quite early the next morning and as everyone came downstairs, it was not surprising to see them all looking drowsy, yawning, and trying to find something to lean against. They were told to dress the muggle way, or at least as closely as they could. Arthur had a baggy golfing sweater and a pair of jeans on and the man looked very proud of his choice of attire as he asked Harry eagerly if he looked good. Amused, Harry merely nodded.

He would've preferred to apparate to the venue, just like Bill and Charlie were going to do later, but appearances had to be kept up. They left the Burrow in the early hours of the morning, but it was not without any hassles.

The twins were smuggling a ton of Ton-Tongue Toffees and they were unfortunately caught by their mother – something that resulted in another session of tongue-lashing from the older woman. Harry promptly cast a muffling charm around himself, having no interest in getting a headache on top of an early wake-up.

They had to take a walk when they left, during which Arthur told them about wizarding travel, how much of a hassle it had been for the ministry to arrange this final, and what a headache reaching there was for both the spectators and the organizers. Harry could not help but wonder just why the wizards catered so much to the muggles. Surely, they could come up with better ways to ensure they remained undetected while they all gathered in the same place?

Their destination was an open ground that had a large boot in the middle which he knew was the portkey, and he saw them before he heard Mr. Weasley's shout.

They hung back as the two older men exchanged a cordial hug before the introductions were made. Harry forced himself not to roll his eyes when the man gasped as Mr. Weasley introduced him, his eyes widening. The man displayed his lack of tact once again when he brought up the incident from the previous year's Quidditch match in which his son had managed to win because the dementors had invaded the pitch, much to the same son's embarrassment. The older boy gave him an apologetic look which Harry merely nodded at.

"It's a shame the match had to end like that though," he remarked with a small smile. "If only I'd learned the Patronus Charm by then… better late than never, I guess."

That proved to be enough to shut the man up who gave him a surprised look, along with Mr. Weasley, and Cedric.

"You can cast a Patronus, Harry? Truly?" the patriarch of the Weasley family asked in wonder, earning a shrug from him. "Remarkable! Not many adult witches and wizards can cast that spell in its full form."

Harry merely smiled, hiding a smirk at the sour look on Amos Diggory's face. He wanted to do more than quip at him but, as always, appearances had to be kept. He might do something though… who knew? He couldn't just let him go scot-free after he came after him like that, and unprovoked at that. Any other person might have let it be, but he was neither a rational guy nor was he a good person at heart. He took offense to the slight, and he believed the man deserved a parting gift.

They arrived by the portkey soon after and huddled around it. At Mr. Weasley's prompting, they all reached out and grabbed hold of it. Barely two seconds after they touched the thing, their world shifted around them and they found themselves being flung through space, whirling about violently. Harry gazed around in amusement as everyone kept their eyes shut, their teeth gritted. Wizarding modes of travel were indeed some of the worst.

As they reached their destination, they felt a violent tug at their navel as they were pushed further ahead. Mr. Weasley and the two Diggory males quickly righted themselves while the others were tumbling over. However, Harry righted himself quickly mid-flight, not wanting to give away his comfort with the mode of travel to bring any unnecessary attention on himself, and quickly grabbed hold of Hermione who had been to his right as she threatened to spiral further away than most. The girl must have read about portkeys and had tried to do the same thing he did, only to fail. It was not surprising though, given her first try at it.

Luckily for her, he was there to prevent her fall, like the good friend he was. He reached out and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her flush against himself. The girl instinctively clutched onto him, letting out a small grunt as they collided with the ground.

They came to an abrupt stop and Harry found his face covered with her brown curls. He breathed in her scent and his arms tightened around her as he felt her rest entirely on top of him.

Slowly, he felt her pull her head back and stare at him with wide eyes, and all he did was grin at her cheekily.

"Enjoying yourself, miss?" He teased, giving her waist a firm squeeze as he held her right on top of his crotch. She must've felt something as she jerked slightly, her eyes wide in surprise as she kept gazing at him. Her brown hair fanned out, forming a curtain around their faces to keep them hidden. "You look so cute I could kiss you right now," he added with the same teasing grin, making her eyes bug out. "Don't think you're in the mood right now though."

With a smirk, he grabbed her by the waist, his fingers sinking into her curves as he lifted himself into a sitting position, shaking his head to get her hair away from his face. Hermione still stared at him with wide eyes.

"I'd be happy to continue this but we gotta go, Hermione," he reminded her in amusement, and the brunette blinked before gazing around to see everyone groaning as they tried to get up. Meanwhile, the three oldest of the group slowly descended, seemingly walking in the air.

Hermione quickly pushed herself off him and Harry let her go, staring at her flushed face in amusement. She was a bookworm but she was a woman, alright. She was bound to react to such advances, and given how close they were, he did feel confident in cracking her barriers with relative ease. He knew how to play this game, after all.

Glancing around, he helped everyone up one by one, taking his time with Ginny whose top had climbed up, exposing her bare navel and the upper portion of the mark that had turned a mix of black and gold, signifying that the bond that he had initiated with her was on the verge of completion. He was truly looking forward to it if he was being honest. It would mean she was his – mind, body, and soul. He would have her heart, even more than he already had, and that would be his complete victory over her.

The redhead had to stifle a moan when Harry brushed his magically charged fingers against her navel as he helped her up. It sent a thrum of pleasure straight through her core and her eyes widened slightly when he leaned closer.

"When Voldemort touches the mark on his followers' arms, they feel indescribable pain. I could never subject my loved ones to such a depravity. How do you like it?"

"I love it," she grinned at him. He gave her a smirk and pulled back as she smoothed her top and brushed her hair with her hand, walking together with him to join everyone in the middle of the clearing they found themselves in.

"Did pretty well for your first portkey travel there, Harry," Mr. Weasley praised, eyeing his sons who looked a bit worse for wear. "You two as well, Ginny, Hermione."

While Ginny grinned brightly at her father who gave her a loving smile, Hermione could only muster a weak smile, her mind still occupied with what had transpired between her and Harry mere minutes ago. His touch was daring and confident, and his voice seemed to have been stimulating her in a weird manner. She could not fully make sense of his behavior at all.

She had never expected him to be so forward, and with her, no less. It left her confused and she could not help but wonder what was going on with him.

All of it further added to the questions that had been festering within her mind since the previous morning when she arrived at the Burrow.

Just what had happened to Harry that he had changed so much since their third year ended!?

To be continued…

Chapter Text

Harry had to roll his eyes in exasperation when he set his sights on the two men in the clearing, taking care of matters. They had attempted to look like muggles, but they resembled jokers instead.

Arthur went ahead with Amos Diggory as the others stayed behind, and soon, it was time for them to part ways with their companions. Harry did leave a parting gift with Amos Diggory as they began walking across the misty moor, unable to make out much in front of them. It took them about half an hour before they found themselves standing on top of a small hill overlooking a massive ocean of tents as far as the eye could see.

A middle-aged man met them – the only real muggle for several acres, and Harry was called to help Arthur out with the currency notes. It had been a bit embarrassing the first time he'd done this, but he could only derive amusement this time.

Nothing of note happened as they made their way to the tents if one did not count a sudden Obliviate on the muggle from a wizard who apparated in, greeting Arthur cordially as he escorted them to the campsite.

They trudged between the tents through the thick mist, most looking as ordinary as possible so that they did not stand out too much. However, there was no lack of tents that pushed the boundaries of what muggles thought normal. They saw one that had three floors and multiple turrets and nearby was another with a front garden attached, complete with a birdbath, sundial, and fountain.

"Show offs," Ron muttered under his breath as they walked, earning a chuckle from his father who led them to the far end near the woods, and a sign was hammered into the ground that read WEEZLY.

Harry put up the act of being surprised when they entered the tent that was much larger on the inside, and soon, they were all assigned their respective tasks.

"We'll need water…" Arthur remarked as he peered into a dusty kettle, and Harry had to roll his eyes at the wizards' accommodation of muggles. No magic from the adults either was surely pushing the limits here, but those were the rules. Ron seemed to share his opinion as he protested, only to be quickly shut down by his father.

"Harry, Hermione and I can go and get some water," Ginny quipped, gazing at the map they had been given. "You all can get the rest done."

"A very good idea, Ginny," Arthur praised with a smile, nodding. Harry glanced over at the redhead and his lips quirked a bit when he saw her smirk. He had little idea what she had planned but he was surely looking forward to it.

Once the girls were settled in the room in the tent that they were supposed to share, they grabbed the utensils and set out for the other side of the field where they would find the water. The morning mist was already giving away, the sun rising in the distance and casting a golden glow across the massive encampment. Witches and wizards from numerous nationalities were either arriving or waking up, taking care of their affairs in the most unassuming manner possible.

However, that did not prevent the ministry officials' headaches, for there were people still asleep, giving their little children the freedom to either play with wands or fly toy broomsticks around.

They all had a nice chuckle when they saw a little boy prodding a slug with one of his parents' wands, his mother quickly rushing outside and admonishing him, much to the boy's continuous yelling as he watched the slug getting larger and then trodden on, bursting nastily.

They came across a camp of dark-skinned wizards who sat outside on chairs in the early morning, prodding the hearth of fire with a large piece of wood as they talked in a language they did not understand.

However, what gave Harry a slight pause was the familiar banner a few yards away. It was a large tent, but what attracted his attention was the large blue and golden flowery banner with a 'B' emblazoned in the middle. The words: ACADÉMIE DE MAGIEBEAUXBÂTONS were inscribed right under the emblem, and a small group of witches that looked to be in their late teens and early twenties sat talking happily in French.

He did not recall seeing anyone from Beauxbatons the last time he was here, and he wondered how different things would be this time.

He let his eyes travel over the group of witches, wondering if a certain French veela was accompanying them, but he could not see her anywhere.

"Thinking of trying your luck with some French birds, Harry?"

The teasing voice of his little redhead made him avert his eyes from the tent and he found her gazing at him with a smirk. Hermione's gaze shifted over to the Beauxbatons tent and her brows furrowed.

"If I find someone interesting, why not?" He replied, his lips quirked. He did not miss the subtle frown that took over Hermione's features and raised a curious eyebrow, wondering why she would be against the notion. He did not comment on it though, and they resumed their journey to the other side of the camp.

It was not long before they arrived in an area that looked as if someone had dumped green paint all over the landscape. The air was filled with green smoke, the tents were all green, people were wearing green attire, and the ground was naturally green as they made their way through.

Harry saw a certain Irish dormmate of his out of the corner of his eyes and hastened his footsteps, to the confusion of his two companions who followed suit. Having no interest in interacting with the moron, he kept walking briskly until they were out of the green dump of paint and slowed his stride.

"What was that for!?"

"Couldn't stand all that green, to be honest," Harry replied, glancing at Hermione who grimaced as she looked over behind them.

"Well, I can understand why. It can be a bit much."

"I wonder what it's like with the Bulgarians," Ginny wondered aloud.

"Worshipping Krum, probably," Harry replied offhandedly. He was proven correct moments later when they arrived near the Bulgarian encampment and saw massive moving posters of Viktor Krum on his multiple snitch chases. A few were portraits of him looking grumpy or scowling as usual, something that earned a comment from Hermione.

"Guess that's what happens with some who are worshipped like a celebrity," Harry remarked.

"Thank heavens you didn't turn into a scowling idiot," Hermione chuckled. "Oh, I can only imagine how you'd have looked with your face like that!"

"Are you teasing me, Miss Granger?" Harry asked with a raised eyebrow as he turned toward her.

Her mirth shone in her chocolate brown orbs, and the brunette grinned. "Tell me it's not funny."

Harry gave her a mock scowl, making her laugh out loud, and he grinned, wrapping an arm around both the girls and pulling them close.

"Well, it's good I had great friends who made sure I stayed happy," he said with a comforting squeeze around their waists. Smiling gently up at him, Hermione patted his chest as she pulled away. However, Ginny kept herself pressed up against him for a while longer, and to Hermione's immense surprise, she leaned up and pressed her lips against his cheek.

"You deserve everything for who you are," she said, her adoration and worship for him shining through as she caressed his chest. Out of the corner of his eyes, Harry saw Hermione staring at them with a surprised look on her face and he suppressed a smirk.

'You cheeky minx,' he thought, gazing at Ginny before he leaned down and kissed her forehead, stroking her lower back sensuously. He pulled back and walked forward, leaving Ginny staring hungrily at his back and a wide-eyed Hermione staring at her.

She had too many questions running through her mind but before the brunette could say anything, Ginny walked forward and she was forced to catch up as they resumed walking and it did not take them long to reach their destination.

"Quite a crowd," Ginny commented as they walked closer. "I'm still not sure why we're all not using magic. It's not as if anyone would see inside the tents."

"The Ministry must be heavily monitoring the area for any magic being used," Hermione theorized. "They must not want to take any chances, which is why they decided to ban the use of magic altogether. I think it's fun. Gives a proper camping experience to the lot who'd usually use the free time to laze away."

As they waited in the queue, they came across several familiar faces. Oliver Wood was there with his family who greeted them all warmly, and the man told them he had signed a professional contract with Puddlemere United – the team he had supported since his childhood. Ernie Macmillan was also there, waiting in the queue, and a little farther, Harry spotted a certain Asian beauty who had captivated him during this time in the previous timeline.

Cho Chang was older, but she was a vision nonetheless. She was wearing a blue witches' robe, a nod to her Ravenclaw heritage no doubt, and Harry very much liked what he saw. He thought he didn't have it in him to be stimulated like this by someone he had found attractive previously, but he had been wrong.

Last time, he had not tried to reconcile with her after Diggory's death – having enough on his plate to bother with a girl who had been grieving like a widow. However, this time, things would be different.

Cho's eyes found him and a bright smile lit up her face as she gave him a wave. Had he been the old Harry, he would've made a fool of himself as he had done back then. However, he had changed, and for the better. Plastering the most impressive 'trademark Potter grin' that he knew witches found oh so attractive, he gave her a small wink, his grin widening when he saw her blush slightly.

Perhaps it would be easier than he'd expected. He already knew Cho was also interested in him. The only reason he had not gotten together with her was because Diggory had beaten him to it. He had every intention of playing his cards right this time. After all, if he wanted someone, he took them by any means necessary.

He found Cho give him a small smile and with a wave, she slinked away. However, it was impossible to miss the smile that remained on her face as she left, and Harry chuckled to himself as the queue moved forward.

What he missed was the frown that appeared on a certain brunette's face who had undoubtedly seen the interaction in its entirety and her confusion only grew.

Something was going on here that she had no clue about, and the thought of remaining ignorant did not sit right with her. She had to know what was happening with Harry, and if she was thinking correctly, with Ginny as well.

XXXXX

"You three took your time," George remarked as they returned.

"Who are you? Mum?" Ginny retorted as she deposited her carry on the floor. "Now take this inside. Surely you all can do so much?"

Her brothers grumbled but did not deny her as Harry walked over to Arthur who was trying hard to light up the fire with matchsticks, to little success.

"Think you can help him out?" Harry asked as he leaned over, his voice a hot whisper in Hermione's ear.

The brunette shivered as a shudder coursed through her, her heartbeat rising as she was suddenly assaulted by the same sensations she had been when they had landed from the portkey travel. She took a deep breath to compose herself, wondering what was wrong with her as she wordlessly stepped forward to help the poor man out.

It took them over an hour to get the fire ready to cook, and the time afterward was filled with Arthur's running commentary as he informed mostly Harry and Hermione about the several Ministry officials who passed by, greeting him cordially.

Percy arrived sometime later, and he was his usual pompous self. Harry had this itch to put an itching spell on him but he decided to relent, at least for now.

The next to arrive was one Ludo Bagman, the man's demeanor the same as it had previously been. As expected, he gawked at Harry when Arthur introduced them all, and although Harry had warned them indirectly, the twins still decided to bet away all their savings on Ireland winning the match but Krum catching the snitch. He already knew what their fate would be, and all it did was coax out a resigned sigh from him. They had made their bed. It was their responsibility to lie in it.

As expected, Barty Crouch – the older one, obviously – was up next, and the man was all business. Harry tuned the man out as he discussed ministerial affairs with Arthur, and the adults – Percy included – began to discuss the upcoming Triwizard tournament at Hogwarts, not that anyone else apart from Harry knew. They all were understandably curious at the cryptic remarks, much to Arthur's amusement who kept the lid on the information tight.

Their impromptu guests left shortly after noon and they all stood up, making their way inside the tent for some lie-in after an early morning wake-up.

Harry was, as usual, sharing his space with Ron, and the redhead took barely five minutes before he was out cold, snoring away. Harry promptly applied the usual silencing charm on him and threw himself on the bed, his eyes staring at the ceiling that had been charmed to be darker than normal.

He had settled just fine in this new world and the past days had been spent getting himself familiar with whatever differences there might be. Apart from the increase in ages, nothing seemed out of place, at least publicly. He still did not have full certainty regarding interpersonal relationships of people but everything he had seen so far pointed to things being the same.

His thoughts strayed toward his little slut from the previous timeline. Pansy was Malfoy's loyal lapdog and a bigoted bitch, although she was bigoted earlier as well. After all, their first time together had happened mostly because he was a half-blood and it would be akin to pissing Malfoy off even more if he found out that his little plaything had sullied herself with a half-blood instead of being with him. Her attitude might have changed after he conquered her but there was no denying that Pansy was a bigoted little slut at heart and truth be told, he would not have her be any different. He reminded himself to make sure she remained the same bigoted bitch even after he made her his. A bitchy Pansy was fun in the sack.

The thought of making someone his diverted his thoughts to a certain redhead whose mark had turned golden halfway through. Although the last he had seen it had been a few hours ago, so he felt it must've been completed by now. He decided to test his theory and reached out for the little tendril of magic that he felt connected Ginny to him and tugged on it, silently beckoning her to him.

He did not need to wait for long as he saw the movement in the shadows as a figure slowly approached, walking across the small hall area of the tent, her eyes darting about to ensure she was not seen. Harry merely watched on in amusement as she tiptoed over, knowing everyone must already be asleep by now.

"Get over here already," Harry called out softly, chuckling when she froze for a moment, startled. She was quick to compose herself though as she rushed the final bit of the way in, a bright grin on her face. He lifted the duvet and she got in excitedly, wrapping her arms around him as she breathed in his scent.

"You told me yesterday you'll take care of me soon," she whispered with a small pout. "It's been a day, Master."

The word sent a jolt of pleasure through him and Harry rolled them over so that he was hovering over her. It was darker than outside but he could easily make out her red hair fanning on the bed under her, her large chest heaving as she breathed heavily, gazing at him with an eager grin.

"I did leave you to take care of yourself, didn't I?"

"And I've been wanting you ever since," she whispered. "Oh Master… it's been so hard, especially when the mark started turning golden…"

Harry did not waste time. With a wave of his hand, he vanished her top, leaving her clad in a modest bra and her jeans and exposing the upper half of the mark that was shining an ethereal shade of gold. His deft fingers made quick work of her jeans before he vanished them as well, exposing the bottom half that vanished under her knickers, glowing the same shade of gold. Her devotion to him was absolute and she did not even bat an eye at the display of wandless casting.

"It's finished," she whispered adoringly, gazing up at him. "Our bond… it's permanently marked on me now… Oh Master, I feel so close to you now… as if you're with me all the time…"

"That's the intention," Harry whispered as he leaned closer, making Ginny shiver delightedly as she felt his weight press down on her. His hot breath caressed her face, her eyes fluttering shut as she puckered her lips needily. Harry only teased her for a few more moments before he allowed his own pent-up lust to take over and slammed his lips against hers in a searing kiss.

Ginny moaned deep into his mouth, the sound smothered by his lips as she wrapped her arms around his back, pulling him flush against herself. She was passionate and she was impatient, having been denied this for an entire day now. Harry knew she would be so needy once the bond was completely established and only when he scratched that itch would she go back to normal, and he was very eager to bring her the relief she sorely craved.

"You know, you've controlled yourself brilliantly so far," he remarked as he pulled back, smirking at how swollen her lips looked. "I expected you to jump me sometime after the bond finalized."

"It happened when we were returning with the water," Ginny smiled. "Believe me, a part of me wanted to get you somewhere private… the woods, maybe… so you could shag me rotten… but Hermione was there…"

"Didn't think you'd be such a slut that you'd want to be shagged in the open like that, Gin… where anyone could come and see," Harry remarked hungrily as he groped her tits over her bra, making her moan in delight.

"I'll be anything you want me to be, Master," she whispered promisingly, and her legs came up to wrap around his waist as she pushed her quivering pussy against his erection that protested against the confines of his jeans, humping herself eagerly against him. "I'm yours in every sense. This mark proves it."

"So it does," Harry agreed with a smirk. "But I am a caring Master, Gin. So tell me, what do you want right now?"

"I want you," she said without any hesitation, a desperate need in her plea. "I want you to take me as I know only you can and ever would."

"Right here, Gin? Right beside your brother? Only a thin fabric wall away from your three other brothers and your father? What if they come and see what a little slut their dear Ginny is?"

A shudder coursed through Ginny as Harry spoke, and her eyes closed, her hold on him tightening. Harry's smirk widened.

"It turns you on, doesn't it? The thrill of being discovered by others?" Harry asked, starting to trail a hot line of kisses all over her upper chest, his teeth nibbling on the swells of her tits.

Ginny was gasping and breathing heavily, her body being stimulated to perfection by Harry, and she belatedly registered what he said. She loved how he was playing with her tits and quickly reached up, pulling the cups of her bra under her tits, baring them for him. Harry was eager to help himself to two handfuls of her large, naked tit flesh, his thumbs grazing and stroking her pebbled nipples as he kept stimulating her. His heightened senses enabled him to smell her arousal which had grown more potent as time passed.

"I asked you something, Gin," he whispered against her skin.

"Yes!" Ginny gasped. "Oh it turns me on so much!"

"I gathered," he chuckled. "You really are a little slut, aren't you?"

"Yours, Master. Only yours."

"As it should be," Harry smirked and lowered his face, capturing her right nipple between his teeth. Ginny hissed and gasped as he nibbled and bit on her hardened nub, his hands fondling her tits expertly, and her hold around his neck tightened as she pressed his face against her skin. Her hips kept rolling against him as she pushed her gushing pussy against his hard-on, wanting nothing more than for him to bury his magnificent length inside her once again. It had been a little over a day but it already felt like a long time since she'd had him inside her.

She felt his right hand relinquish its hold on her breast and slide down her body, caressing her flat belly before it touched the mark. A loud gasp escaped her the moment he touched her there, the feeling as potent as the one whenever he stimulated her clit. Her wide eyes locked with his intense emeralds as he smirked up at her before he resumed his ministrations on her tits and continued the downward journey of his hand, vanishing both her bra and her knickers with a negligent wave of his hand and deftly slipping two of his digits inside her.

"Oh Master!" Ginny gasped at the intrusion, eagerly spreading her legs apart as he began to push his fingers in and out of her at a sedate pace, coaxing even more of her vaginal juices out against his palm, and Ginny could hear the wet sounds down there with crystal fucking clarity. She knew it was only seconds away – the moment she had been waiting for. She would have him inside her once again – the first time since she had become entirely his – and her new life as her Master's loyal would begin. She could hardly wait.

As Harry stimulated Ginny, he kept feeling the redhead tugging at his shirt, as if silently asking him to take it off. Seeing no reason to decline her request, he vanished his clothes instantly.

"Ah yes…" Ginny whispered and her hands immediately began to stroke his naked back, sending tingles down his spine as she touched him sensuously. The heat of his naked body resting against her front also pleased her to no end and she eagerly welcomed him in a searing kiss as he leaned up and pushed his lips against hers once again.

"You've been very patient, Gin," Harry whispered against her plump lips as he pulled back, hovering over her. He brought the hand that had been preparing her pussy over and held his fingers out. Ginny did not need to be told and she reached out, wrapping her lips around his digits and sucking her juices off. "This sight will never get old."

An excited grin overtook Ginny's face as she gazed up at him. She felt him reach between them and align himself against her wet entrance.

"Now don't be impatient," Harry chided gently when she tried to push herself against him.

"Sorry, Master," she whispered obediently, making him chuckle. He rested his head against her entrance, prodding her lower lips for a few seconds as he covered the crown of his dick with her hot juices.

"Ready?"

As Ginny nodded, Harry slowly pushed forward. The redhead gasped as the head popped in with a wet sound, her chocolate brown eyes wide and gazing into his emerald pools that were fixated on her, brimming with intensity and dominance. With a slow push, he ventured further inside her, halfway in, and Ginny gasped once again. Somehow, it felt different this time, and it made perfect sense. She was his now in every sense of the word, and he was claiming her for life this time, their bond fully in place.

She gazed up at him with bated breath as she waited, and it did not last long as Harry pulled back slowly before he gave a firm push, burying himself to the hilt inside her. Ginny let out a keening sigh of pleasure as she felt him deep within herself, her hands resting on his shoulders as he began to move. He moved slow at first but it did not take long for him to pick up the pace and soon, Ginny had her lips clamped on his shoulder to muffle her moans and cries as he slammed away repeatedly inside her, claiming her as his in every sense of the word.

He was aggressive, and he was demanding. He soon had his mouth wrapped around one of her nipples as he furiously fucked her, and Ginny had to bite down on her hand to ensure she did not cry or wail in sheer pleasure. The fact that they were doing this in a small tent with her brothers and her father nearby made her feel even hotter, and it added to her arousal. She kept her eyes fixated on the shadows outside the small room, her excitement continuously rising.

She could already feel her peak approaching at a furious pace and she shut her eyes, allowing herself to surrender to her Master who used her while simultaneously pleasuring her beyond her wildest imagination. He had a firm hold on both her tits as he sucked on them passionately, his large dick continuously pounding into her fluttering core.

Her toes were curled and raised high in the air as she kept her legs wrapped tightly around his waist, desperate to keep him buried inside her, and she tightened her inner walls around him.

Harry felt her hot walls clamp hard around his girth and knew she must be close. All it did was motivate him to intensify his ministrations and he pulled one hand off her tits, dragging it downward and quickly finding the hardened bundle of nerves right atop her gushing womanhood. He gave it a soft flick and started rubbing circles around it, making Ginny mewl and muffle her cry against her hand, and feeling her walls tighten further around him. He continued stroking her clit for a few more seconds, getting her progressively more worked up and pushing her closer to her climax.

His fingers hotly smearing her juices and caressing the golden mark right above her clit finally pushed her over the edge and Ginny gasped out loud, forcing her hand hard on her mouth to muffle her moans and cries as she froze up. Her limp body shuddered as Harry continued to drill inside her, and he leaned upward, hovering over her as her orgasm washed over her like a raging inferno.

Her eyes were wide and trained on his smug visage as she shivered beneath him, and Harry moved slowly, allowing her to ride out her climax as he gently fucked her. She was breathing heavily through her nose and under the dim light, he could see that her entire body had turned red. Her walls had clamped hard around him which, although not enough to force him to erupt inside her, did bring him mighty close to doing so.

For a few minutes, they stayed locked in a passionate embrace as Harry kept slowly fucking her, and Ginny released a deep breath she did not realize she had been holding when she finally came down from her orgasmic high, taking her hand off her mouth and letting it drop limply beside her.

"That was… I have no words," she whispered, gasping. Harry chuckled and slowly pulled out of her, and together, they gazed down at the sheer volume of her climax as it trickled out of her pulsating quim and pooled on his bed. However, Ginny's eyes fell on his massive length that stood proud, and slick with her juices, and she immediately got to work.

She turned them over so that Harry was on his back and she bent over, her perky rear hiked high in the air and pointed toward the entrance of the room. Her pussy was still dripping with her orgasmic juices and she reached behind herself, spreading her lower lips apart and allowing more of her release to gush out.

Grinning eagerly, she leaned forward and promptly wrapped her lips around his length, burying him in her throat as she began to blow him off. She tasted herself on him and all it did was make her bolder and more excited. While one hand wrapped around his girth and stroked him, the other reached over and fondled his heavy balls, feeling the sheer volume of cum stored within for her. Her eyes, sinful and hot, were locked with his as she gazed at him with sheer adoration, and it was that look that finally did it for him.

Ginny had only a moment to brace herself as the first shot of his thick, potent seed hit her square on the back of her throat. Her eyes widened but she remained dedicated to her duty as her Master's obedient and kept stroking him. Shot after shot splattered within the confines of her mouth and she gulped it all down eagerly.

With a deep exhale of breath, Harry deposited the final vestiges of his seed in Ginny's mouth and he watched on as she eagerly devoured it as if her life depended on it. She took care to properly clean him off, her tongue lapping away around the tip before she finally pulled away.

"How did I do?" She asked with a coy smile, and Harry chuckled as he opened his arms. Ginny grinned and embraced him, loving how their sweaty bodies felt mashed up together. Her perky tits pressed hotly against his chest as she stroked his back, feeling him fondle her arse cheeks as their genitals remained pressed up.

"As brilliantly as I knew you would," Harry replied, giving her rear a soft squeeze and nuzzling her face. Ginny giggled and kissed him eagerly.

"So… she couldn't stop herself, hmm?" She asked as she pulled away, and Harry smirked down at her.

"You are a scheming little minx, you know that?"

"I aim to please, Master," she whispered sexily, her eyes lit up in excitement. "Oh, it felt so hot knowing that she was watching us."

Harry smirked as he glanced over at the corner of the tent outside the room where a certain brunette had been standing, believing she was hidden from sight in the dim lighting of the tent. Neither Ron, nor any other Weasley had woken up and found them fucking, but his dear friend was another matter.

Hermione was a curious little witch, and Ginny knew she would not be able to stop herself from sneaking out when she saw his little redhead walk out of their room discreetly, especially after the subtle seeds that had been planted in her mind on their walk to fetch water. Ginny had indeed been spot on, and curiosity got the cat, as it always did.

"I bet," Harry replied before his voice took on a feral edge. Ginny's heartbeat quickened as she gazed at him. "And if you keep being a nice girl, you'll find no complaints from me when you want to scratch any of your… little kinks. You know what I mean?"

An excited grin overtook Ginny's features as she purred, "You indeed are the best Master anyone could ask for."

All it did was earn her a chuckle as Harry allowed her to drape herself all over him, getting fully comfortable. Their bond was firmly in place, and Ginny belonged entirely to him. However, she was only the first of many, and soon, he would begin to work on his next subject.

His dear Hermione was too big of an asset, in every sense, to let slip from his grasp.

To be continued…

Chapter Text

The atmosphere outside was already raucous when they walked out of their modest tent where Arthur stood waiting for them, checking his worn wristwatch for the third time.

"About time you lot came out," the man remarked, though his eyes twinkled with good humor. "I was beginning to think we'd miss the match entirely."

Harry merely pointed toward Ron with his thumb, a knowing smirk playing at the corner of his mouth as the boy earned an exasperated look from his father. Ron's hair was still slightly messy, evidence of his rushed morning routine.

"Oi, it's not entirely my fault," Ron protested weakly. "The twins were hogging the mirror."

"We were making ourselves presentable for the ladies," George proclaimed with an exaggerated wink.

"Though some of us don't need the extra effort, do we, Harry?" Fred nudged Harry with his elbow, causing Ginny to roll her eyes dramatically. Harry gave her a subtle smirk.

"We're here now. Let's get moving," he intoned casually, yet his voice carried an air of quiet authority that only Ginny noticed.

"Yeah. Follow closely."

As instructed, they all fell in step behind the man who walked alongside Percy, the ministerial stooge glancing behind at them with a disapproving stare every few moments. Harry let out a soft, almost resigned sigh and waved his hand discreetly, casting a delayed itching hex on the stuck-up ponce. He'd held back until now, but it seemed the bloke was in no mood to let up on his arrogant demeanor. His green eyes gleamed with hidden amusement as he imagined the upcoming discomfort of the self-important Weasley.

He found himself between the twins and Ron as they trailed behind Arthur and the girls, and he helped himself to the nice view of their swaying behinds in those tight jeans. As if feeling his eyes on her, Ginny glanced over her shoulder and her lips curled in a smirk. However, Hermione walked straight ahead, utterly unresponsive and as straight as a rod. She seemed to be pointedly avoiding looking at anything or anyone, barely talking even when Ginny broached a subject, and Harry stifled a smirk.

"I bet you five Sickles Percy tries to lecture someone about cauldron bottoms before we reach the stadium," Fred whispered to Harry.

"Not taking that bet," he replied, a hint of knowing amusement in his voice. "Some things are simply inevitable."

Ginny slowed slightly until she was walking beside him, close enough that their arms occasionally brushed.

"What secrets are you three trading back here?" she asked, her tone playful but curious.

"Secrets?" Harry echoed softly, raising an eyebrow. "Now what makes you think we'd keep secrets?"

"Yeah, Gin. And even if we do, you really think we'd tell you?" George scoffed.

"You'll go and blab to Mum about it. You can't fool us with those puppy dog eyes," Fred added.

Their remarks earned them twin punches to their arms, which they absorbed without flinching, their noses upturned.

All the while, Harry kept his eyes on Hermione who walked rigidly. He could practically feel the tension radiating off her in waves.

They moved through the crowd as they walked through the woods to where the massive stadium had been erected. As they walked, Arthur began to regale them with some facts regarding the stadium and how hundreds of Ministry task force members had been working on it all year round. Every measure had been taken to ensure the muggles stayed far away from the entire area.

"Like when Mum suddenly remembers she needs to clean the attic whenever Aunt Muriel visits?" Ginny whispered to Harry, referring to the Muggle-repelling charms.

Harry's response was a low chuckle, derisive and sarcastic in equal measure. "Now, Ginny," he whispered back, perfectly mimicking Percy's pompous tone while somehow making it sound both mocking and effortlessly cool, "that's hardly a proper comparison for Ministry-grade Muggle-repelling charms."

Ginny had to clap a hand over her mouth to stifle her giggle, especially when Percy turned around to give them a suspicious look. The twins and Ron had no qualms as such though, and they openly laughed.

Harry met Percy's gaze evenly, his expression perfectly neutral save for the slight quirk of his eyebrow.

They reached the nearest entrance shortly amid the thousands of people who were already crowded near the entrance, shouting and squealing in excitement. The Quidditch fever was high.

"Lucky us," Arthur grinned as he waved the tickets around, and together, they approached the witch standing by a closed door and accompanied by a pair of familiar redheads.

"Let me guess. Ron took too long to wake up and get ready," Charlie remarked teasingly.

"Piss off."

The man chuckled at his youngest brother's retort as Bill took the tickets from his father and handed them over to the woman.

"Ah yes. Top Box. Straight upstairs, Arthur. Keep climbing as high as you can."

It was a separate segment, and the difference in class was apparent at first sight. Contrary to the rather stale décor near the common entrance, this passage was richly decorated with purple and gold carpet on the floor, and the railings on the staircase glowed as they touched it. Numerous Quidditch stars from past to present were depicted on the tapestries that hung high above, and Harry spotted a team of all women soaring high in the air.

"The Harpies," Ginny gushed. "Oh, what I won't give to be recruited by them one day."

"Well, you do have the talent. I'm sure you have a chance if you keep working hard, Gin," Harry smiled.

The redhead beamed at him as they climbed up the stairs, earning a wink from him. He glanced over at Hermione once again, and she seemed to be keeping a poker face, or at least doing her best at it. However, cracks were easily discernible and Harry would be lying if he said he was not having fun watching her like this.

The climb took them over ten minutes and by the end of it, more than one person was flexing one's legs, jerking them to stave off the ache.

"These lot are mental," Ron announced as he reached the top, flexing his legs harshly. "Completely barmy. Couldn't get something to help us reach up here easily?"

"You're talking like an old man, Ron," Bill teased, making him grumble.

The Top Box was a familiar sight, and so was the little sight that greeted Harry as he walked in. A house elf, certainly not Dobby, sat in the second from last seat at the end of the row near the one where they were supposed to sit. Harry's lips curled at the sight and he glanced over at the vacant purple chair by the wall, knowing perfectly well who it was that sat there.

He thought about it for a second before deciding to let his interaction with Winky play out as it had before. The female elf once again went on the rant about house elves and their conduct and their duties and their whatever… Harry mostly tuned her out, having no interest in listening to the same drivel once again. He did glance at the empty seat when Winky addressed it, but nothing more.

He had already decided what his approach was going to be, and he pulled his gaze away from the pair, choosing to take in the sight of the massive stands surrounding the grassy expanse in the middle. The box was right in the middle at the highest point, giving them a panoramic view of the entire pitch, and from their vantage point, they saw the sheer number of people who had already found their way to their seats.

The stands were already divided into two segments – one green and one scarlet, and as he stood at the front, he was joined by Ginny on one side and Ron on the other. The latter was trying out the Omnioculars excitedly, pointing out various aspects of the quirky crowd they had down there, much to the amusement of his siblings. Harry exchanged a mirthful glance with Ginny before he gestured toward Hermione who sat primly on one of their seats, skimming through the program.

"Anything interesting in there, Hermione?"

Harry's voice made her jerk in surprise and the pamphlet almost fell out of her hands. She reached out and grabbed it quickly, her eyes wide as she stared at him. Harry merely raised an amused eyebrow.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," he chuckled, Ginny mimicking him from her spot to his left. "You okay? You look a bit red."

"Just a bit tired," she said in a slightly high-pitched voice.

"She definitely saw a ghost," Bill commented, chuckling.

Snorting, Harry walked over and took a seat to her right, nonchalantly draping his hand over the back of her seat. Drumming his fingers on her shoulder and feeling how she froze up slightly at the touch, he gazed at her with a mix of emotions shining in his eyes, amusement ranking on top.

"You still get spooked by ghosts? Seeing Nick's neck custard not enough yet?"

"Aw, that's disgusting," Ginny made a face.

"Or the Baron's red shots," Fred supplied, grinning.

"Or Moaning Myrtle's moaning," he wagged his brows suggestively, sending everyone into peals of laughter.

Harry merely watched Hermione whose eyes widened slightly once again, and although he felt he was teasing her too much here, it was also a fact that he was having too much fun with this. One glance at Ginny told him she was in the same boat, and he gave a mental shrug.

It seemed it was in Hermione's fortune to keep getting teased over this.

XXXXX

Over the next hour, the box gradually filled around them. Arthur kept shaking hands with witches and wizards who were most definitely highly placed in society while the rest of them observed the interactions.

When Cornelius Fudge, the Minister for Magic, made his entrance, it was with all the subtlety of a peacock in mating season. His lime green bowler hat preceded him, bobbing through the crowd of dignitaries as if to announce his presence before he physically arrived. Accompanying him was the dreaded abomination in pink and Harry expertly controlled his emotions lest he give in to the temptation of doing something foul to the resident toad.

It was amusing to see Percy greet Cornelius Fudge. The man had already started squirming under the effect of the itching curse Harry had put on him, often jumping as though he'd been sitting on pinpricks as he greeted the people alongside his father. However, when Fudge arrived, he gave a bow so low that his glasses fell to the floor and shattered.

There were a few chuckles around the box as a highly embarrassed Percy quickly fixed his glasses and slunk away, taking his seat.

When Fudge's eyes fell upon Harry, his face transformed into a mask of delighted surprise, though Harry's experienced gaze easily noted the calculated gleam behind the friendly façade.

'A consummate politician, this one,' he thought to himself, noting the similar gleam in the toad's eyes as well. 'And you… Oh the things I want to do to you, toady…'

"Harry, my dear boy!" Fudge exclaimed, his voice carrying just loud enough to ensure everyone in the Top Box could hear him greeting The Boy Who Lived. "What an absolute pleasure to see you here! Simply wonderful, simply wonderful indeed!"

Composed and at ease, Harry rose from his seat with deliberate grace, his movements unhurried and controlled. He'd learned that such composure often unsettled adults who expected awkwardness from youngsters. As Fudge approached with his hand already outstretched, Harry noticed the slight sheen of sweat on the Minister's brow despite the cooling charms in the box.

"Minister Fudge," Harry replied, his tone pleasant and measured. He accepted the handshake, keenly noting how he clasped his hand between both of his own as if embracing a long-lost son before the cameras that went flashing away. The Minister's hands were soft and slightly damp, and Harry had to resist the urge to wipe his own hand on his robes afterward.

"Keeping well, I trust? Looking splendid, absolutely splendid," Fudge continued, not bothering to wait for Harry's response. His eyes darted around the box, clearly gauging who was watching their interaction. "Your summer holidays going smoothly? Excellent, excellent."

Harry allowed a small, composed smile to play across his features. "Very well, thank you, Minister. The World Cup is quite the event – you must be proud to be hosting it."

Fudge practically glowed at the comment, missing entirely the glint of amusement in Harry's green eyes. "Oh, yes, quite, quite! And speaking of which, let me introduce you to some of our international guests. Can't keep you all to myself, now can I?" He chuckled at his own joke, and the sound was as hollow as his political promises.

With a theatrical flourish, Fudge began guiding Harry around the box, one hand remaining firmly on Harry's shoulder in a gesture of familiarity that made Harry's skin crawl beneath his perfectly tailored robes. Yet he showed nothing but polite interest as Fudge paraded him before various foreign dignitaries. He glanced at his friends who either rolled their eyes at him or grinned, and he didn't miss the jealous expression on Ron's face or the dark look Percy cast toward him. Hermione… she seemed to be lost her in private world, although Ginny quickly joined her. Harry merely turned away in amusement.

"This is Mr. Antoine Delacour, the UEQA President," Fudge introduced, and Harry's eyes immediately fell on the tall wizard with a sharp goatee and even sharper eyes. Harry inclined his head respectfully, noting how the man's gaze flicked assessingly between him and Fudge.

"An honor," he said smoothly. "My friends and I were just talking about how well the European League has been set up for the upcoming years. I'm sure the new regulations would make the games even more exciting for the fans, especially the change in snitch movements."

"That isn't public knowledge yet, Monsieur Potter," the man remarked with a slight accent.

Harry chuckled good-naturedly. "It's easy to infer which direction the rules are going in, Monsieur Delacour. As an enthusiast of the game that you surely must be, I believe you know what I'm talking about."

The comment earned him an amused but approving nod from Delacour and a slightly baffled look from Fudge, who clearly hadn't expected Harry to know such details. He knew the boy played Quidditch but he'd taken it to be a passing fancy.

They moved on soon once Fudge regained his bearings, and as they did, Harry caught fragments of muttered conversations: "Harry Potter, yes, the very same," and "Quite the well-mannered young man, isn't he?"

He also did not miss the subtle whisperings from a few who held disdain for him and he kept his expression neutral, though inwardly he was cataloging every reaction, every whispered comment.

Finally, they reached a wizard in magnificent robes of black velvet trimmed with gold, who was looking rather unimpressed with Fudge's toady's attempts at communication.

"And this is Mr. Oblansk — Obalonsk — well, he's the Bulgarian Minister for Magic," Fudge finally stammered, his usual bluster deflating slightly in the face of the language barrier.

Harry hid a smirk as he smoothly stepped forward. "A pleasure to meet you, sir," he said with a slight bow, the gesture perfectly attuned to show respect without subservience. "I hope you're enjoying your visit to Britain." The Bulgarian Minister might not have understood the words, but he clearly appreciated the diplomatic courtesy, responding with a nod and a stream of rapid Bulgarian.

Fudge looked relieved at Harry's intervention, though a flicker of something – perhaps unease at Harry's poise – crossed his face. "Well done, my boy, well done," he said, patting Harry's shoulder a touch too heartily. "Knew you'd be a natural at all this!"

As the Bulgarian Minister stared askance at Fudge, the man cleared his throat.

"Harry Potter, you know," he said, sighing when the man didn't seem to understand. "Harry Potter! Oh come on… you must know who he is… the boy who You-Know-Who failed to kill… You-Know-Who, remember?"

Finally, the man seemed to understand and excitedly reached out to vigorously shake Harry's hand. Fudge stared on in bemusement as the man continued gabbling loudly in Bulgarian, attracting the attention of a few people nearby.

Harry spotted the distasteful look on Umbridge's face as she stared at the man and he wondered whether, in addition to being a pathetic racist and pureblood supremacist, she was xenophobic as well. It certainly wouldn't be out of the realms of possibility when it came to the woman.

Finally, Harry managed to pull away from the man who took his seat and Fudge led him away once again.

"Language barrier… it's a massive headache sometimes. That's why I keep Barty Crouch for that sort of thing. Ah… I see his elf's keeping his seat for him. Good foresight by Barty there… these Bulgarian and Irish blighters have been trying to wheedle all the best seats… ah, and here's Lucius!"

Harry's gaze shifted swiftly to the trio walking along the wall to the three vacant seats right in front of the ones their group had claimed for themselves. It was in the second to front row, a bit lower but still with a good view of the pitch.

"Ah, Cornelius," Lucius greeted, extending a hand forward, although his eyes remained trained on Harry. His gaze shifted soon as the Minister shook his hand. "I don't think you've met my wife, Narcissa? Or our son, Draco?

Harry trained his eyes on the people accompanying him.

Draco looked older, as he did previously, but that haggard look on him was missing. Here, he was every bit his father's son, with a longer hair tied in a ponytail that frankly made him look poncier, if it was even possible. Harry quickly disregarded him, ignoring the weak sneer on his face, and trained his sight on someone far more appealing, even when clad in a modest yet expensive witches' robe.

Narcissa Malfoy was the only blonde sister out of three, and she was quite tall, for a woman's standards. As Harry gazed at her, he came to an easy conclusion that Ginny would one day grow into the same figure. The woman was as haughty as the rest of her family as she gazed around at everyone as if someone was holding a pile of hippogriff shit under her nose.

Harry had not known her in the previous time, but he could easily guess what kind of person she must be. None of it put a dampener on the sheer sexuality the woman oozed without even trying. The resting bitch face, the haughty demeanor, and a body to kill for – all were traits that highly appealed to him. She was a challenge – one he yearned to conquer.

The fact that she was the wife of Lucius and the mother of Draco was further motivation.

It took him mere seconds to make the entire observation and reach this conclusion, and when he came out of his thoughts, Fudge was in the middle of making introductions.

"You know Arthur Weasley, I presume?"

It was a tense moment as the two wizards who had once brawled like common muggles outside Flourish and Blotts stared each other down, and Malfoy's lips curled in a sneer. He raked his eyes up and down the row that the rest of the Weasleys and Hermione were seated in, all gazing back scornfully.

"Merlin, Arthur," Lucius said softly. "What did you have to sell to fetch so many seats for the Top Box? Surely your house didn't fetch you that much? Or," his eyes gleamed cruelly, "have you started a new rental service?"

Now, had he just made that remark, Harry would've overlooked it, but when he saw the motherfucker's eyes drift toward Ginny as he said it, well, all bets came off.

He cast a quick wandless compulsion charm on all her brothers and Arthur who all would've jumped Malfoy and forced them to remain in their places. They had no chance of coming out of top here, and he knew it.

Fudge, who had been listening to something his toady was saying, turned around and beamed.

"Lucius here has just given a very generous contribution to Saint Mungo's, Arthur. He is here as my guest."

"Very nice," Arthur managed, seething silently. Harry caught his eyes and pursed his lips, silently telling him to calm down, and the man took a deep breath.

With a disgusted look cast toward Hermione who stared back defiantly, Lucius turned around and began to make his way over to the empty seats with his family.

"Well, it should be starting soon. Have your seat, Harry," Fudge clapped him on his back, and Harry smiled tightly, walking over with Arthur to join the seething Weasley clan.

"That fucking slimeball," Ron growled, and it was a marvel that the boy managed to keep his voice down given how enraged he was. Harry sat beside him and Ginny quickly joined him on the other side. He gazed at her with a raised eyebrow, smirking when she shook her head dismissively.

Arthur could not rebuke his son for cursing even if he wanted to. He had much more vicious insults for Malfoy but he had somehow held it all in. Exhaling deeply, he turned to his daughter and reached out, squeezing her hand gently.

"Just ignore him. Bitter people like him live lives without any meaning."

Arthur merely smiled thinly at her. She also nodded reassuringly at her brothers who all grabbed their seats and stared ahead stoically.

Harry leaned back comfortably in his seat and they watched Ludo Bagman who pressed his wand against his neck, beginning the proceedings. Eyeing Ginny discreetly, he leaned over and whispered in her ear, "I think Lucius dear should meet a grim fate soon. A broken neck, maybe?"

The redhead glanced at him in amusement as she leaned closer. "And who'd do that? You?"

Smirking, Harry whispered, "He insulted my dear follower. It's the least I can do."

His mark had taken hold of her, both magically and spiritually, and it meant everything that was normal for him was normal for her now. He knew she would no longer balk at the thought of murder, torture, or any crime that he considered normal, as their thinking aligned entirely now. As such, he could be candid with her about whatever he wanted, and she would listen and respond like a loyal, yet logical follower.

"I'm so lucky to have such a wonderful master," she whispered back as the Irish mascots – a group of leprechauns rained down fake gold all over the stadium, sending the crowd rummaging around to grab as much as they could. It was chaos and quite a few people got hurt, and any rational person would've wondered just what the logic was behind this careless act. Alas, logic never prevailed in the Wizarding World.

Harry leaned back in his chair once again as he watched the proceedings. Ginny had not given her assent explicitly, but he was inclined to take it as something she wanted him to do. He sneered at the back of that blonde head that sat in the row in front of theirs.

The night was already going to end in chaos, with Malfoy at the heart of it. Perhaps it would not be too bad if he became one of the casualties of the Death Eater attack at the Quidditch World Cup. Additionally, with the knowledge he had at his disposal, he could very well destroy his reputation posthumously. It was indeed a very compelling idea.

Harry was brought out of his thoughts once again when several men around him shot to their feet, mesmerized, and all he could do was let out a derisive snort.

The veela were indeed hot, their skin glowing ethereally as they floated about on the field. It felt as if they were gliding in the air as they danced, and a few men even tried to throw themselves over the edge of their railings, only for someone to either barge into them instead or a woman to pull them back, glaring at the beautiful women dancing in the green.

Harry chanced a glance over at Umbridge and he was not surprised to see the look of sheer distaste on her face. His lips curled, and he cast a silent spell on her to make sure her face remained frozen like that. The bitch deserved much worse, but he had plans for her.

At the front seats, Harry spied Narcissa from his angle, holding both Lucius and Draco firmly by their arms, and he stifled a snort. Both dumbasses had their mouths open in hunger and their eyes half-lidded. The woman's lips were set in a thin line as she eyed her husband who sat, unresponsive, his eyes fixated on the erotic dance taking place in front of him. Just one look at her and he knew how much she was affected by this. Being an alluring beauty herself, she was a prideful woman, and to see her husband in such a state, drooling over those she must deem beneath herself was bound to hurt. Harry merely tutted quietly and shifted his gaze.

The Weasley males apart from Arthur had shot to their feet and were slowly walking forward when an ethereal melody filled the air and everyone came to a sudden halt. Their eyes wide in adoration, they stood rooted to the spot and gazed reverently at the veela who intensified both their dancing and their provocative moves, insulting the Irish while looking unbelievably sexy doing so. The leprechauns, irate at the insults, retaliated in kind, and it soon turned into a competition over who could both grab the crowd's attention and insult the other. It was a battle between gold and beauty, and the crowd was expectedly divided.

Finally, both teams' mascots were asked to leave the pitch, to loud protest from them and the crowd.

"Quite a spectacle," Harry remarked, gazing at Ron mirthfully.

"Shut up, mate."

"And now," Bagman's loud voice boomed, "ladies and gentlemen, kindly welcome the Bulgarian National Team!"

One by one, the players zoomed out, shooting through the air with so much pace that they were blurred. As expected, Krum got a massive ovation and loud boos from the Bulgarians and the Irish respectively.

As the match progressed, it was quite apparent that things were one-sided. The Bulgarian team was in shambles and they were scrambling as the Irish chasers ran riot, scoring one after another. In a mere hour, the scoreline read 120-10 in favor of the team in green, and their supporters were chanting in jubilation while the Bulgarians watched on in silence.

"Come on, just a few more. Then Krum can catch the snitch," Harry heard Fred whisper to George and he sighed. Those two were going to get a very harsh reality check soon.

"Krum's feinting, isn't he?" He heard Ginny whisper to him as Krum and Lynch dove down at a ferocious pace, the former's hand outstretched.

"Yeah, and Lynch's gonna taste some grass real soon."

Loud gasps echoed in the aftermath of the crash as Aiden Lynch, the Irish seeker, hit the ground with a dull thud, Krum flying out with not even a scratch on him.

"That was wicked!" Ron exclaimed excitedly, grinning.

Harry smiled; however, he did not miss how Narcissa glanced over her shoulder distastefully at the redhead whose entire focus was on the mediwizards who hurried onto the field. He caught her eye and raised an unimpressed brow, prompting the woman to sneer.

'A bit too stuck up, aren't you?' Harry thought, drumming his fingers on the arm of his seat idly as he held her gaze. The woman stared him down, but if she expected he'd cower under her gaze like many had before, she was sorely mistaken.

Harry's lips quirked into an amused smirk and he affixed the most disdainful grin he could muster on his face. He eyed her like one would a common whore, dragging his gaze from her eyes to her red, pouty lips, down her heart-shaped face to her slender neck, and over her clothed chest. He traced the journey back up her body, his smirk widening as she gazed at him with slightly widened eyes. Keeping eyes locked with her, he pushed his finger through his pocket and fished out a galleon, tossing it about in the air casually. He made sure she saw it, and it was impossible to miss the moment the implication of his little gesture dawned on her.

Harry reveled in the transformation as her face twisted in rage; the realization that he was calling her a one-galleon whore dawning on her. It seemed she would get up, undoubtedly intent on confronting him, when Bagman's loud shout made her whirl around.

"IRELAND WINS!"

The man's voice was filled with disbelief, his eyes wide as he registered the sudden end of the match. Harry was surprised as well. It seemed he had missed all the moments that had come after Lynch had crashed – the penalties and fouls, the mockery between the veela and the leprechauns, and Lynch's second crash. All that remained of the match was the celebrating Irish contingent, the dejected Bulgarian dugout, and a bleeding Krum hovering gently as he held the snitch, his eyes trained on the massive scoreboard that was flashing BULGARIA: 160, IRELAND: 170.

The twins celebrated like madmen while Ron and Ginny stood alongside Bill and Charlie, looking on excitedly. Meanwhile, Harry leaned back with a smirk as he eyed the blonde woman once again who, as if feeling his eyes on her, glanced over and fumed silently. He tossed the galleon once again in the air for good measure before pocketing it, shooting her a dismissive glance.

That woman was going down. He would make sure of it. But before that, it was her husband's turn. Harry eyed Lucius who had already stood up and was asking his family to get a move on, undoubtedly eager to get some rest before going through with his little plan.

The arrogant bastard was about to cause mayhem tonight in front of foreigners with his Death Eater buddies. Harry, however, was all too happy to make sure he got a harsh taste of his own medicine.

Lucius Malfoy had lived long enough. It was time for him to meet his end.

To be continued…

Chapter Text

An amused Harry watched on as an infuriated Narcissa walked away with her idiotic husband and her doofus son when the post-match ceremony concluded. He made sure to eye her suggestively as she left, ensuring he left a proverbial mark on her. The silent humiliation she had been subjected to will remain with her for a long time, and it would be well deserved for her stuck-up bitchy attitude.

As he followed the Weasleys down the stairs and back to the tent, he barely listened to Arthur imploring his twin sons about their gambling and occupied himself with planning for what was to follow in a few hours. They were all soon caught up in the crowds flooding out of the stadium and barely managed to remain together.

The crowd was raucous, the Irishmen rowdy as they celebrated their nation's victory, and the noise was so loud that none felt like sleeping. They all took their seats by the firepit that had been set up beforehand and the enthusiasts were quick to start discussing the match.

Harry chimed in on occasion from his place between Ron and Ginny, the latter subtly leaning against him. The little motions went unnoticed by everyone except a certain brunette who, once she noticed their closeness, immediately averted her eyes, pointedly staring into her cup of hot cocoa.

However, Harry remained oblivious to the little glances she kept giving them. He shifted slightly so that his mouth was close to Ginny's ear and keeping his voice low so that only she could hear, he whispered, "I've got to take care of something tonight, and I'd like you to come with me. You'll love it, I promise."

Ginny glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, a hint of excitement shining through, and Harry almost chuckled. He merely smiled, indicating her to silently accept what he'd just instructed her to do. She nodded subtly, a small smirk on her lips.

She glanced over Harry's shoulder and spied Hermione eyeing them over the rim of her cup. Feeling naughty, she glanced around before boldly pushing her tongue out, licking Harry's neck right under his ear.

The emerald-eyed wizard jerked in surprise, having not expected the move, and he eyed Ginny, only to find her smirking to herself. She was the picture of innocence as she pulled away, and it was only because of the Weasley family's fanaticism for Quidditch that kept them too absorbed in their discussion to notice what was going on.

Harry raised an eyebrow in question, and Ginny merely gestured toward Hermione with her eyes. Understanding dawned on Harry in an instant and he smirked.

"I believe you've earned yourself a reward, Gin," he whispered as he leaned closer. Ginny grinned and turned back to the firepit, sipping her cocoa in silence, and amused, Harry rejoined the discussion about Quidditch. He had a bit of time to kill.

XXXXX

An excited grin overtook Harry's features as he lay in his bed in the tent room he was sharing with Ron when he heard the distant screams. Barely a minute later, the tent was echoing with Arthur's screams.

"Get up! Ron Harry Fred, George! Quickly! This is urgent!"

Harry climbed out of the bed and his eyes fell on a broom in the corner. He stared at it for a moment before he shrugged, spanking Ron on the arse with it. The ginger yelped, startled as he shot up in the bed.

"Blimey, mate! The fuck was that for!?"

"Mr. Weasley's calling. Something's wrong. Get up quickly!"

Ron might have been sleepy, but Harry had done a good job startling him, and even he could recognize the shift in the noises echoing around the campsite. The singing and the chants had stopped, replaced by screams and cries as people ran in terror.

Barely a minute later, both Harry and Ron shot out of the room and found everyone else rushing out of their respective rooms as well. As they all met near the exit, Arthur led the way.

They stopped right outside their tent and stared at the abhorrent scene unfolding in the distance. Witches and wizards were running around like headless chickens, fleeing from a group of wizards clad in black robes. The humiliation and the cruelty those wizards in black were inflicting on the muggles churned the hearts of everyone present.

"That's sick," Ron muttered in disgust as they saw a muggle child suspended roughly sixty feet above the ground where he began to spin like a top. If that was not sickening enough, one of the wizards flipped a middle-aged woman upside down with his wand, making her nightdress fall down and revealing voluminous drawers. The woman struggled to cover herself up as the wizards hooted and laughed.

Harry caught Ginny's disgusted eyes and gave her a meaningful look, and it did not take long for realization to dawn on her. She gave him a firm nod, indicating that she agreed with him, and Harry smirked.

"We're going to help the Ministry," Arthur said firmly, standing alongside his three eldest sons who all had their wands out. "You lot get into the woods and make your way over to the portkey site. We'll meet you there once we're done with this. Follow the crowd, and you will be safe."

Bill, Charlie, and Percy moved quickly toward the group of Ministry officials who were on their way to intercept the hooligans and Arthur followed suit, sprinting after them.

"Let's go," Harry instructed and ran toward the crowd of fleeing people. The rest were quick to react and they joined him, intermixing with the terrified crowd. They could barely hear any voices apart from the shouting and terrified crying, and Harry had to shout to make himself heard. "If someone splits up, make your way to the portkey site. We'll all regroup there, as Mr. Weasley said."

They hurried through the crowd, the darkness making it harder to navigate the path. All they could make out was dark figures bundling through the trees, children crying as their parents tried their damnedest to keep them calm, and numerous afraid voices as they pierced the cold night air. They were all being pushed and jostled by the people who could barely see anything in the darkness and their panic.

Harry maintained a silent shield charm around himself as he walked, the people repelled by the invisible barrier, and straightened back to the path when he heard Ron's pained yell. Sensing the opportunity, he reached out and grabbed Ginny's hand, pulling her to himself and expertly swerving to the side, going away with the flow of the crowd.

It was Hermione who found Ron and quickly helped him to his feet.

"Bleedin' hell! Where'd that root come from!?" Ron exclaimed.

"Eyesight getting poor, Weasley? Maybe Scarhead can give you some pointers," a familiar voice drawled and they all turned to see none other than Draco Malfoy leaning against a tree, looking utterly relaxed. His arms were folded over his chest and he looked as though he had been watching the carnage through the gap in the trees.

"Go fuck yourself, Malfoy!" Ron spat.

"Ooh! Steady with the language there, Weasley," Malfoy mocked. His eyes shifted to Hermione and he sneered, "Better hurry on, eh? Wouldn't want her spotted by them, would you?"

His question was punctuated by a blast in the distance, and a flash of green lit up the treeline.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Hermione asked defiantly.

Malfoy looked at Hermione as though she was a simpleton.

"They're after muggles, Granger," the blonde ponce began as if he was speaking to a child. "You wouldn't want to show off your knickers like Miss Old Hag over there, would you?"

"Hermione's a witch," Ron retorted.

"Ah, and you think they can't tell a Mudblood apart?"

"You watch your mouth!" Ron snarled.

"Ooh, feeling hypocritical today, are we?" Malfoy grinned. "Anyways, do stay behind to find out. I'd be hurrying away if I were you though. Do what Daddy asked me to do."

"Funny, considering you're here mouthing off," Hermione snorted. "Where's your robe and mask, Malfoy?"

Malfoy turned to her and smiled.

"Well… maybe I don't need them. Maybe I've got nothing to fear. As if anything will happen to me," he remarked with a casual shrug, and the meaning was not lost on anyone. Malfoy truly believed that his family was powerful enough that they would be able to get away with anything, and given the political situation of Wizarding Britain, he might as well be right.

"Oh forget it!" Hermione spat with a disgusted look at Malfoy as she pulled Ron with her. "Come on, we've got to see where the others are."

"Keep your knickers hidden, Granger," Malfoy sneered as Hermione pulled an irate Ron behind her.

"I bet his parents are frolicking around with that lot in their old costumes," the redhead muttered.

"Well, here's hoping the aurors catch them red-handed," Hermione said fervently. "Oh God, where is everyone?"

Harry, Ginny, Fred, and George were nowhere to be seen, although the pathway was packed with numerous people huddled in groups, having undoubtedly lost someone as well. They spotted a small group of teenage witches in their pajamas, arguing near a tree. As they walked by, one of the girls turned around and said quickly, "Où est Madame Maxime? Nous l'avons perdue—"

"Er — what?" Ron asked dumbly.

"Oh…" The girl who had spoken turned her back on him, and as they walked on, they distinctly heard her say, "'Ogwarts."

"Beauxbatons," Hermione muttered. "Come on, I don't think we'll find them if we went away. They all must be together, and as Harry said, we'll all meet by the portkey site if we get separated. We've got to stick to what we agreed upon."

"I guess," Ron muttered with a heavy breath.

XXXXX

Meanwhile, Fred and George were of the same mind as they walked with the crowd, having been separated from everyone else. However, Harry and Ginny were on a different course altogether.

"What are you going to do, Harry?" Ginny asked as she walked alongside Harry through the thick treeline, their hands clasped firmly together.

"Tell me something, Gin," Harry began, glancing at her. "How did you feel when you saw what those assholes were doing to those muggles?"

Ginny's face contorted into a disgusted sneer and that was all the answer Harry needed.

"Exactly. Won't you say it would be better if scum like that didn't exist?"

"You're going to kill them?" Ginny asked, and there was zero hint of shock, disapproval, or reluctance in her voice. It was merely a casual question, and it made Harry smirk.

"I'm going to treat them as they deserve to be treated," Harry replied. "They think they're too strong, preying upon the weak. Fucking hyenas. I want to see how well they can hunt when faced with a predator."

Ginny shivered at his tone, her knees weakening slightly as arousal overcame her. The way he was speaking and the determined glint in his eyes stimulated her in ways she could not believe, and her grip on his hand tightened. Harry noticed and turned to her, smirking.

"Oh, getting excited, are we?"

"You did say I'd earned a reward," Ginny grinned.

"All in due time," Harry replied. "Now, I don't want you to reveal yourself, okay? I'll take care of those cunts and you are to remain hidden and observe. This is going to be your first time so take no risks. Got it?"

Ginny nodded, and Harry gave her a peck in approval as he led them through the woods. The mist reached up to their waists and there was no sign of civilian life around them. The moonlight barely passed through the thick canopy as they walked, the sound of their steps on the wet grass and the cracking of twigs and roots cutting the stillness in the air.

"We're getting closer," he murmured, his magical senses reaching out to obtain a feel of their surroundings. The Death Eaters were nearby, and hopefully, Lucius would be with them. "When we get near the treeline, I want you to pick a thick trunk and hide behind it. Here, take this."

Ginny took the Invisibility Cloak from him and quickly draped it over herself as Harry held on to her hand and walked forward. As they reached the treeline, he released his hold and Ginny promptly took up position behind a thick tree trunk. Harry glanced over where he'd heard her go and Ginny pushed her head out of the cloak, grinning at him. Harry smirked and turned around. He nimbly walked forward and broke past the treeline, taking in the sight before him.

Scattered across were several cloaked figures. Their dark robes whipped in the wind, and those silver masks gleamed under the cold moonlight. Bodies littered around them innocent bystanders who must have been caught in the path of their depravity their eyes open and unseeing as they lay on the bloodied ground.

Harry stepped forward, and the Death Eaters were so occupied with surveying their handiwork that his approach went unnoticed. It was not until he cleared his throat mockingly that one of the Death Eaters turned. There was a moment of pause as the two stared at each other, and as Harry grinned ferally, gasps of recognition broke through the crowd.

"Well, well," a voice hissed from beneath one of the masks. "If it isn't the Boy Who Lived himself, gracing us with his presence."

Another Death Eater snickered. "What happened, Potter? Lost your way? Need a hand to guide you?"

Harry stood at ease, eyeing them as if they were lowly trash, which they frankly were.

"This isn't where you want to be right now, Potter," the same Death Eater from before sneered.

Harry smirked, his green eyes glinting with a malice that made their own darkness seem tame. "Oh, I wouldn't miss this for the world." He moved forward, one hand sliding to his wand as he locked eyes with the Death Eater who'd spoken.

His gaze shifted when the crowd of Death Eaters parted, and he did not need the man to take his mask off to know who he was. That pale, poncy hair with too much bleach gave away the identity, and a small gleam entered his eyes when the mask came down to reveal the face of one Lucius Malfoy.

He took Harry in with a cold, appraising look, and smirked.

"Ah, Potter," Lucius drawled, voice dripping with condescension. "I wasn't aware we'd drawn enough attention to attract such… distinguished company." His eyes sparkled with a dark thrill, his fingers twitching in barely hidden anticipation. "Do tell, are you here to play hero? Or simply to gawk at those of us willing to fight for the right side of history?"

Harry stared at him for a long moment, a slow, mocking smile spreading across his face. "You think you're making history, Malfoy? Tying helpless people up and torturing them for kicks?" He took a step forward, his gaze drifting over the rest of the Death Eaters. "You know what I think?" He asked in a conspiratorial whisper, eyeing them with a grin. "I think you've got one hell of an idea for a pastime."

The Death Eaters shifted at that, muttering and sneering, but their surprise was palpable. Harry idly twirled his wand around as he kept his gaze locked with Lucius who could not help but feel slightly unnerved at the look in those emerald eyes.

"But there is one little problem, Lucius," Harry continued in the same whisper. "I only like it when it's assholes on the receiving end. Assholes like you."

The Death Eaters bristled this time, and the air grew taut with tension as Harry raised his wand, his grip steady and his eyes locked on Lucius.

"You shouldn't have come here alone, boy," Lucius sneered, flicking his wand, the tip glowing a sickly green. "You're braver than I thought… or dumber. Either way, I'm going to have a lot of fun doing what I would've done if not for that filthy elf."

Harry's eyes gleamed coldly as he eyed Lucius. "Would've done?" He asked, his voice low. "I didn't think you were foolish enough, Lucius."

Before anyone could say or do anything, Harry struck. An ugly, grey bolt tore through the clearing, hitting a Death Eater square in the chest. The man flew back, hitting the ground with a sickening crack as his mask skidded off, revealing a pale, shocked face frozen in death.

No one was laughing now. Even Lucius, for all his bravado and taunts, found himself slack-jawed, his eyes wide as he stared at the corpse.

The Death Eater who had been standing right beside him shifted, his hand tightening on his wand and fury mixing with sudden fear as he pointed his wand at Harry. However, Harry was already moving, stalking the group like a predator stalking wounded prey.

"You better run, Potter!" The Death Eater jeered, his voice shaking as he cast a curse that Harry swatted away with ease, sending it crashing against a tree behind him.

Harry tilted his head as he gazed at the Death Eater who had cast the curse, his expression one of cruel amusement. "Run?" He echoed, his voice icy. "Why would I run when I'm just getting started?"

He flicked his wand again, and a stream of red light hit the masked figure with deadly accuracy. The man dropped to his knees, clawing at his throat, gasping for air as the spell twisted through him, leaving him writhing on the ground. He struggled for barely two seconds before he went limp as well.

Another Death Eater charged, his mask glinting in the moonlight as he faced Harry. However, Harry sidestepped his curse with effortless grace flicking his wand in a motion that sent the man crashing to the ground, limbs twisted in angles that shouldn't have been possible. His scream tore through the night air, agonizingly raw and broken, before his neck twisted, killing him.

The others watched, momentarily frozen, as Harry turned to face them, his eyes dark with intent. "Come on, that's it?" He taunted, twirling his wand casually.

For a long moment, nobody moved, staring at the carnage in shock, but then, Lucius' voice cut through the silence, sharp and loud. "What are you idiots waiting for!? Attack him!"

The Death Eaters started, and as one, they jumped into action. They surged forward as one, sending curses flying through the air in rapid succession. Malicious streaks of green and blue cut through the darkness. Unfortunately for the Death Eaters, Harry was much faster, his wand weaving a deadly dance as he deflected each spell with brutal precision. The spells collided with either tree trunks or the floor, leaving scorching marks over whichever surface they struck.

Harry's retaliation was swift and merciless, each curse laced with a level of cruelty that made their own magic look tame. A Death Eater lunged at him, wand raised and a curse at the tip of his tongue, only to be hit with a slicing hex that tore through his mask and carved a deep gash across his face. He screamed, clutching his face as blood poured down, his mask slipping to reveal a contorted, terrified expression. Harry gave his wand a negligent flick and the gash deepened, tearing through flesh and bones and slicing part of his face off. The man lay dead and bleeding on the floor, his severed face a grotesque display of cruelty.

Lucius Malfoy gulped as he witnessed everything, and he was filled with disbelief. "You think you can get away with this, Potter?" he spat, though his face betrayed the slightest flicker of fear.

Harry turned to him, his smile widening and his voice almost gentle. "Get away with it? Malfoy, I'm here because of everything you've done. Everything you stand for." He took a slow step forward, then another, until Lucius was forced to step back, bumping into one of his comrades. Harry smirked as he watched them. "You're nothing. All of you. Hiding behind masks, attacking the weak… you're as worthless as the dirt you tread on."

The remaining Death Eaters faltered, and the group that was having so much fun not even fifteen minutes ago was now reduced to a collection of terrified men. One of them made a run for it, but Harry's spell hit him square in the back, opening a deep gash all over his body from the back of his head to his waist. The Death Eater fell forward with a strangled cry, crumpling to the ground, dead.

"You're nothing but a bunch of cowards," Harry muttered, his voice dripping with disgust. "This is what your loyalty to Voldemort gets you—death in a dark forest with no one to care."

One Death Eater, desperate, lunged at him with a guttural yell, but Harry's wand flashed, and the man's knees buckled as his legs shattered beneath him. He fell to the ground with a cry, looking up at Harry with horror.

"Please—"

"Please?" Harry mocked, crouching down so that his face was level with the man's. "Do you think your victims got to beg before you killed them?"

The man's mouth opened, but no sound came out. He looked at Harry with eyes filled with terror, and Harry's gaze softened with mock sympathy. "Don't worry," he murmured, almost gently, "it'll be over soon."

He flicked his wand, and the man's body seized, a tortured gasp escaping his lips as he convulsed and went still.

The clearing was nearly silent now, broken only by the faint rustling of robes as Lucius stood alone, the last one left, his face twisted with fury and fear. He forced a sneer onto his face, clutching his wand in a white-knuckled grip. "You… you'll regret this, Potter. When the Dark Lord finds out—"

"Oh? So you do know he survived?" Harry asked with a bright grin, and Malfoy quickly shut up, his eyes wide. Grinning, Harry continued, "I wonder what your dear Dark Lord would do when he realizes you knew he had survived, and yet you did nothing for him. But that's a matter I don't care about."

Harry stalked Lucius who remained frozen on the spot, his body seized with fear. The shock of everything that had transpired in this clearing rendered him unable to move.

He jerked violently when Harry let out a loud laugh, the sound harsh and cold. "Voldemort… your precious Dark Lord, eh?" he mocked. "Even if he doesn't know about your little betrayal… do you really think he gives a flying fuck about a ponce like you, Lucius? You really think you're worth anything in his eyes? You're nothing but a speck of dirt on his boot, Lucius. Vermin. Expendable. Disposable."

Lucius flinched as he felt Harry come to a stop right in front of him, the same damned smirk on his face that had remained there since he'd started killing his companions for the evening. Somehow, gathering whatever courage had remained inside him, he held his ground, his eyes narrowing with hatred. "You don't know anything, boy. The Dark Lord"

"Isn't here," Harry interrupted, his voice a dark whisper. "But I am. And tonight, that's all that matters."

Lucius' face twisted into a snarl and he tried to raise his wand, but Harry's spell hit him before he could even move it an inch. The force of it slammed him back against a tree, his body pinned and his wand clattering to the ground. He struggled, a look of panic flashing across his face as Harry stepped closer.

"You think you're better than me, don't you?" Lucius spat, his voice shaking. "Because you're young, because you're… lucky."

Harry smirked, his gaze unyielding and trained on the fearful face. The sight was cathartic and he felt excitement course through his veins. Oh, how he'd missed this feeling!

"Better?" He asked as he continued to step closer to the blonde ponce. "No, Malfoy. I'm worse. And tonight, you get to see just how much worse."

He flicked his wand, and an ugly crimson bolt struck the terrified man, sending a wave of pain crashing through Lucius' body. His back arched as he cried out, and Harry watched with cold satisfaction as the man writhed and screamed his guts out, his proud face contorted in agony under the Cruciatus Curse.

"Does it hurt, Lucius?" he murmured, his voice soft and deadly as he leaned closer. His face contorted into one of disgust when he discovered that the man had soiled himself. Spitting to the side, he continued, "All that pride, all that power, and you're still nothing more than a sniveling coward."

Lucius gasped, his voice barely a whisper. "You… you'll pay for this…"

Harry leaned even closer, his voice a taunting whisper. "Will I? You wish, Malfoy. Nothing will happen. You know why? Because there will be no one to tell anyone what happened here tonight. Ah, I see you've realized it fully now. Indeed. I'm going to kill you as well, Malfoy."

He straightened, watching as Lucius' head slumped forward, his strength draining.

"And once you're gone?" Harry added, his voice dripping with disdain. "I wonder how Narcissa will feel… perhaps grateful. Grateful to be free of a cowardly ponce. Imagine, Lucius—your precious trophy Narcissa, taken in ways you can only dream of. Stripped from you—mind, body, and soul. Visualize it, Lucius. Your precious trophy Narcissa, writhing under me as I claim her. Your precious trophy Narcissa, begging for my cock as I bend her over and tease her. Your precious trophy Narcissa, brought low from that fucking perch of hers where she looks down on everyone, humbled. Your precious trophy Narcissa, reduced to nothing but my plaything to use as I see fit. That would be a sight indeed, won't it?"

Lucius' face contorted with rage as Harry leaned in, speaking with mocking calmness. "She'll see a new world, Lucius. No more of that undeserving prestige and haughtiness. She will become my bitch, Lucius. And there's not a thing you can do to stop it."

"You… you'll regret this, Potter," Lucius spat, his voice trembling as his body convulsed when the aftereffects of the Cruciatus kicked in.

Harry chuckled, and the low, cold sound made Lucius flinch. "Will I? Tell me, Lucius… did you feel regret when you watched innocents scream tonight? When you terrorized them, just because you could? When you humiliated that poor old woman? And when you slaughtered all these weak innocents?"

Lucius tried to look away, but Harry leaned in closer, his voice a dark whisper. "Oh, but finally, it's your turn. You're going to pay for every life you've ruined. I would've taken multiple lives to make up for all those you have taken, but alas, that is not possible. So, I'll have to content myself with this one, as worthless as it is."

Lucius tried to lunge, his face twisted with helpless rage, but Harry only laughed, the sound cold and echoing in the dark.

With one final swipe of his wand, Harry ended it. Lucius' form crumpled on the harsh ground, blood pouring out of his neck as his head rolled away toward Harry, stopping near his feet. He gazed at the face frozen in an expression of terror and hatred, and gently levitated it in front of himself.

"What are you going to do with that?" Ginny asked, quietly materializing to his left as she gazed at the levitating head with disgust.

"Haven't thought about it yet," Harry remarked with a shrug as he flicked his wand, encasing the head in ice before conjuring an enchanted jar for it. He shrunk the jar and pocketed it before turning around, and with a smirk, he grabbed Ginny by the arse.

The redhead moaned at the feeling of his fingers sinking into her curvy rear and gazed up at him with barely concealed arousal.

"So… looks like you loved everything you saw here tonight, hmm?" He asked in a seductive whisper. Ginny squirmed in his grasp, feeling her womanhood tingle, and a shiver coursed through her as she gazed into his emerald eyes.

"They were lucky you were so merciful with them, otherwise they deserved much worse than they got," she said throatily.

"Is that so?" Harry asked as he leaned down, clamping his lips right over her throat. Ginny's fingers immediately pushed through his hair as she pressed his face against her neck, feeling his lips sucking harshly on her skin.

"Yeah," she breathed somehow, pressing herself up against him. She felt his erection against her lower belly and furiously slammed herself against him, humping against him as she tried to get as much of it as she could.

Harry smirked and his hands drifted lower, pressing against Ginny's pussy from behind. He pushed his fingers against her lower lips over her jeans and began to rub furiously, his lips sucking and nibbling on her throat. He relished her gasps and moans as he stimulated her, feeling how hot and labored she already was.

A mewl of protest left Ginny's lips when Harry pulled his lips away from her skin and gazed into her aroused eyes.

"Good to see you understand then. Now come on, I'm sure there are more of these pricks terrorizing the innocent weaklings who would rather run like cowards than group together and fight," he sneered. "And this time, I'd like to see what you're capable of as you are right now."

Ginny's eyes widened, her grip on his shoulders tightening as the realization dawned on her.

"You mean…?"

"Exactly, Gin," Harry grinned. "You, my dear, are going to get your hands painted red tonight."

A million thoughts ran through Ginny's mind as she gazed up at him, and Harry's smirk widened when he saw her eyes flash a few seconds later.

"Good girl," he whispered, and with a final spank on her rear, he took her hand and began leading them back into the woods.

The night was still young, and it was going to be dark and full of terrors for the remaining Death Eaters.

To be continued…

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Chapter Text

The night sky was filled with shouts and cries of pain as Death Eaters rained down carnage in more than one hotspot around the woods that surrounded the Quidditch stadium. Screams echoed around, scattered with the crackling sounds of spells hitting their targets as Death Eaters and aurors fought near the campsite. Tents were ablaze, and the acrid smell of smoke mingled with the metallic tang of blood.

Death Eaters moved about like shadows in the dark, their chosen attire camouflaging them nicely. However, like the cocky bastards that they were, they always announced their presence, their sinister laughs cutting through the panicked cries.

Evacuation had finished a while ago but many people had separated and gotten lost, only to either roam around helplessly or be found by the people that were hunting them.

Far from all the chaos, a pair walked through the woods, their hands clasped. Harry led the way, his magical senses at a high as he searched for the nearest group of Death Eaters to send to their maker. There was no sound of spellfire near them, nor any hint of panicked or painful screaming. It was all deathly quiet.

A step behind him followed his dear follower and lover, Ginny Weasley, her red hair flowing behind her as she kept her eyes trained forward. Her thoughts were varied, excitement of the putdown she had witnessed only minutes ago only surpassed by the lust for the man who had carried out said putdown.

"Tell me Gin," Harry suddenly spoke, breaking her out of her thoughts. Her gaze shifted to his face as he kept his eyes straight ahead. "What did you think of what happened earlier?"

Ginny's eyes glittered with cruel satisfaction as she gazed at him.

"Malfoy screamed like a stuck pig until the end," she said, her voice dripping with disdain and mockery. "And to think he always strutted around like the place belonged to him. It's rather fitting, don't you think?"

"Your family hates that man and his ilk, eh?" Harry chuckled.

"Not that they help matters," Ginny shrugged. "But I do see it. We've always hated the Malfoys."

"Hmm. Maybe something happened in the past," Harry mused aloud.

"He deserved worse though," Ginny spat without any sympathy. "They all did."

"Mmm. They surely did. But I think putting them down like the rabid dogs that they are makes sense as well."

"I guess," Ginny muttered. "What's next? More Death Eater hunting?"

Harry's grin widened as he stopped, pulling Ginny close. "My, aren't you getting a little too excited for your first time, my dear?"

"Like I was for my other first time?" She asked cheekily.

Harry smirked and stepped close to her, lovingly stroking her curves as Ginny moaned in approval. "Next, we continue what we've started. And we finish it if we can. Knowing these idiots, they'll be having their fun until they feel the aurors are coming, so we might come across a few more groups."

"Good," Ginny said darkly. "Because none of them deserve to live."

Harry smirked, and kissed her firmly, biting on her lip with a painful tenderness. The redhead moaned in protest when he pulled away.

"Work first, pleasure later," he reminded her, leading them away.

They moved like predators in the shadows, with Harry tracking the nearest group in the far ends of the forest. He sensed three individuals, and once he deemed them near enough, he came to a stop. His wand was already out so it took him no time to cast an anti-apparition ward around the area.

"Now let's go greet our friends, shall we?" He grinned.

The three Death Eaters stood surrounded by a couple of unrecognizable bodies—individuals who had the bright idea to try to flee from them.

"Pesky brats," the one in the middle hissed. "Where'd Malfoy say he'd be?"

"Down south," the one on the left replied.

Together, they turned around and twisted on the spot.

"Fuck!" They cursed as one when a sudden jolt passed through them, and their eyes widened. "Anti-apparition ward!" "Wands out!"

They stood with their backs to each other, their wands pointed forward as they eyed their surroundings warily.

Meanwhile, behind a few rows of trees, Harry's eyes gleamed with malevolent anticipation as he stepped forward with Ginny in tow. He did not bother to quieten their approach as dry leaves and twigs cracked under their feet, letting their prey know death was coming. They emerged from behind the trees, and the three Death Eaters immediately spotted them. Alas, it had already been too late.

Three killing curses shot forward, and with a lazy flick of his wand, Harry tore a chunk of the ground off. He pulled it upward, and the bolts of sick emerald slammed into it, sending dust and debris flying around. With another flick, Harry reversed the spell, rendering the ground unblemished like before. The three Death Eaters stood seething, yet wide-eyed.

"P-Potter…"

"Well, well," Harry drawled, his voice filled with disdain and mockery. "What do we have here? Cowards taking their cruelty out on youngsters? Can't find someone your age, dipshits?"

The one on the left, the tallest and the lankiest of the lot, shakily lowered his wand and removed his mask. He could not have been older than twenty-five, if even that. "W-we didn't—We were just following orders—"

"Oh shut it already, will you?" Harry cut him off, flicking his wand. A jet of red light lashed out, shooting through the clearing and slicing through the man's throat with surgical precision. Blood sprayed around, squelching, as the man's body fell to the ground in a lifeless heap.

It all happened within three seconds, and the remaining two Death Eaters jerked back in shock. This was Harry Potter! Dumbledore's little lamb! What was he doing out here, killing people!?

"Spare me the excuses, you cunts," Harry sneered. "You kill innocents? You better be prepared to be hunted."

The two Death Eaters shook where they stood, slowly turning back to Harry, their bravado all gone. "P-Potter… Please!" The new one on the left stammered. "We'll— We'll leave! You— You'll never see us again!"

Nothing. There was no response from Harry. He stood there, staring at them, and a comical silence ensued.

Suddenly, Harry let out a chilling laugh that seemed to scare the living daylights out of the two Death Eaters. They could not believe it was truly Harry Potter that stood before them. This monster looked and seemed nothing like him.

"Oh, I'll make sure of that," Harry's grin was feral.

Without another word, he thrust his wand forward and a silent Cruciatus Curse slammed into the man who had stammered. The Death Eater screamed in excruciating pain, thrashing on the hard ground as the spell ravaged his body.

"You thought all this would be a game, didn't you?" Harry asked in a tone that made it seem as if they were having a casual conversation. "Terrorizing innocents? Laughing in their pain? Leaving them like butchered carcasses? It's high time someone showed you assholes how that feels."

The tortured man writhed, his vocal cords giving away. No sound but raspy breaths escaped him, his mouth open in a silent wail. The other Death Eater shook where he stood, and in a moment of desperation, he lunged at Ginny, forgetting the fact that he was a wizard and could use his wand.

Ginny reacted on instinct, her wand shooting up.

"Reducto!" She cried out.

The spell hit the Death Eater head-on, and the explosive impact sent him flying into a tree. His body collapsed in a heap.

Ginny blinked, her chest heaving as adrenaline surged through her body. She slowly lowered her wand, and paying no regard to Harry who served righteous judgment to the other Death Eater, she began to step toward the body.

Her eyes took in the man's state. Blood had already soaked his clothes, and his limbs were twisted at odd angles. Numerous bones had broken, both by the Reductor curse and the impact from colliding with the tree, and his vacant stare told the entire story. He was dead.

She felt a presence behind her and leaned against him, feeling his arms enveloping her. He stroked her gently, pressing featherlight kisses along her neck and exposed shoulder.

"Your first kill, Gin," he whispered in her ear, his hot breath making her shiver. His tone was almost reverent and she knew he had a proud smile on his face. "How does it feel, my dear?"

Ginny stared at the corpse for a few seconds, truly realizing the truth that stared her in the face. She had killed him. Slowly her face morphed, her lips curving into a calm, almost wicked smile. She allowed herself to press back against him, feeling him pull her firmly against her. Rubbing her perky rear against his hardening member, she glanced back over her shoulder and said softly, "Fitting. He, like every single one of those assholes, deserved it."

Harry's eyes darkened with lustful pride, and that was seemingly enough for Ginny. The look he was giving her—the sheer approval she could see in his gaze—felt better than a thousand praises she could hear from anyone else.

Her eyes glinted when he gave his wand a flick, decapitating the tortured Death Eater where he had been laid out, shivering uncontrollably. The man went limp instantly, and Harry brought down the anti-apparition ward.

"Just a second," he whispered hotly, and Ginny felt a familiar twist in her gut as they apparated away.

They reappeared in a second, and the surroundings felt no different to Ginny. Before she could question him though, she felt a sudden rush of cold strike her lower half, and shocked, she gazed down to find her jeans had vanished. A grin overtook her features immediately when she felt his arousal pressing against her from behind. She could feel the rough texture of his jeans brushing against her bare thighs, and it sent a thrill through her body.

The cool night air seemed to sharpen every sensation, and her skin tingled with anticipation as she felt him lean forward.

Harry's hands gripped her hips tightly, his thumbs pressing into the soft flesh of her exposed arse. His breath was hot against her ear, sending shivers down her spine. "You did very nicely, Gin," he murmured, his voice thick with lust. "And now, you deserve a reward."

Ginny leaned back further, grinding her ass more insistently against him. She could feel his length straining against the fabric of his pants, hard and throbbing with need. Her own body ached in response, wet and ready for him. The thought of being in the middle of the woods so soon after what they both had done—the smell of death still wafting off them—only made her crave him more, turning their coupling into something primal, something savage.

"Yes," she breathed, tilting her head back to give him better access to her neck. "Reward."

Harry didn't waste any time. He spun her around, pushing her roughly against the tree right in front of him. The tree's branches shook, leaves and twigs falling around them as Ginny's hands pressed flat against his chest. She fisted his shirt for support and gasped at the contact against her back—Harry had vanished all her clothes apart from her bra and knickers, and the roughness of bark pushed against her. However, instead of being painful, it only heightened her desire.

Harry's hands fisted in her hair, yanking her head back to expose her throat. He kissed her firmly, his lips rough and demanding, licking and biting at her skin as if claiming her. Ginny moaned throatily, arching into him, her breasts pressing against his chest.

"You taste so good," he growled, his voice muffled against her neck. "So fucking good."

Ginny's hands moved from the crumpled fabric of his shirt to grip his shoulders, and she pressed herself closer against him. At that moment, with lust and desire coursing through every vein in her body, she needed to feel him—all of him—against her.

"Take me," she demanded, her voice hoarse and cracking with urgency. "Take me now!"

Harry did not need to be told twice. He pulled back just enough to wandlessly vanish his clothes before turning his attention to her. His fingers hooked into the waistband of her knickers and he dragged them down her thighs. Ginny kicked them off impatiently, not caring where they landed. All that mattered was Harry and the way his hands were parting her thighs, seeking out the heat between them.

"Spread your legs for me, Gin," Harry commanded, his voice hoarse. "Show me how much you want me to reward you."

Ginny obeyed without hesitation, her legs parting as she opened herself to him. Her knees trembled with need, and a moan escaped her lips when Harry's fingers dipped into her, slick and warm, finding her drenched folds with ease. He stroked her with practiced precision, knowing exactly where and how to touch her to make her writhe.

"Ah!" Ginny cried out, her back arching as he found the perfect spot once again. "More of that. Please! More, Master!"

The word sent another jolt of pleasure through Harry who pulled back from her throat and gazed down at her lustfully.

"Begging already?" He teased, his fingers never slowing their rhythm. "Such a good little slut you are, Gin."

Ginny bit her lip, trying to hold back her moans, but it was impossible. Every stroke of Harry's fingers inside her, every dip, every curl brought her closer to the edge, and she could feel herself slipping, falling into that familiar abyss of pleasure.

"Ah yes, Master!" She panted. "I'm a little slut. Your little slut, Master. Only yours!"

Harry's eyes darkened with lust and hunger. He withdrew his fingers from her gushing quim, hearing her moan softly in protest, and held them up to her mouth. Ginny got the memo instantly and was soon on her way to licking them clean.

"That's right, Gin," he said, his voice gruff. "You're my little slut."

Without another word, he vanished his boxers and freed up his cock. Ginny watched him, her breath hitching as she took in the sight of his hardness, throbbing and ready for her. He stepped closer, pushing her firmly against the tree as he aligned himself with her, and thrust forward, burying himself deep inside her in one swift motion.

Ginny cried out in an alluring mix of enticing pain and exquisite pleasure, the sensation and the moment overwhelming her. Harry filled her completely, stretching her out tightly around him, and she could feel every inch of him pulsating with life inside her. The feeling was so overpowering that she tightened impossibly around him, and Harry's lustful eyes darkened further when she started to shiver.

He quickly grabbed her arse and lifted her in the air, making her shakily wrap her legs around his waist as she rode out the most impossible orgasm she had ever experienced in her life.

The bark scratched her convulsing back but she felt no pain, lost in the sensations coursing through her. Meanwhile, Harry held her tightly to himself, pressing her against the tree as she came around him before he could even move.

"That's got to be a record," she finally said with a disbelieving chuckle, her arms wrapped around his neck.

"I hope you're not done already, Gin," Harry said with a hint of warning in his tone.

"Not at all," Ginny replied, and with a salacious grin, she pulled back slightly before slamming herself against him. "Ah fuck yes!" She cried. "Fuck me, Master!"

Harry began to move, slow at first, savoring the feeling of her orgasmic pussy gripping him, but soon he sped up, driven by the same urgency that had consumed her.

"Harder!" Ginny cried, her nails digging into his back. "Please, Master! Harder!"

Harry obliged eagerly, thrusting into her with renewed vigor. His hips slapped against hers with brutal force, and each impact sent waves of pleasure crashing through her. Ginny was shocked to realize that a familiar tension was building up within her core once again, winding tighter and tighter with each slam Harry gave inside her.

"That's it, Gin," Harry grunted, his breaths coming in harsh gasps. "Take it. Take every fucking inch."

Ginny's vision blurred, tears of ecstasy pooling in her eyes as her body trembled with the second orgasm that threatened to overwhelm her within minutes. She could feel it approaching like a tidal wave ready to crash over her, and she knew she would not be able to hold on for much longer.

"Harry… Master… I'm gonna… I'm gonna…"

"Cum for me, my little slut," Harry growled, reaching up to grope her tit over the bra she still had on. There was a different allure seeing her clad in only that particular item of clothing as he kept her impaled on his cock, rocking her furiously as he hammered away inside her. "Let go, Gin. Cum for me."

With a loud, strangled wail, Ginny surrendered herself entirely to him. Her entire body convulsed as she came around him for the second time, her walls clenching painfully around his cock, trying to milk him for all he was worth. Harry allowed himself to go over the edge, his thrusts becoming erratic as he emptied himself inside her, his groan of release mingling with her rampant cries. Ginny could feel him shooting his load deep within her with long, thick strokes and she latched onto him firmly, pushing her entire body against his as she came down from her orgasmic high.

For a long time, they stayed locked together, their bodies twitching with aftershocks as they breathed deeply and harshly. Slowly, Harry pulled out of her, his softening cock slipping out of her creampied pussy with a slick sound.

Panting, she stared at him, her eyes half-lidded with satisfaction.

"So, I take it you're a bit too happy with your reward?" Harry asked, his voice still rough from all the exertion.

Although tired and utterly spent, Ginny still had the strength to give him a wicked smile. "For now," she purred, stretching languidly against him. "But I have a feeling that we'll be doing more of this by the time the night is over."

Harry chuckled, leaning down to capture her lips in a searing kiss, his palms squeezing her arse cheeks softly.

"Count on it, my slut," he murmured against her mouth. "But for now, we have other tasks. You've done it once, how about a few times more?"

Ginny shakily stood on her feet as Harry slowly lowered her to the ground, and she gazed up at him with a fetching grin.

"I'll be happy to, Master."

XXXXX

Almost half an hour had passed since their little tryst in the woods, and they lingered for a moment amid the carnage, the scent of ozone and burning flesh thick in the air. Twisted limbs lay at unnatural angles, vacant innocent eyes staring up at them.

Harry nudged a fallen wand with his boot, a sneer playing on his lips. "They'll move on," he said, his voice low and deadly, "always searching for easier prey."

He led Ginny toward the edge of the forest, the trees thinning as they walked up a steeper slope. As they reached the top, they found themselves on a small cliff overlooking a moonlit clearing.

Harry gazed at the jagged rocks and the forest clearing far below. His magical senses could feel the movement and it did not take long for his sharp eyes to catch it.

A small group of men in dark robes were chasing two fleeing women. The women stumbled, their light blonde hairs shimmering in the faint moonlight as their long skirts caught on roots and bushes. The Death Eaters, laughing cruelly, closed in, tossing out occasional spells to frighten them but making sure they came to no harm.

Ginny stepped up beside him, following his gaze, and her lips curled in a disgusted sneer. "More cowards on the prowl. Typical."

Harry's lips curled derisively, his eyes gleaming with disgust. "Just look at those lowlives," he gestured with his chin. "They could easily apparate over and be done with it, but no, they'd rather chase their prey, savor the hunt, relishing in the little game that all this is to them."

"Playing with their food, as they like to call it," Ginny agreed. "It makes them feel powerful."

Harry nodded absently as he squinted, scrutinizing the women closely. Something felt off here, and he had to check. He reached out with his magic, and immediately, a small smirk spread across his face.

"Or perhaps not," he murmured, a hint of intrigue in his voice. Something about the women's movements, the subtle tilt of their heads, the way they occasionally glanced back, not with fear, but with a strange, almost triumphant glint in their eyes… it didn't add up earlier, but now that he knew what he did, it made perfect sense.

"Look closer, Gin," he said, his voice amused. "They're not running out of fear, they're luring them. Look at their eyes, and focus on them properly. Tell me what you see."

Ginny focused on the two women running away from their pursuers, searching for what Harry must have seen—any irregularity—and finally, she saw it. The women were smirking as they ran, exchanging glances before morphing their expressions into fearful ones whenever they glanced over their shoulders. However, what shocked her was the subtle magic she could feel radiating off them even from a distance.

"Veela," she breathed, casting a disbelieving gaze at Harry as realization dawned on her. "They're Veela!"

"Bang on," Harry smirked. "And if I had to guess, they are members of the Bulgarian mascots."

The chase continued under their watch. The Death Eaters herded the women toward the base of the cliff on which Harry and Ginny stood, not that those down below could see them. Or perhaps it was the other way around. Perhaps the women had led the Death Eaters here—with their backs against a massive rock wall, giving off the impression that they were trapped.

The Death Eaters closed in, their wands raised, and with leering smiles on their faces, their minds undoubtedly clouded with a hideous mix of alcoholic intoxication, murderous cruelty, and lust.

"And now the masks fall," Harry whispered with a grin just as the terrified expressions on the women's faces vanished, being replaced by predatory smirks.

The transformation was instantaneous and horrifyingly beautiful. Their delicate features elongated, their shimmering silver hair writhed like a living entity, and their fingers became talons sharp enough to cut through bone. Their eyes burned with an ethereal fire that froze the Death Eaters in place, and before they could even lift their wands, the veela struck.

One of the veela leaped on the nearest Death Eater, who screamed in panic, but it transformed into a gurgling sound as her talons slashed through his throat in a fountain of crimson.

The other veela moved with blinding speed, her wings beating the air, creating a whirlwind that sent the remaining Death Eaters sprawling. She landed gracefully amidst the chaos, her fiery gaze settling on a wizard scrambling to his feet. With a shriek that echoed through the forest, she plunged her hand into his chest, a sickening crunch accompanying the spray of blood as she ripped his heart out with savage precision.

The remaining Death Eaters stood still, their limbs frozen as they witnessed the carnage, and in no time, the two veela were upon them. They attempted to fire off curses, but the veela were too fast for them to catch.

Harry watched on in amusement from above, his arm wrapped around Ginny's waist as he held her to himself. "Not bad," he mused. "Efficient but dramatic. I might just approve."

Ginny's expression was a mix of awe and disgust. "Brutal, but beautiful."

"More than those assholes deserve," Harry said coldly.

Within moments, the clearing was silent save for the ragged breathing of the veela and the rustling of leaves in the night breeze. They stood amid the carnage, their limbs slick with blood, and their faces flushed with the thrill of the hunt. One of them ran a bloodied hand through her tangled hair, a satisfied smile playing on her lips. The other preened her wings, admiring the sheen of blood on her feathers.

Slowly, the veela morphed back, their transformations reversing, and with it, all evidence of the battle. The blood was gone, and so were any blemishes on their skin or hair, leaving them as breathtakingly beautiful as they always were.

In their moment of calm and triumph, they missed it.

One Death Eater, barely clinging to life, twitched, his hand moving weakly toward his wand. His eyes, glazed with pain and hate, locked onto the veela who had disemboweled his comrades. With a guttural groan, he managed to lift his wand, his voice a rasping whisper as he choked out the incantation, "Avada Kedavra!"

The green jet of light moved toward the unsuspecting veela who remained none the wiser. Her companion, however, saw it and her eyes widened in shock and fear.

"Ali—"

The veela was cut off as the curse reached its intended target, exploding upon impact, and the name died in her throat. However, her wide eyes widened even more when something happened.

A blur of motion, a flash of light, and a massive chunk of rock shot to the side along with dust and debris.

Her wide eyes took in her companion, perfectly fine, being shielded by a rock golem that had stood between her and the killing curse. Their eyes locked, and they teared up with tenderness, but an unfamiliar voice cut through their reverie.

"Well, well," the voice drawled. "Aren't you a tenacious little cockroach? Almost managed to spoil the fun, didn't you?"

The two veela watched as a man descended from above, landing lightly on the ground with his wand held loosely in his grasp. His eyes were trained on the Death Eater who had cast the killing curse and their gaze shifted over, cold fury replacing the fear therein.

The Death Eater, meanwhile, stared, his face contorted into one of disbelief and fury. He tried to apparate, but jerked in pain, his eyes widening when he realized he could not run away.

"Yeah, no running for you, little cockroach," Harry remarked. "Why, weren't you having fun on your lovely chase?"

"Avada—"

The poor bastard tried.

With a flick of his wand, Harry sent a seething cutting curse that cleaved through his neck like a hot knife through butter. The Death Eater's lifeless corpse slumped, his decapitated head rolling a few feet away.

With a confident smirk dancing on his lips, Harry shifted his attention to the two veela. "Honestly," he began, shaking his head in mock disapproval. "Getting caught unawares like that? Amateurs." He strolled towards them, radiating an aura of dangerous power. "You should thank your lucky stars that I was here to save your pretty hides, because you would've ended up as worm food otherwise."

He stopped in front of the veela who had almost been hit, his eyes raking over her unblemished form. What he saw appealed to him very much, and he was not just talking about the enticing vision that the veela naturally was. It was the sheer brutality these women were capable of that enticed him, and slowly raking his eyes over her sexy form, he reached her face, looking her in the eyes.

He had expected gratitude, perhaps a flicker of fear. What he hadn't expected was the way she looked at him, her eyes wide and luminous, her lips parted slightly, and her breath coming in shallow gasps. It wasn't just gratitude he saw in her eyes, it was something else, something primal, something…hungry.

And then it hit him—a wave of almost intoxicating energy, a subtle pressure in the air, a sudden, overwhelming urge to touch her, to possess her. He recognized it instantly—the instinctive magic of a veela, awakened by the sight of a potent male, further amplified by the life debt she now owed him. Her allure washed over him, potent and intoxicating, making his blood sing and his senses sharpen. He felt a tightening in his groin and a primal instinct surged within him.

To the side, Ginny, who had been quietly watching the scene, also felt the shift in the air. She knew the stories and the legends of a veela's allure, but this was the first time she was witnessing it, and she immediately felt the familiar wetness developing between her thighs.

Meanwhile, the veela took a shaky step toward Harry, her light blonde hair swaying alluringly as she walked.

"Thank you," she breathed, her voice husky and low but laced with her allure that sent tingles of pleasure through Harry. "You… saved my life."

Harry was not affected by the allure in the slightest, but that was because of his control over his mind. A certain part of his body, however, was bound to be affected even if she had not been a veela.

He grinned, a gleam in his eyes. "Indeed, I did," he said, his voice a low purr. "And now, it seems, I have a debt to collect." His eyes shifted from the veela before him to the other, his gaze lingering on their captivating features, their powerful yet alluring bodies, and the raw magic that thrummed just beneath their skin. A slow smile spread across his face, a promise of pleasure and danger lurking in its depths.

"And I always collect my debts," he added, his voice dropping to a whisper, the words a silken caress that sent a thrill of anticipation through the air. This was going to be interesting, he thought, very interesting indeed. After all, the night was still young, the air thrummed with magic, and he was surrounded by beautiful, deadly women—one of whom owed him her life—and the other… well, considering the glances he had seen them sharing and the look in her eyes when she gazed at him, Harry knew there was only one way for her as well.

He stepped forward, his voice almost a caress. "Tell me, what is your name?"

The veela whose life he had saved gave him what Harry could only call a 'smile of desire', for that was what it was. There could be no other name for it.

"Alisia," she replied. "And this is my friend Irina."

Harry smiled, sensing the magic that now bound this lovely and breathtaking beauty to him. It was ancient and primal, and it stirred a sense of satisfaction within him—one that he always felt with a woman devoted to him.

"Alisia," Harry repeated. "And Irina. It seems fate is in my favor tonight."

Alisia's lips quirked into a smile of her own, one edged with her allure and the bond they shared.

"Perhaps it is."

To be continued...

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Chapter Text

The clearing was still, the air humming with the aftermath of magic and violence as bodies lay strewn about, torn apart like carcasses after a particularly vehement hunt. The two veela women—Alisia and Irina—remained close, their striking forms framed by the moonlight filtering through the clouds. Harry studied them, his sharp green eyes appraising their every movement, every subtle shift in their expression. They were mesmerizing, and not only because of their veela allure. Their lethal grace, the savage joy they had displayed in battle, and the raw magic that clung to them like a second skin—it all stirred something deep and primal within him.

Alisia tilted her head, her light blonde hair cascading like a shimmering waterfall over one shoulder as she regarded Harry with an expression both curious and smoldering. Her lips were curved into a sly smile, and she took a step closer, the movement both exaggerated and slow. Beside her, Irina's eyes sparkled with mischief, though her posture remained poised, her light blonde hair fluttering faintly in the wind. Looking at her, it felt as though she was still savoring the thrill of the hunt.

"So," Harry began, standing at ease as he regarded them. "Tell me about yourselves."

Alisia exchanged a glance with Irina who gave her a small nod and turned back to Harry, stepping forward. "Irina and I… we've known each other since we were children. As you can tell, both of us come from veela lineages, which makes us looked down upon, perhaps feared—in wizarding circles. Durmstrang was more of a necessity rather than a choice, considering gaining admission in a foreign country as a veela is highly challenging."

"What about France? Surely as an all-girls' school, you would've been admitted in Beauxbatons," Harry observed.

"You believe their society is any less prejudicial?" Irina, standing just a pace away, asked with a faint smile. "Durmstrang was, in a way, the correct choice for us, despite its challenges. At least we could keep ourselves hidden under the thick uniforms that are required in the cold, so that was a blessing, I guess."

Alisia nodded. "At Durmstrang, we were taught that power is not something to fear but to wield. Our allure can be as much a weapon as our wands. Combine that with what people regard as dark magic, and we are very… capable."

Harry arched a brow, his green eyes gleaming with curiosity. "Capable is putting it lightly. Those Death Eaters didn't stand a chance. It was almost artistic, the way you handled them."

Irina's lips curved into a playful smirk, and she exchanged a glance with Alisia who looked equally amused. "Artistic? That's an unusual compliment," she teased. "But I think I like it."

From behind them, Ginny spoke for the first time, stepping closer into the circle of conversation. Her eyes flicked between the veela with a mixture of curiosity and unease. "I've heard about Durmstrang. The reputation is… intense. I imagine the curriculum is quite different from Hogwarts."

Irina's smile widened. "Very different. At Durmstrang, they don't shy away from teaching magic that your Ministry might consider 'dark.' Curses, counter-curses, combat techniques. It's all part of the education. We're taught to survive—and to dominate."

Alisia shrugged, her expression unapologetic. "When you grow up with veela blood, you learn quickly that many wizards don't see you as a person. They see a conquest, a prize. Some can't handle our allure. Others think they can control us. The training ensures they're wrong."

"Durmstrang encourages such training," Alisia added, her tone turning playful. "Our school has always taken a more… open-minded approach to the darker arts. They teach us to harness them, to control them, and, when needed, to use them."

"That explains your efficiency," Harry remarked, his tone neutral but his gaze calculating. "And your enthusiasm. I suppose I should be impressed. Dark magic, deadly precision, and an obvious flair for drama. You make Hogwarts sound almost quaint."

Irina laughed softly, her wavy hair swaying gently behind her. "Hogwarts has its charm, I'm sure. But Durmstrang is where strength is honed and power is respected."

Ginny frowned slightly, crossing her arms. "Still, that sounds… exhausting. Constantly having to defend yourselves just for existing."

"It can be," Irina admitted, her tone softer. "But it also makes us stronger. Veela aren't delicate creatures. We're beautiful, yes, but we're also deadly. That's our nature."

Harry nodded thoughtfully, his eyes flicking between them. "And you've embraced it. That's clear enough."

"Didn't have much of a choice in the matter, to be honest," Irina replied with a shrug.

"And you," Alisia began, turning her focus back to Harry. "You're not what we expected. The stories we hear paint you as… how do I say this politely? A noble hero. Someone who always chooses the light."

Irina chuckled, the sound low and musical as she regarded him with unveiled interest. "Yes, the Harry Potter who fights for justice and triumphs over evil. Yet here you are, standing in the aftermath of a slaughter, smiling at two veela who clearly revel in destruction and carnage."

Harry's lips curved into a sly grin. "You shouldn't believe everything you hear. First of all, most of what you'd have heard comes from fabricated stories created by idiots who know jack shit about me. Yes, I've fought my battles, and yes, I've chosen the so-called 'light.' But that doesn't mean I don't understand the darker shades of the world—or appreciate them."

Ginny stepped closer to Harry's side, trying to assert her presence in a way that did not seem intrusive. "He's not as simple as people like to think," she said, her voice firm. "And he's not someone you want to underestimate."

Irina's gaze flicked to Ginny, her smile turning devious. "Being his lover, you must know him well. Don't worry, the last thing we'd do is underestimate him."

Ginny blinked, caught off guard by the directness. "How'd you—"

Both Alisia and Irina tapped their noses as one, smirking. "Veela senses. We can tell easily," the former replied.

"It was expected. It would've been rare for a wizard of your caliber to be unclaimed," Irina remarked, eyeing Harry up who gazed at her with a smirk.

"Oh, believe me, dear. I'm not the one who is claimed. I do the claiming."

"Is that so? Interesting. We love a challenge, don't we, Irina?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Enough about me," Harry interjected smoothly. "You two here for the World Cup?"

Alisia nodded, her expression brightening. "Yes, Irina and I are the official mascots for the Bulgarian National Team. It's a tradition for veela to represent our country at such events."

Irina added, "It's more than just a performance. It's an honor. And, occasionally, a way to scout for new opportunities."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Interesting."

"It's mostly luck," Alisia clarified, her tone pointed. "Us veela have to remain on the lookout for any chance we might get to strengthen our position in the society. Events like this are a chance to strengthen those ties—or forge new ones."

"There are many veela mascots involved with the national team players," Irina continued. "It's mostly transactional. They get the sex, and the veela get protection and climb up the ladder."

"That must make the witches really hate you people," Ginny observed. "It must be challenging."

"Well, we won't know everything, given we've never been involved as such," Alisia chuckled. "But yeah, it is like a battlefield out there."

"Speaking of battlefield…" Harry remarked, just as they heard an explosion in the distance. Smirking, he eyed Alisia and Irina and asked, "Mind putting on another show before we take this to… well, you already know where?"

The meaning was lost on no one and although Irina gave him a challenging smirk, it was Alisia whose response was much more unguarded. The look of hunger and lust that she gave him almost made Harry close the distance between them. The connection had been steadily growing between them throughout their little conversation and her alure was permeating the air like a thick invisible fog. There was nothing intentional about it. Instead, it was an instinctive reaction that made the space between them thrum with potent and undeniable attraction.

"We'd love to," Irina said hotly, feeling the effect of her friend's allure in the air and acknowledging her own attraction to this potent wizard. "After all, power is attractive, and I'm sure we'd all love to see more of each other."

Smirking, Harry turned around and began leading the way. Ginny eyed the two veela women for a few more seconds before falling into step behind him as she felt the rest following close behind. A small curl emerged on her lips as she eyed Harry. He was truly remarkable.

XXXXX

"Die!"

The snarl was the last coherent sound the Death Eater made as a pair of sharp claws tore through his abdomen, the smirking visage of Irina looking more feral than it had any right to be.

Blood gushed out of the Death Eater's throat as his eyes bulged, his body slowly losing all color. Irina pulled her clawed arms out of his body and it fell over in a bloody heap, painting the ground around it in crimson.

A little ways to the right was a similar sight. Alisia, breathing heavily with her eyes half lidded and her teeth biting her lower lip erotically, slowly sliced her clawed arm through another Death Eater's throat, as if sliding a sharp knife through a sheet of parchment. Her toes curled as the Death Eater slumped over, dead.

"Beautiful, just like last time," Harry praised with a winning grin as he slowly walked over. However, he had to brace himself quickly as Alisia pivoted on the spot, launching herself in the air. The blonde clutched onto him, with her arms and legs wrapped around his body, and slammed her lips against his in a ferocious kiss.

Harry returned it eagerly, grabbing hold of her plump rear and he pulled her against his groin, kissing her back with equal enthusiasm. The beast in his chest roared in elation as he felt a being of raw sexual passion grinding against him. They knew each other for barely an hour but they already shared a powerful bond. The sensations coursing through him were otherworldly, and from the way she was behaving, he knew it must be true for her as well.

The air around them grew thick with arousal, and both Ginny and Irina watched them make out heatedly, dry humping against each other. It was only when the need for air became tangibly essential that they pulled away, both their eyes wild with lust, yet Harry's were filled with cockiness and triumph as well.

He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head slightly. "You're not exactly subtle or patient, are you?"

Alisia's lips parted, her breath hitching slightly as she ground her womanhood against his erection. "Subtlety? Patience? They're overrated when the stakes are high," she said, her voice low and throaty. "And right now, the stakes are very high."

Irina moved, stepping forward and kicking a decapitated head as she closed the distance between herself and Harry. "You feel it too," she said, her tone soft, almost reverent. "The bond. The magic. It's… inevitable."

Harry turned his head to meet Irina's gaze, his own eyes darkening slightly. "Oh, I feel it," he admitted, his voice a low rumble. "And I can tell Alisia's not the only one struggling to control it."

Alisia let out a shaky breath, her fingers brushing lightly against his scalp as she pressed herself fully against Harry. Her ministrations sent another jolt of energy through both of them. "It's more than that," she confessed, her voice tinged with desperation. "It's consuming. Every second, it's harder to resist. Especially for me."

Harry's smirk deepened, though his eyes remained sharp and calculating. "I saved your life," he said, his tone gentle but firm. "And that created a bond. But Irina? You're not directly bonded to me. You're drawn to power, aren't you? That's part of what makes you veela so… captivating to someone like me."

Irina's smile turned wistful. "We don't just crave power. We admire it. Respect it. And when we find it in someone like you…" She trailed off, her eyes searching his face.

"Add in magical veela bonds resulting from a life-debt and…" Ginny trailed off, chuckling.

"Given who it is, you can't really expect me to be against it," she replied, pressing herself against Harry from behind. "Forget magical power. Most wizards would've long been on their knees in front of us, begging for our favor. Or mad with lust, trying to force themselves on us. And here you are, with two veela whom you've saved, and still in full control of yourself. You're different, aren't you?"

He glanced over his shoulder and chuckled. The sound was so seductive and appealing that both women tightened their holds on him as shivers traveled down their spines.

"I'm not most wizards," he replied, his eyes gleaming with amusement and something else—something hotter and much more intense. "I've faced worse than a veela's allure and lived to tell the tale."

"We've heard a lot about you, Harry," Irina leaned up and whispered in his ear. "The Boy Who Lived, the one who defeated Voldemort. They say you're a legend in your own right."

The fact that she had called the bastard by his name earned her a lot of points in his book. He gazed Alisia deeply in her eyes, a smirk playing on his lips. "And what else do they say about me in Eastern Europe?"

"Mostly what's known anywhere else, painted in white which we now know is nothing but bullshit," Alisia replied with a predatory smile, her eyes never leaving his. "But we know better. You're powerful, and dangerous. A wizard to be reckoned with. And I believe you're the kind of man who can handle two veela very easily."

She finished her statement with a gentle nip of his lips, pulling back and gazing at him seductively. Harry felt a surge of excitement at her words, his groin tightening even further against her pussy. Her eyes glinted in approval and she responded by rubbing herself against him once again.

"You know what?" Harry asked with a faint growl. "Why don't we let the authorities deal with whatever Death Eaters remain and take this somewhere more… private where we won't be disturbed?"

"I couldn't have said it better myself," Irina purred in his ear from behind, her tongue darting out to flick his earlobe. "Both of us are feeling hungry, and we could use some treat. She more than me."

Indeed, Alisia looked as if she was barely holding on to her sanity. Her eyes were fully glazed and the atmosphere was thick with her allure that was getting out of control, affecting all three of them to some degree.

Smirking, Harry eyed them both before glancing over at Ginny who was gazing at them with an excited gleam in her eyes. He held his hand out and the redhead eagerly glided toward them, pressing herself against his side.

"Brace yourselves then," Harry said huskily. "We'll be there in no time."

With a barely audible crack, the foursome vanished from the destroyed clearing, with no one being aware that they had ever been there.

XXXXX

The moment Harry caught his footing, sapphire blue eyes locked onto his—dark with lust and desire. The room pulsed with Alisia's allure, a raw, untamed force that mingled with the air and clung to Harry's skin like a second layer. Her magic, a wild, untamed thing, pressed against his mind, seeking entry. Yet, he did not relent. He was the dominant force here, and he would not let someone else gain control over him, even though she was a veela.

His willpower was solid, and he met her approach head-on, his resolve holding firm against her onslaught. Her allure warped around him, influencing both Irina and Ginny. Their arousals intensified further and Harry felt their hands roaming all over his form. However, his eyes were fixated on Alisia for now who detached herself from him, taking a few steps back and allowing him to take her in.

Her eyes, now blazing pools of molten gold as her allure ran wild, held his gaze captive, even as Irina walked around and stopped in front of him, nibbling erotically on the tender skin of his neck.

She was aroused beyond measure as well, her breath warm on his skin and her body pressed against his. He could feel every curve belonging to her and his body responded in kind, hardening against her. She smiled, a slow, seductive curve of her lips that promised sin and pleasure in equal measure.

"You want to play as well, Irina? Impatient much, aren't we?" Harry growled, grabbing her perky rear and sinking his fingers into the pillowy flesh. Merlin, he could easily bounce a galleon off that curvaceous ass. Very few could compare, and one of them stood right behind her friend, gazing at him hungrily.

"You just enjoy yourself and allow us to please you, dear," Irina whispered throatily.

Harry did not bother with another syllable. He simply captured her lips in a searing kiss. His hands, confident and demanding, gripped her ass even more tightly and he pulled her against himself, slamming her pulsating core against his hard groin. The blonde beauty moaned into the kiss, her lips moving passionately against his as their tongues dueled. Her fingernails scratched his scalp as she clutched onto him, rubbing herself against his erection quite like how Alisia had done until now.

The said blonde beauty was watching them hungrily, and nothing but lust dominated her thoughts. She grabbed Irina and violently pulled her off Harry, but instead of protesting or getting hurt, Irina simply gazed at her friend with lustful eyes of her own, nodding in understanding. Harry watched as she stepped aside, leaving him standing in the middle of the room.

To the side, Ginny stood staring at the spectacle with growing arousal, and to her, it felt as though she was watching something entirely otherworldly. Irina glanced at the redhead and smirked.

Harry gazed at Alisia who stood a few feet in front of him and watched as Irina joined her. The two veela beauties exchanged another lustful glance before they turned to him, and a confident smirk grew on Harry's face as he took in their expressions. He could feel what they wanted. They might have been direct in both combat and their conversations until now, but here at this hour, they wanted to be anything but.

"So that's the plan now, huh?" He called out, smirking. "You want to play, girls?"

They did not reply. Instead, they took another few steps back so that there was ample room between them all, and thus began one of the most erotic things both Harry and Ginny had ever seen.

The two veela beauties begin to sway in a way that could only be described as enthralling. Their fair skin glowed a shade of gold and so did their blonde hairs, flowing about in a way that could not be natural. It was perfection personified in the way they moved, their curves shaking and jiggling in the most erotic manner possible.

Both Harry and Ginny watched, transfixed, as the two veela beauties danced in front of them. Their bodies moved with unmatched grace and eroticism, mesmerizing them. As one, their hands slowly moved to the hem of their respective shirts, a pair of matching black that had been doing little to conceal their alluring curves. They both pulled their respective shirts slowly, deliberately delaying the act as they kept swaying, giving them tantalizing glimpses of their smooth, glowing skin as they kept raising their shirts over their bodies, taking the thin slips they were wearing underneath with them.

Harry's eyes followed the movements with pinpoint precision and he hungrily drank in the sight of the most beautiful women he had ever seen, who had just bared themselves to him.

Their shirts hit the floor, and for a moment, they stood there, their chests heaving and their nipples hardening into peaks in no time. They reached for their skirts next, another matching pair of red silk that whispered against their unblemished skin. In perfect sync, they pushed the skirts down their legs and stepped out of them, leaving themselves clad in nothing but a pair of matching red lace knickers.

"You two go shopping together?" Harry asked with a chuckle, eyeing them hungrily.

The women said nothing as they began walking toward him, their hips swaying hotly and their lustful eyes never leaving his. Both their lips were curved in matching grins as they drew confidence from the sheer desire they could feel radiating off him. It would not have been out of the realms of possibility to assume that they were twins if someone took a good look at them at the moment.

Their demeanor was full of passion as they stopped right in front of him and each went for one hand, gently taking it in their grasps and dragging him behind them. Harry's eyes feasted on their naked behinds and he reiterated it to himself. He could easily bounce galleon after galleon off those asses.

They came to a stop in front of the bed and turned him around, their hands going to his chest and pushing him gently until he sat on the edge. They stepped closer, one leg each outside each and the other between his. His face was level with their flat bellies, and all he had to tilt his head up and down to have a magnificent view of their tits and groins respectively. They were mere inches from his face and a part of Harry urged him to reach out and taste them, although he easily kept himself in control.

Meanwhile, Ginny had taken her place on the chair and was already naked, gently caressing her outer lips. Harry gave her one playful glance before refocusing on his buffet for the night.

He looked up, eyeing them one after the other, his brow raised in silent challenge and amusement. All their eyes were filled with hunger that matched each other and when they shifted even more closer, Harry allowed himself to divest them of the final bit of clothing that remained on their sinfully perfect bodies.

Both Alisia and Irina hummed in approval when Harry grabbed the waistbands of their lace knickers and pulled them over their asses. They shifted, allowing him to drop them down their legs and deftly kicked them to the side, their eyes finding Harry once again.

Harry reached out, holding them by their ass-cheeks, and gently tugged them closer, chuckling when they playfully shook in place and resisted his pull.

"Ah, I see," he smirked. "You two want something else, hmm? Do tell, girls."

They gazed at Harry meaningfully, and their gazes dropped as one, raking over his clothed form before landing on his covered groin.

"Harry," Alisia said, her voice a purr of desire. "It's not fair for you to remain clothed when all three of us are naked, right?"

"You should've done something about it already," Harry smirked.

Irina moved first, working his shirt off and Harry aided her. However, Alisia quickly dropped to her knees and began working on his trousers. His belt went first, followed by the trousers and finally his boxers. It took barely a minute and he sat in front of them, equally naked.

Both the women were now on their knees in front of him and Harry would be lying if he said he'd ever seen a sight hotter than the one here. Two blonde-haired veela beauties, naked and on their knees for him with their eyes filled with lust and desire for him. Their lips were parted slightly, and ever so often, he would see their tongues dart out to wet them.

"Now, what more do you two want?"

"Harry," Irina said this time, her voice thick with arousal. "Can we taste you?"

Harry chuckled deeply, and the sound sent shivers of pleasure through them. "You two have more than earned it."

They grinned, their eyes moving to his cock that stood hard and proud in front of them. Their tongues darted out once again to lick their lips and together, they reached out, wrapping one hand each around his length.

"Mmm," Alisia purred, feeling his cock in her grasp as she rubbed her thumb against the tip, stimulating him. "You're more than ready for us, aren't you, Harry?"

Before he could answer, Irina leaned in, her tongue darting out, licking a long stripe up the underside of his cock. He groaned, his hips jerking forward, and his hand went to her hair, holding her close. She looked up at him, her eyes filled with a mischievous gleam, before she took him into her mouth, her lips pushing down his length.

Alisia watched, her hand working him in time with Irina's mouth, and her thumb rubbing against the sensitive spot just below the head. He groaned, his head falling back, his eyes closing as pleasure coursed through him.

Alisia wasn't content to just watch though. She leaned in, her tongue joining Irina's, both of them licking and sucking at him, their hands working in tandem, and their mouths creating a symphony of pleasure that was beyond anything Harry had ever experienced.

He looked down, his eyes meeting Alisia who had her mouth full of him. Her eyes were filled with a hunger that matched his own. She pulled back, her tongue licking her lips, before she turned to Irina. They moved as one, their lips slamming together in a lustful kiss. Their tongues tangling, their moans of pleasure filled the air.

As they kissed, their hands kept working him up, jerking him off. Trails of their spit and saliva had made his cock slick and wet, and they stroked him hard and fast.

They pulled back and turned to him once again, and this time, they decided to divide and conquer. Alisia took him into her mouth, her lips soft as they moved along his shaft and her tongue flicking against his sensitive skin. She took her time, exploring every inch of him, her enthusiasm evident in her eager moans. Harry's hand found its way to her hair, tangling in her glowing locks as he guided her and felt the rhythm of her movements.

Irina, not wanting to be left out, began to trace patterns on Harry's inner thighs with her tongue, her nails lightly scraping the sensitive skin. Harry's body tensed, a low groan escaping his lips. He looked down at Irina, his eyes dark with desire. "Don't stop," he commanded, his voice a growl, and Irina grinned excitedly, feeling a pleasurable tingle shoot straight through her core at his voice.

Her eyes gleaming with desire, she took one of Harry's balls into her mouth, her tongue swirling around it, while her hand continued to stroke his length. Alisia, picking up on the rhythm, began to move in sync with Irina, her mouth sliding up and down Harry's cock in long, slow strokes.

Harry's other hand moved to Irina's head, tangling in her glowing locks as well, and he began to guide them, not because they needed it, but because he wanted to enhance and share the pleasure. He could feel the heat building, the tension coiling in his belly. He wanted to prolong this, to savor every moment, every touch, and every sensation.

He reached down, his fingers finding Alisia's chin, tilting her head up. He wanted to see her, to see the pleasure in her eyes, to see her lips glistening with his desire. She looked up at him, her eyes filled with a mix of desire and reverence.

He turned his attention to Irina, his other hand cupping her cheek. He could feel her smile against his skin, her tongue flickering out to lick a bead of pre-cum from the tip of his cock. He groaned, his hips bucking slightly, and his grip on Irina's cheek tightening.

He could see the effort they both were making to hold back, to prolong his pleasure, even when they were both being influenced so highly by their veela bond. It was a sight to behold, to see how much they revered and regarded him already, how devoted they were to him, their bond fully in effect. He knew without a shadow of doubt that they would be his most devoted when he truly claimed them—mind, body, and soul. They will be his for eternity, and he would ensure their happiness and satisfaction in every manner imaginable.

The room was filled with the sounds of their pleasure—the wet sounds of their mouths on Harry's skin, their moans and gasps, Harry's low groans and growls, and Ginny's gasps as she kept rubbing herself. The air was thick with allure, arousal, lust, and desire.

Harry could feel the tension reaching a crescendo, the pleasure coiling in his belly reaching a fever pitch as his balls tightened. With a powerful growl, he came, his body shuddering with the force of his release. They moaned around him, their eyes filled with a hunger that matched his own. His cock pulsed as he came, and they took it all, their mouths working him together, their tongues licking him clean, and their moans of pleasure filling the air as they swallowed it all.

When he was done, they leaned back, their tongues licking their lips and their eyes gleaming with satisfaction that matched his own.

He looked down at the two alluring women, their faces a picture of pleasure and devotion.

"You cum buckets, as expected," Irina grinned, licking her fingers clean. "Oh!" She leaned forward, her tongue stealing a thick drop of his seed from Alisia's chin who gave her friend a look of mock disapproval.

"Don't be greedy," she admonished without any bite to her words. Harry chuckled, before a gleam entered his eyes, and he straightened, eyeing them.

"I hope that wasn't enough for you two," he smirked. "Because I'm not done with you two yet, not by a long shot."

They gazed up at him, seeing the dominant hunger that had filled his eyes, and as they looked at each other, a silent communication passed between them. As one, they turned to him, their eyes filled with a hunger that was insatiable. It was enough to send his blood rushing south once again.

As Harry gazed at them, he recalled a thought that often struck him.

He was an asshole, but he was one lucky asshole.

To be continued…

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Chapter Text

As one, both Alisia and Irina began walking backward to an empty couch by the wall. He watched, his eyes burning with lust and desire, as they lowered themselves side by side on the couch. The veela were creatures of lust, and the look they gave him as they beckoned him toward them with their fingers would've made him explode right then and there if he'd been a lesser man.

Smirking, Harry kept gazing at two pairs of blue eyes, burning with desire, locked onto him as he slowly strode toward the couch where they lay sprawled together hotly, their legs parted wide for him, tantalizingly displaying their dripping pussies. As he got close enough, Alisia's shapely leg lifted, her foot tracing the length of his body, starting from his chest and slowly descending until her toes reached his manhood. She teased his erection, slowly tugging him closer to her core.

Her need was palpable, her veela allure oozing out of her, filling the entire room with nothing but primal lust. It beckoned him toward her, trying to ensnare his mind to pleasure her with utmost devotion, but as he said, he was not a weak man. He was no mere plaything; he was Harry fucking Potter, and he was no one's to command. He was the one who took charge, not the other way around.

Besides, turnabout was fair play.

Leaning over her in a way so that they were almost touching entirely with his lips hovering directly over hers, Harry began to tease her. He brushed the tip of his cock against her achingly needy and wet pussy, smacking it lightly against her sensitive flesh. Her juices enveloped his throbbing skin, leaving a glistening trail that connected them when he slowly pulled away.

Alisia let out a desperate, hungry whimper in protest, her veela allure in full effect as it tried to coax him into giving her what she wanted, but Harry merely smirked. He was in no mood to give her what she so desperately wanted with such ease. Instead, he chose to kneel between her trembling thighs, leaning forward to take a long whiff of her intoxicating smell.

She was indeed intoxicating, and the sweet and pungent aroma emanating from her pussy did nothing but fuel his lust even more. She was truly a vision, a creature the maker had created with the utmost devotion, and he was a ravenous bastard.

He leaned closer, brushing his cheek against the silken smoothness of her inner thigh as he began to work her up. He started with soft, teasing kisses at her navel, each one drawing a ragged breath from the enchanting beauty before him. Slowly, his kisses trailed lower, leaving a fiery trail behind until he reached her puffy mound. It was then that she broke the silence for the first time, her voice coming in soft, rugged gasps.

"Please… Please!"

Harry gazed up at her with a smirk and he saw her gazing at him desperately, her lips parted hotly. Moving his gaze over to her dear friend, he saw Irina gazing at them with half-lidded eyes, her own arousal palpable as she gently played with herself, squeezing her tits and pinching her nipples.

"Please…" Alisia whimpered.

Harry took immense pleasure and pride in the fact that he had reduced a veela to this state, and being the gentleman that he was, he finally granted her wish. His lips met her pink, swollen folds, and the moment he touched her, Alisia's back arched and she let out a long, drawn-out moan, her body trembling. Her fingers immediately threaded through his dark hair as she reached out and she held him in place, making him chuckle against her womanhood.

Harry decided to get to work in earnest. His lips parted, and he ran his tongue along her, taking a long, languid lick up her slit. She tasted divine, as if a nectar fit for the gods.

In an instant, all restraints vanished. He began to devour her, his tongue exploring every inch of her perfect little pussy. Her soft breaths turned to loud moans, her fingers tightening in his hair as he traced the outline of her lips, feeling them quiver beneath his touch. He loved how she tasted.

He delved deeper, his tongue parting her folds and pushing inside her, and he felt her inner muscles clench around him. He could feel her legs trembling, her fingers gripping his hair, holding him in place. While devouring her, he looked up, watching as she bit her lip, her eyes closed, lost in the sensation. He could feel her getting closer, her body tensing, and her breath coming in short gasps.

Immediately, his hand joined his tongue, stroking and teasing her sensitive flesh. As he plunged his tongue in and out of her in short, rapid strokes, his fingers rubbed and parted her wet labia, allowing him to venture deeper inside her quivering quim. Finally, his tongue flicked against her hard, rough clit, and her response was instantaneous.

"Fuck!" Alisia cried out, gripping his hair hard. Her whole body convulsed, her back arching as she came, her juices flooding his mouth. He eagerly drank her in, his tongue continuing to move, intent on drawing out her orgasm and making it last as long as possible.

Alisia kept shivering on the couch as Harry ate her out, gulping down her release like a traveler lost in a desert who had just found an oasis. He looked up, watching as she tweaked her own nipple, her juices leaking onto the couch beneath her. Pride surged within him, but he wasn't done yet, not by a long shot. He wanted more, and he knew so did she.

Once again, his tongue focused on her clit, and this time, his fingers pushed past her lower lips and inside her pussy. Alisia gasped, her eyes flying out wide and trained on his as he ventured deeper, scraping against her sensitive flesh. He mapped her body as he played with her clit, her pleasure spiking once again as he began to work her up to her second orgasm within minutes, and Alisia threw her head back, her eyes closed.

Harry devoted himself to learning what made her gasp and writhe. He might be an asshole, but he loved to bring his women pleasure, just as he loved it when they pleasured him.

Suddenly, he spoke in Parseltongue, his lips vibrating against her clit.

Her reaction was immediate once again. Her thighs squeezed his head, and a raw scream of release tore its way out of her throat. He firmly held her waist with one hand, his fingers bruising her flesh as he kept her in place, and the other kept pistoning in and out of her orgasmic pussy, driving her higher and higher. Her body spasmed, her pussy creaming and leaking, and Harry let her go.

It was a surprise that she had not squirted, but perhaps she was not a squirter. Harry did not mind as he kept pumping his fingers in and out of her, keeping her firmly in place. By the time she was done, there was a noticeable wet spot beneath her. Even then, he didn't stop, not until she fell limp, her body shaking with post-orgasmic tremors.

Only then did he pull back, marveling at the sight of her. Her whole body was slick with sweat, her groin was inflamed, and he had not even gotten around to the main course yet. Smirking, he slowly got to his feet and regarded her.

Just as he took a step back, Alisia's legs struck out like a pair of vipers and wrapped around him, pulling him towards her. Surprised, Harry looked at her and found her glaring at him with nothing but lust in her eyes. He gave him another tug, pulling him closer to her core.

"Enough playing around," she growled, her voice thick with horniness. "I need you inside me. Now."

A smirk emerged on his face as he lowered himself, grabbing the back of the sofa so that he was hovering over her.

"Demanding little bitch, aren't you?" He whispered. "Be a good girl and ask nicely, and I might give you what you want."

Alisia's demeanor did an instant 180, and a pleading look entered her eyes.

"Please, Harry," she requested. "Please…"

"Please what, my dear Alisia?" He was having a shit load of fun with this, and he loved how submissive she was being right now.

"Please fuck me, sir," she whimpered, and Harry's lips curled into a feral grin.

His cock was already engorged and pulsing, and he grabbed it, aligning it with her entrance. Alisia watched with bated breath as he came closer, and a sharp breath escaped her when he made first contact with her lower lips.

"You ready?" He asked, earning an excited nod from the blonde, and with a grin, he thrust forward, pushing past her pussy lips as he slid into her entrance. Her intense heat enveloped him as he descended, drawing a gasp from them both. Harry felt as if her pussy was a vacuum that was hellbent on sucking him in, and he eagerly fed his entire length into her in one firm push, burying himself to the hilt inside her.

"Fucking hell, no one's taken my entire cock in on go, and on first attempt at that!" Harry exclaimed.

"We're not veela for no reason, Harry," Irina spoke from his right and Harry glanced over. He had almost forgotten she was also there. The other blonde grinned excitedly. "Be quick with her, will you? I'm not a patient woman like her," she said, running a finger along her wet slit. Harry saw her finger was slick with her juices and smirking, she brought it up and inserted it into his mouth.

Harry sucked her clean eagerly, and she watched with a lecherous grin before she pulled her finger out of his mouth with an audible pop.

Smirking, Harry turned back to Alisia who was gazing up at him with wide eyes. He leaned down, his lips crashing against hers in a fierce kiss. She kissed him back eagerly, their tongues rolling around inside her mouth as they both devoured each other. All the while, Harry held himself still inside her, feeling her tight inner walls squeeze him.

Finally, Alisia pulled back from the kiss to whisper against his lips, "I taste good on you."

His eyes slightly wide, he stared at her for a moment, and as she grinned, he growled, capturing her lips once more as she began to rotate her hips, urging him deeper.

Inch by glorious inch, he pulled back and sank into her tight, welcoming heat once again. She was perfect, and it felt as if her body was tailor made for him. He had expected much more resistance, but he found none. As Irina had just said, both she and Alisia were Veela, and he knew next to nothing about them when it came to real sex. Well, he intended to learn and learn thoroughly.

Harry leaned back, gripping the back of the couch firmly as he began to drill into her in earnest. His eyes were fixated on her sinfully hot body, from her beautiful face that was contorted in sheer pleasure as she gazed at him with nothing but raw desire in her eyes, to her large tits that jiggled and swayed erotically as her body was rocked by his powerful thrusts. Her flat belly was contracted and her pussy was gaping wide, the lips wrapped around his girth as he kept slamming away inside her.

His heavy balls rested against her ass, constantly slapping against her as their bodies remained fully joined. He kept his gaze on how she was welcoming him, watching as his cock reappeared and disappeared into her perfect pussy.

"So big..." Alisia whispered reverently, her voice husky. "You're so deep inside me. I didn't even know this was possible."

As Harry smirked, Irina reached over, her hand running down Alisia's chest, just underneath her navel where they all could see a small bump moving under her skin. "That is him," she murmured, her fingers pressing gently, making his cock twitch. "He must be touching your womb. Maybe even inside."

Harry watched, fascinated, as Alisia pulled her hips back and forth, making the little bump move. She looked up at him and grinned.

"I love it," she said, making him smirk.

With a wet, wonderful squelch, he started to pull his cock from her pussy, her tight embrace trying to hold him in. The feeling was exquisite. When just his tip remained inside, he slammed his hips forward, burying himself fully inside her pussy and pulling a delighted squeal from her. He repeated it again, and again, and kept at it.

"Yes! Fuck me with that massive fucking cock!" Alisia's cry echoed in the room, her mouth hung open, and her eyes wide with adoration and lust.

Smack! Smack! Smack! His heavy balls swung, slapping against her ass with each thrust. Her pussy had already creamed, her thick wet juices coating his cock as he kept thrusting in and out of her deeply. His fingers dug into her hips, his movements growing more ferocious, and she loved it, her hand gripping his as she urged him on with a delighted grin on her face.

"Fucking hell, you're perfect..." he whispered, genuinely impressed. She was truly tailor made for him.

She grinned up at him eagerly, her delighted eyes taking him in. "But I'm greedy," she purred. "I want to be filled, Harry. Overflowing. Dripping with your seed. I want to feel you even when you're not inside me. I want to be marked by your cock. You hear me? I want you to show me how you've used me tonight, Harry!"

Her words were too much. Harry reached up, his hand wrapping around her throat, and his thumb brushing against her pulse. He could feel it fluttering, her heart racing, and he leaned down, his lips brushing against hers. "Oh, you little minx. You really want it, huh?" he growled. "You'll have it, Alisia. You'll keep feeling me for days."

Alisia grinned excitedly as Harry began to fuck her hard and fast. Her cries echoed in the room and she reached up, grabbing hold of his shoulders and fucking herself against him, moving in tandem with his thrusts.

Meanwhile, Harry changed things. He varied the speed and angle of his thrusts, his hips moving unpredictably as he constantly slammed against her clit. The sensation was driving her to the brink of madness.

All the while, both Ginny and Irina watched, their hands stroking and teasing themselves, as Harry and Alisia fucked wildly. Their mouths were locked in a passionate kiss before Harry descended, kissing and licking her all over. Alisia could do nothing but hold on as she was taken on the ride of her life, and she tried to give back as much as she could. She was already fully devoted to Harry, her every touch, every kiss, and every sensation was designed to heighten his pleasure.

For the third time that evening, Alisia felt like she was about to erupt, and it did not take too long for her to find her release. When she finally came, her body trembled violently once again, her pussy pulsing and undulating as it squeezed his manhood desperately. The veela inside her was ecstatic but she had her pride as well, and for Harry to make her cum thrice while succeeding in holding himself back did not sit right with her.

Meanwhile, Harry did indeed hold off his own release, not ready to end their dance. He knew things would escalate, with Alisia being a veela, and he was proven right instantly.

With surprising strength, Alisia flipped them so that her body was straddling his and without waiting for even a second, she began to bounce on top of him, her perfect ass clapping against his pelvis.

She looked back at him, her eyes lustful and filled with determination. "You are the perfect lover for any woman, let alone me," she grinned. "But I'm still a Veela. There's no way I'm gonna let you go before I've got your cum."

"Oh? Is that so?" Harry asked with a grunt as she kept bouncing on top of him.

"Yeah," she whispered, and let loose.

Harry watched, spellbound, as she rode him, her body moving with grace and power. Her large, gravity-defying tits rolled and bounced as she jumped up and down, slapping together, and Harry could not help but reach up and grab hold of them.

"Fuck yes! Play with my tits! Maul them!"

Harry did exactly that. He squeezed and fondled her bouncing tits to his heart's content, pinching and tweaking her hard, sensitive nipples that drew sharp intakes of breath from the blonde beauty who did not let up in the slightest. Instead, it seemed as if his ministrations were driving her even more insane to the point where her movements became even more pronounced.

Smack! Harry delivered a resounding spank on her ass as it descended, drawing a sharp cry of pleasure from her lips. His hand left a visible red print on her soft skin but she didn't seem to care in the slightest. She neither stopped nor slowed, her movements only growing more desperate.

Shifting his gaze from one blonde veela, he looked at the other and saw her watching them. She was furiously rubbing her wet folds with one hand while squeezing her tits alternately with the other. Harry decided to lend her a hand and he reached out, grabbing her. Irina scooted close, allowing him to reach down and start stimulating her pussy.

Her lips clamped down on his neck and Harry tilted his head to give her more room, and returning his gaze back to the bouncing veela on top of him, he started playing with Irina's pussy as well. He could feel how wet and aroused she was, and he firmly believed she would be able to take him just as deftly as Alisia had without any further work on his part. Still, he wanted to, and parting her folds, he inserted a finger inside her.

"Mmm… yes," Irina moaned, kissing all over his skin as Harry started to plunge his fingers in and out of her. He rolled his hand in a circle to stimulate her while he fingered her, and with his other hand, he grabbed her breast and gave it a firm squeeze. Irina responded by nibbling on his skin as he started to play with both her tits, squeezing and fondling them before rubbing her puffy pink nipples as well. Both Alisia and Irina could indeed be considered identical twins.

Harry could feel his orgasm approaching and he employed the full might of his Occlumency to keep it at bay. Taking Irina's hand, he hoisted her up and moved to position her pussy right over his face. She grinned at him excitedly and swung her leg over him. However, to his shock, she was pushed away and he saw her fall over on the other side of the couch.

"Wait for your turn, you greedy slut!" He heard a snarl, and the voice would've been terrifying to anyone else. It was scratchy, entirely inhuman, and as he looked up, he saw Alisia with her eyes glowing an angry shade of gold glaring at Irina who merely shook her head with a sigh. Alisia turned around and gazed at Harry with the same glare.

"You watch me when I'm fucking you! You can have her when I'm done with you, you understand?" She growled in the same voice, and Harry knew it was the hurt pride of a veela that was talking right now. However, he was in no mood to let her get away with it. No matter who she was, no one had the right to talk to him in that tone or behave the way she'd just done.

He saw how her glare vanished and her eyes widened when she saw the look on her face. She yelped when he stood up with her and unceremoniously threw her on the couch.

"You think just because you've got a perfect little pussy, you can talk to me in whatever tone you can, hmm?" Harry asked as he manhandled her. He bent her over so that she was on her knees and pressed her face firmly against the couch.

"N-No, I—"

"Shut it," Harry hissed, cutting her off. Her voice had instantly returned to normal. He aligned himself against her entrance from behind and buried himself inside her in one firm push.

"Fuck!" Alisia cried out. Harry paid her no heed and began to mercilessly thrust inside her from behind, fucking her doggy style. He dominated her like only he could, giving her no time to let out any coherent word. All she could do was moan and cry in pleasure as Harry drilled mercilessly into her, his hips slapping against her bubble butt, making it jiggle hotly.

"I wasn't neglecting you, was I?" Harry growled as he reached over and grabbed her right breast, mauling firmly. "Answer me. Was I neglecting you?"

"N-No," she whimpered.

"And you still disrespected me. But that's not the worst thing. You treated Irina badly," Harry replied. "No one treats my girls badly, not even if you are one of them."

"I'm sorry!" Alisia cried out when he gave a particularly powerful thrust inside her.

"Say that to Irina. Apologize to her!"

"I'm sorry, Irina!"

"You're one greedy little veela, aren't you, Alisia?" Harry chuckled throatily, feeling his release imminent. "You're lucky this is your first time, because veela or not, you better make sure this is the only time. Understood?"

"Yes!" Alisia moaned out loud, shivering uncontrollably as another orgasm crashed through her. She fell over in a heap and Harry regarded both Irina and Ginny who were watching him with wide eyes, and the shocked looks on their faces were unmistakable.

"You forgive her for her little stunt?" Harry asked Irina who regarded a whimpering Alisia for a moment before she nodded.

"She just couldn't help herself," she replied. "I'm afraid I would've been the same if I were in her place."

"Then you better make sure you don't do what she just did," Harry warned. "I mean it when I say no one treats my girls badly."

Irina nodded rapidly in understanding, an excited grin on her face. There was just something about Harry that excited her to no end. It was not only because of the connection she felt brewing between them. He was indeed a powerful wizard, but it was his demeanor that sent jolts of pleasure straight through her core, inflaming her lust for him. Already, she could feel her pussy glistening with desire and she knew she needed him badly.

Slowly, Harry pulled out of Alisia, to her whimpers and protests, and hauled her in position once again so that she was straddling him. Her tired face greeted him, and he gently caressed her cheek, pulling her into a soft kiss.

"You made a mistake, and you were forgiven for it. No need to mope about it anymore," he said softly, his lips brushing hers. "It's done. It's in the past. Now go and take what you've been wanting from me all this while."

Alisia slowly pulled back and regarded him for a few moments. As he gave her a gentle smile and nodded, her lips curled into a smile and she grinned.

"Go on, show me how much you want it," Harry challenged.

Sitting back straight on top of him, she gave him a saucy smirk and raised her knees, squatting over his hips, before she drove down with all her strength. Harry let out a grunt and he gazed at her with wide eyes. He was most definitely in her womb, and even then, her body had eagerly accepted his entire length.

"I'll never disappoint you again, Harry," she promised and began to furiously bounce on top of him. "I'll never disappoint you."

"Fucking hell," Harry whispered, watching this beauty fucking herself raw on his cock. Turning to the side, Alisia said to Irina, "Come over and help me out. His control is too strong."

Harry chuckled as Irina excitedly drew closer and leaned over him. Her hand reached out to wrap around the base of his cock right when Alisia climbed up, and she began to stroke him. Her hand flattened, slapping against Alisia's groin when she descended, and in no time, she had a rhythm set in. Meanwhile, Harry reached over and gently caressed Irina's beautiful bum hiked in the air before he parted her folds and inserted two of his fingers inside her. Irina gave him a saucy wink as she took her hand off, and Harry's eyes widened when she grabbed his balls, fondling them.

Alisia's pussy kept rising and falling, her hot inner walls tight as fuck as they worked in overdrive to coax his cum out of him. Harry could feel his control over himself failing under the combined ministrations of two of the most beautiful women in existence and even though his control was immense, it was too much in the end.

Both his hands shot to Alisia's hips and he pulled her down flush against his groin. The blonde's eyes widened before an excited grin overtook her features when she saw his face.

"Fucking hell... Alisia! You wanted it this bad, huh? Well, take it! Take my fucking cum!" Harry growled.

His balls tightened and his cock pulsed, swelling inside her as he felt his orgasm approaching. He gripped her hips firmly, his fingers digging into her soft flesh as he began to thrust harder and deeper.

In no time, it hit him. His cock throbbed, a wave of pleasure coursing through him as he came, his hot cum painting her insides. He could feel it, each pulse, each jet of his essence filling her, marking her, claiming her as his. He watched as she threw her head back, her body convulsing, her pussy spasming around him as she squeezed, her body milking him for all he was worth. And he gave it to her, his cock pumping rope after rope of hot cum into her eager body.

It seemed to go on forever, their bodies joined as Alisia kept squeezing her inner walls around him, milking him for everything he had, and finally, when it was over, Alisia pushed herself up, her body glistening with sweat and their combined juices. His cum was leaking from her thoroughly fucked hole, dripping down onto his cock and Irina's waiting hand. She brought her fingers to her lips and sucked them clean, her eyes never leaving his.

"Delicious," she murmured, a soft smile playing on her lips.

Harry reached over, his hand caressing her ass cheek. "Like the taste, do you?" he asked with a chuckle.

Irina smirked, gulping it all down eagerly. "I'd take your cum every day," she admitted. "You taste divine. I could really get used to this."

Harry shifted, accepting Alisia who cuddled up against his side and began to pepper his bare chest with featherlight kisses.

"I'm really sorry for that," she whispered, looking up at him, and he couldn't have been upset with her even if he tried.

Reaching up, he stroked her face, pushing her sweaty hair out and tucking it gently behind her ear.

"You accepted that you did wrong, and you apologized. There's no need to bring it up anymore."

Alisia smiled and buried her face in his chest, absently scratching the spot just above her clit before her brows furrowed.

"It's started working, I see," Harry remarked, having noticed it, and both their gazes trailed down. Alisia's eyes widened when she saw the small mark emerge on her skin and immediately, her eyes shifted over to where Ginny was lounging on the sofa with her legs spread wide and her body fully exposed.

"Come over for a bit, Gin," Harry called out, and the redhead moved instantly. She walked over and stood in front of the couch.

Both Alisia and Irina leaned over to take a good, long look at the mark on Ginny's skin. The redhead shivered when both reached out to caress the outer borders, their eyes shining with curiosity.

"The mark signifies the bond I have with my women," Harry informed, pulling Alisia back in place beside him. He told them how it was formed and what it entailed, and matching grins emerged on their faces when he was done.

"That's wonderful," Irina remarked, eyeing Ginny's mark once again.

"I think you two will get your marks sooner than Ginny though," Harry said, absently caressing Alisia's naked back. "Your veela magic would accelerate the process. I don't have all the knowledge but I feel that's how it'd work."

Alisia nodded, her eyes drifting to her emerging mark once again. It was throbbing on her skin, not unlike how it had felt when Harry was inside her and the bulge was visible on her skin, and she felt nothing but contentment as she stared at it.

"This mark means I am yours?" She asked softly, looking up at him. A loving smile lit up her face at his nod. "Then I'll cherish it until my dying breath."

Harry stared at her in surprise for a moment before a rueful chuckle escaped his lips. Taking her chin, he lifted her face so that he was gazing deeply into her blue orbs.

"I have no doubt that you will," he said, and gently pressed his lips against hers once again.

Right beside them, an impatient Irina watched on, waiting for her turn.

To be continued…

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Chapter Text

As Harry kissed Alisia, he heard rustling before he felt dainty fingers wrap around his slick manhood. A groan escaped his lips when a pair of warm lips wrapped around his cock, slowly descending, and he knew Irina had taken him in her mouth. It seemed the other veela had gotten tired of waiting and was eager to get moving.

She was gripping his length by the base, making him groan as she jerked him off while blowing him at the same time. The feel of his warmth and the slickness of Alisia’s juices that clung to his rod spurred her on even more, and she intensified her tempo, pleasuring him with wild fervor.

She kept jerking him off as she pulled her mouth off his length, and as she looked up, she saw Alisia had already broken off him, sitting by the edge of the couch and leaving Harry all to her. He was gazing at her with that same confident smirk that thrilled her so much, and with a grin, she leaned forward, sticking out her tongue and running it along the underside of his massive shaft. The taste was divine—a mix of sweat, musk, and her friend’s arousal, and Irina knew she had already gotten addicted to it.

She kept running her tongue up and down his length, inhaling his intoxicating scent, before she licked up the head, rolling her tongue all around it. Her lips puckered, and with a wink up at him, she planted a firm kiss right on top of his prick, smiling as it twitched.

“Looks like it loves what I’m doing,” she purred, stroking him softly as she gazed up at him.

“It’s a greedy bastard. I’m sure you can tell it wants more,” he replied, leaning back and allowing her to get down to it.

Irina grinned before she descended, plunging her mouth onto his massive rod once again. Her eyes closed, and she focused entirely on what she was doing.

“Ah yes,” he groaned above her, making her preen. She knew he must be in heaven. A blowjob was thrilling, but getting one from a veela did not compare to a normal woman in the slightest. However, it was not just he who was feeling the thrill. She was loving the feel of his warmth in her mouth. She took in more and more of his length inside her until she felt him hit the back of her throat, and she easily managed to deepthroat him, pressing her lips and nose firmly against his pelvis as she kept him in place.

Harry let out a shaky breath as the impossible tightness of her throat enveloped him. His cock twitched, his grip firm on the couch as he stared at her.

“Fuck, you can suck a cock,” he managed with a shaky laugh, reaching out to thread his fingers through her lustrous blonde locks.

Irina hummed around his manhood, sending vibrations through him and making him shudder. She felt him holding her in place but as she ascended, he allowed her to dictate the pace and ferocity of her ministrations.

Knowing that she was firmly in charge here, she began to suck him off in earnest. She began slowly, gradually taking as much of his cock inside her mouth as she could, spearing him inside her throat and holding him in place for a few seconds before letting up. However, in no time, she picked up the pace and intensity, her eyes shut and her full concentration on the task at hand.

Meanwhile, Harry kept stroking her scalp, his fingers threading through her shiny blonde hair and Irina enjoyed the feeling of his touch on her skin. She could feel his cock twitching every time she plunged her mouth onto it, and feeling bolder, she moved the hand that had been resting on his bare thigh to his balls, fondling them gently. The hiss he let out made her almost giggle, but beyond a vibration around his cock, nothing else happened.

One hand kept stroking him at the base while the other fondled his balls, and all the while, Irina sucked him off like there was no tomorrow. The multitasking came as second nature to her, and she was intent on getting him to unload in her mouth. She would accept nothing less.

She pumped his length with increasing fervor, sucking and jerking him off wildly. Both her head and her hand were blurs as she blew him off, her tongue splashing wildly around his girth and her cheeks hollowed out.

She felt his balls start to twitch in her hand, and feeling naughty, she released a flare of her allure. She chanced a glance upwards and her eyes widened when she saw him looking down at her with his eyes dark with lust, his lips parted. She knew he must be close. She could feel it coiling in his balls that were in her grasp, and she bobbed her head even harder as she stroked both his cock and balls.

They kept eye contact with each other, both sets wild and dark with lust, and a meaningful look passed between them. Irina knew it was imminent and this was her moment to pull away if she wanted, but she instead plunged her mouth as much down as she could, burying him deep within her throat. She squeezed his balls firmly, as if trying to squeeze out everything that they contained.
It took mere seconds. Harry’s hips slammed upward, jolting Irina in place. Her eyes widened and her face pressed tightly against his groin, his balls scraping her plump bottom lip.

Harry let out a powerful grunt as he unloaded deep within Irina’s throat, his cock spasming wildly within the hot tightness as he shot load after load of his thick, potent cum inside her. He grunted with each shot, his grip tight on her hair as he kept her in place, their lustful gazes locked together.

Irina had never tasted something so heavenly before. His seed was like the nectar of the gods, spilling deep within her throat. Her tongue worked weakly around his girth, tasting every bit of him as she accepted everything he was giving her like a gracious devotee.

It felt as if hours had passed in this position. Irina kept swallowing his potent cum and Harry gave her more than she’d expected. Her breathing was labored, her eyes were filled with tears of pure jubilation, and her little make-up was smeared all over. Finally, Harry slowly released his tight grip on her hair and allowed her to pull back at her own pace. She slowly did, her mouth still bobbing on his prick as she sucked out whatever was left for her.

Harry gazed down at her with a triumphant look on his face, and his grin widened when she opened her mouth to show him the final vestiges of his cum that she had extracted. With a grin of her own, she made an elaborate show of swallowing it all, letting out an audible sigh of satisfaction.

“Mmm…” she moaned, shivering when she saw his eyes darkening even more. “I hope I did good?”

Harry smirked at her faux-pleading look and he reached down to pull her up. His half-hard prick smacked her right on her left breast as he did, making her giggle. She couldn’t wait to have that thing inside her.

He brought her in his lap, making her sit sideways so that his cock was pressed firmly against her thigh. She wrapped an arm around his neck and leaned comfortably against him, her other hand coming up to gently stroke his toned chest and abdomen, brushing over his nipples on occasion.

“Now that was fucking hot,” Alisia commented from her spot at the other end of the couch where she lay, her inflamed pussy on full display. One of her hands was gently stroking her outer lips while the other played with her tits.

“You both looked so similar,” Ginny added from her spot opposite them, a grin on her face as she looked at them lustfully. Harry glanced at her and smirked.

“We’ve heard that before,” Irina giggled, moaning when Harry began to suck on her neck. One of his hands was stroking her bare legs while the other climbed up to wrap around her breast, kneading gently.

“Looks like someone wants to continue,” Alisia teased, her lustful eyes trained on Harry’s cock that was growing against Irina’s thigh. Irina easily felt it, and her hand drifted lower, wrapping around his slick length and stroking him gently.
“He’s not the only one,” she moaned, loving the feeling of his lips and teeth on the sensitive skin of her neck. “Fuck, we struck the jackpot, didn’t we?”

“You’re damn right we did,” Alisia replied, watching them. “We couldn’t have asked for a better mate. A better Master.”

The last word was a purr, and it earned her a giggle from Ginny. Alisia glanced over at the redhead and smirked.

“You wanna play with me for a bit while those two enjoy their first time with each other, Ginny?”

Ginny looked surprised for a moment. Her eyes raked over the beautiful veela’s voluptuous figure for a moment. She was hesitant for a moment, wondering if this was for her, but it was her body that made the decision for her.

Alisia smirked when Ginny got up from the armchair she had been sitting on and slowly approached her. Without any urging on her part, the redhead climbed on the couch and got down on her hands and knees, her face coming to a stop mere inches from Alisia’s furiously fucked and red pussy.

“Go on,” the veela encouraged the younger girl before she released a soft sigh when Ginny began her work.

Meanwhile, Harry was locked in a heated embrace with Irina, their lips locked in a passionate kiss. He was fondling her breast with one hand, kneading her pillowy flesh eagerly as he occasionally tweaked and pinched her puffy, pink nipples. His other hand though had already parted her slick folds wide and two of his fingers were furiously plunging in and out of her wanton pussy.

He discovered that Irina had already gotten stimulated enough to the point where he did not need to prepare her for the main event. She was practically gushing, her vaginal juices having already coated the entirety of his palm as he fingered her.

“Mmm… fuck,” she moaned, feeling his thumb on her clit, rubbing it in circles. She felt like she’d cum from his fingers, and she did not want it. It was his cock she wanted inside her, and it was his cock she’d take.

She gently pried his fingers out of her sopping wet pussy and playfully slapped at the hand that was kneading her breast. Very reluctantly, she leaned back and gently pushed him back, making him look at her questioningly.

Wordlessly, she slid out of his lap and turned around, facing him. Harry looked on with a raised eyebrow as she gazed down at his erection for a moment before her eyes trailed upward, meeting his gaze.

She slowly took a couple of steps back so that she was a little over an arm’s length away from him, and keeping firm eye-contact with him, she reached up and cocked her hips to the side. Her breath hitched as her hands rose to her breasts. Her delicate and graceful fingers cupped the full mounds, squeezing them gently.

A soft moan escaped her lips as she kneaded them, pinching her nipples between her thumbs and index fingers. Her head tilted back, exposing the long, elegant line of her neck as she thrust her chest forward, fondling her breasts hotly.

The light struck her lustrous blonde hair from above and behind, illuminating her in soft light and making her look like an ethereal goddess pleasuring herself, teasing herself, showing herself to her god.
Harry watched, his heart hammering inside her chest, and his breaths coming out in short, rugged gasps. His cock throbbed painfully, lurching in air, as he drank in the sight of this seductress. She looked so vulnerable in her aroused state, and yet, she looked utterly powerful and spellbinding, her every aspect intoxicating. He felt as if he had been injected with the most powerful lust potion in existence, such was the intensity of his desire right now. It was more than mere magic. It was thirst, raw and primal, and he knew there was only one way it would be quenched.
Irina smirked at Harry as she turned away from him, her ass now in his line of sight, firm and round, truly a creation of perfection. It was a sight to behold—a perfect peach that one could bounce all the galleons in the world off. She stepped over to the armchair barely two steps away and her hands gripped the edge, her back arching like a cat. Still smirking, she looked at him over her shoulder, her eyes filled with lust, challenge, and invitation.

Harry eagerly accepted the offer, reaching out to sink his fingers into the soft flesh of her bubble butt. He kneaded her ass like the softest dough in the world, mauling the cheeks eagerly as Irina arched her back further.

She moaned, pushing back against his hands, her body begging for more. Harry gave it to her, his hands gently drifting downwards as he parted her cheeks, opening her pussy up to his hungry gaze.

She let out a soft hiss when his fingers found her wetness, and once again, Harry parted her lower lips and inserted two of his fingers inside her from behind.

She was wet and gushing. It took mere seconds for his fingers to get soaked with her hot juices. As Harry began to piston his fingers in and out of her sodden quim, Irina began to move in tandem with his movements, her hips pushing back against him to take him deeper.

Harry knew this was only the precursor. He knew she wanted more. She wanted all of him. And he was more than ready to give it all to her.

He stood up and took his place right behind her, and with one hand fingering her from behind, he reached up and pushed the other inside her mouth. Irina’s lips wrapped around his digits, her tongue also wrapping around his fingers as she tasted herself.

Her back arched further when Harry began to kiss all over her sweaty skin, licking and nibbling along her shoulder blades as he kept climbing until he clamped his lips against the side of her neck, right under her ear.

“You’re gonna keep at this all night?” She asked with a gasp once he pulled his fingers out of her mouth and brought his hand to her breast, fondling the supple flesh.

“Why don’t you tell me what you want then?” He replied, kissing her neck before he leaned back to regard her.

Irina looked over her shoulder and glared at him hotly.

“You want me to beg, do you?”

“More like ask as explicitly as you can,” he smirked, pinching her nipple lightly.

Irina’s eyes flashed as she growled, her voice filled with desire and need, “Fuck me. Fuck me like you truly mean it! Mark me too!”

With a feral grin, Harry shifted, his hand pulling out of her gushing quim to guide his cock to her entrance. He rubbed the head all over her wetness, coating it in her juices.

“Oh you filthy fucker,” she growled impatiently, pushing back against him, eager to have him inside her. All it did was amuse Harry as he grinned.

“Go on, my dear Irina,” he whispered lustfully. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want you to fuck me like you fucked Alisia!” She hissed, desperation coating her voice. “I want you to fill me up with that big, beautiful cock!”

Harry grinned and pushed forward, popping the head inside her and making her gasp.

“Like this?” He asked, his voice teasing.

“Yes!” Irina moaned, pushing back against him, greedy, needy, trying to take him deeper inside her.

Chuckling, he gave her exactly what she wanted. He held her by the waist and drove his hips forward, his eyes widening as her gushing pussy welcomed the entirety of his length in one firm push.

“Oh fuck!” Irina cried out, her eyes wide and her head thrown back as she felt the biggest, most magnificent cock in the whole wide world spear through her hot depths and bottom out inside her in one slam. Her grip on the armchair tightened, her fingers digging into the cushion as her toes curled.

“Brilliant, right?” Alisia’s voice came from behind and Irina could only nod, unable to form a reply in the moment.

Harry grinned as he pulled back slowly, making her sigh, before he slammed forward again, coaxing another loud cry from the beautiful veela as he speared inside her once again. She was as tight as Alisia, her pussy gripping him like a vise as well. The sensation was otherworldly, and he groaned, his fingers digging into her hips as he began to move in earnest, his cock slowly sliding in and out of her, his body slapping against hers.

Irina cried out as she was fucked, and she could barely hold on as Harry kept increasing the ferocity of his thrusts. He was roughly slamming into her from behind, her bubble butt jiggling enticingly as it clapped against his groin. Harry leaned over her from behind, his knee pressing against the back of hers to bend her over even more. The new angle gave him even more freedom to slam away inside her, and Irina wailed out loud as her hands gave away.

Now, bent over halfway with her ass hiked high in the air, Irina could do nothing but remain at Harry’s mercy, and some mercy it was. He took full liberties with her body, his hands reaching up to grab her swaying breasts. She moaned in approval, her desire to feel his hands on her tits once again fulfilled, and with added leverage, Harry began to hammer away inside her like a being possessed.

The sound of their bodies slapping loudly and hotly against each other echoed in the room. The wet squelches of her wanton pussy repeatedly welcoming his invading member added to the carnal atmosphere. It was a symphony of desire and lust, further exacerbated by their moans, their groans, and their cries of pleasure.
While he played with her tits with one hand, the other descended lower. He caressed her flat belly before slowly reaching between her legs. Irina’s breath hitched when his fingers finally found her clit, and she cried out loud as he began rubbing it in time with his thrusts.
Irina was a helpless mess. Her body was slick with sweat, and she could not believe that she, a freaking veela, had been reduced to such a pitiful state by a regular wizard. She could do nothing but keep moaning as her body remained tensed, her muscles tightening. She was shocked that she had been driven so close to her climax so quickly, and as much as she hated her pride being wounded, a part of her could not be bothered to care. This was Harry—the man she had given herself to. If anyone had the right to reduce her to this shaking, shivering mess with nary an effort, it was him.

Irina cried out as she approached her climax, and Harry could feel it building within her. He could feel her body tensing, her pussy pulsing around his cock as she got ever so closer to her orgasm.

"Cum for me, Irina," he growled, his voice thick with desire. "Come all over my cock."
And she did. Her body convulsed, her pussy pulsing around his cock as she came with a loud wail. He felt her juices leaking out, coating his cock, dripping down his balls. He groaned, feeling the sheer tightness around his cock as it drilling into her orgasmic pussy, her hot inner walls gripping him like a vice, as if to trigger his own orgasm. He was not one to back down so easily though, especially after he’d just given her a nice creamy treat. As such, he thrust into her, his body slapping against hers, her pussy walls pulsing around him as she came. Meanwhile, he held back. He would fill her up with his hot cum shooting into her, marking her as his, but not so soon.

As Irina came down from her orgasmic high, her body sweaty and limp over the armchair, Harry leaned down, his lips finding her ear. "You're mine too, Irina," he whispered, his voice possessive and demanding. "All mine."

Despite the sorry state she was in, she smiled, her toes curling as her body remained pressed firmly against his behind her.

"Yes, Harry," she whispered back. "I'm yours."

She could feel him still hard within her body, and she knew they weren't done yet. Not by a long shot.

She was proven correct when he pulled out of her, his cock slick with her orgasmic juices, still hard and ready. He turned her around, grabbed her by the neck, and his lips crashed against hers in a fierce, passionate kiss. Irina moaned as she kissed him back eagerly, as he pulled her close, her body pressing against his. His other hand grabbed her breast roughly, kneading and squeezing the pliant flesh hard. It was painful, and it was exhilarating. She loved it!

Her hands did not stay idle, and she began exploring his chest, brushing over his nipples as she descended, stroking his abs on her way down until she wrapped her hand around his slick and hard manhood, stroking firmly. She smirked into the kiss when his hold on both her neck and her breast tightened. Irina did not know she liked it rough, but now she did, and little had ever felt better. Her other hand reached around him to hold on, and she pressed herself tightly against his larger frame.

He broke the kiss after a few moments, and Irina moaned in approval as his lips began moving all over her neck. He kissed, nibbled, and sucked all over her sensitive skin, teasing her pulse point hard enough to leave numerous marks on her body. She’d asked him to mark her, and he was intent on doing it in every manner, magical and physical. His lips worked over her collarbone until he finally reached her breasts.

Irina threw her head back in pleasure when he tightened his hold on both her breasts and took one of the nipples into his mouth, sucking and teasing it. He nibbled on the sensitive nub, his teeth grazing them, making her moan. He repeated the ministrations with her other breast, fully devoted to his task, and Irina could do nothing but succumb to him. She realized she was doing a lot of it tonight, but she didn’t seem to care one bit.

While his mouth worked her tits up, driving her wild with his ministrations, he relinquished his hold on one and moved his hand down, stroking her flat belly. He began rubbing slow, soft circles over her belly-button before descending further. Irina knew what he was after and she parted her legs, allowing him full access.
His fingers found her clit once again, and he began rubbing it in slow, lazy circles. She moaned out loud once again, her body writhing against his. All the while, he lapped away at her tits, as if he couldn’t get enough of them.

Finally, he pulled away and stood up, staring her down. Irina took one look into those glowing orbs and shivered. He was looking at her like he owned her, and the thought thrilled her to no end. She grinned up at him in excitement, and with a smirk, he lifted her up. Irina yelped, her grin still in place, and her legs quickly came up to wrap around his waist. To her surprise, he did not use the couch or the armchair they had just fucked against. Instead, he carried her to the wall right beside Alisia and Ginny—two girls they had entirely forgotten about. Irina chanced a glance at them and found them, to no surprise, engaged in a 69 and eating each other out. She quickly tore her gaze away from them though as Harry brought them to a stop, pressing her against the wall, his cock instantly finding her entrance again.

He aligned himself against her wanton pussy as he gazed at her, and at her eager nod, he pushed inside her, making her gasp, her head falling back against the wall. Once he was all the way inside her, he pulled back slowly until only the tip remained inside before slamming all the way back once again.

“Fuck yes!” Irina cried out, and Harry was quick to pick up the pace. Keeping her firmly pressed against the wall, he began to move his hips back and forth, slamming hard inside her.

"Fuck me, Harry," she moaned, her voice filled with need. "Fuck me hard."

And he did. He pounded into her, his body slapping against hers, his cock sliding in and out of her, filling her, stretching her. Her legs were tightly wrapped around his waist, keeping him close, unwilling to let him part from her.

Harry leaned forward and clamped his mouth on the side of her neck. He sucked hard, making her gasp. He squeezed her ass cheeks, bouncing her on top of his cock as she bucked wildly against him, fucking herself in tandem with his thrusts. Her large tits were squished up against his chest, and they slapped against his skin as he fucked her.

Irina’s toes curled behind Harry, her arms tight around his neck. Her head was thrown back, tilted to the side as he kept up his ministrations on her neck and shoulder. All the while, he kept drilling into her without restraint. This was raw, primal, and beyond what he and Alisia had done.
Speaking of her friend… her eyes opened and she glanced over, finding the two other girls still engaged in their 69, completely oblivious to the world around them. She let out a shaky laugh, prompting Harry to pull back and gaze at her.

“Something funny?”

She shook her head, and passionately slammed her lips against his. Harry responded instantly, kissing her back hard, his tongue shoving past her lips and tangling up with hers, rolling around in her mouth. Irina moaned. This was what had been missing from her life, and now she’d finally found it… found him. Her grip around his neck tightened as they kissed, and she tugged him closer, digging her heels into his ass.

Harry mauled her ass cheeks hard enough to sink his fingers into the pillowy flesh, and he was certain that she would sport those marks there as well. Her neck and torso were all marked, and so was her ass. It was time to truly mark her.

Irina moaned into the kiss, her body tensing and her muscles tightening as she approached another climax. Harry felt her inner walls tighten around his girth once again, and he knew she was close. Pulling back from the kiss, he stared at her wanton face with nothing but lust.

"You’re gonna cum, Irina?" he growled, his voice thick with desire. "Again? When I haven’t cum inside you at all? I didn’t think you were so weak.”

Irina’s eyes blazed, but there was nothing she could do as he manipulated her very being. Her allure was of no use, and so was her heritage. It was impossible, and yet, the impossible had happened.

“Go on,” Harry grinned. “Cum all over my cock. I know you can’t hold on anymore."
And she really could not. Her whole body convulsed, her pussy pulsing around his cock as with a loud wail, she came again. He groaned at the impossible tightness, even more than before, and felt his own orgasm approaching. He thrust into her, his body slapping against hers, his magic in full effect as his cock began pulsing inside her.

Irina let out a whimper as with a powerful grunt, he came. Powerful bursts of his hot, potent seed splattered her insides, coating her inner walls in white, filling her with his hot cum. She slumped over in his arms, shivering uncontrollably, and despite his climax, Harry held her spasming body to himself as he kept shooting his load inside her pussy.

As they came down from their high, their bodies still joined, he carried her to the couch, laying her down gently. He collapsed beside her, his heart pounding in his chest.

"That was... incredible," she whispered, her voice filled with satisfaction.

He smiled, wrapping an arm around her and pulling her closer, their fingers entwining. "It was," he agreed. "And we're not done yet."

She looked at him, her eyes filled with surprise. "You can't be serious," she said, her voice filled with disbelief.

He chuckled, his hand moving to her thigh, squeezing it gently. "Oh, I'm very serious," he said, his voice filled with promise. "We have all night, and I intend to make the most of it. But before that, I believe there’s someone who deserves some of it as well."
Irina followed his line of sight just as a loud wail came and saw Ginny with her head thrown back as Alisia eagerly gulped everything the redhead had to give her.

Half an hour later, Harry stood in front of the couch, his eyes trained on three naked and beautiful women with their bodies slick with sweat and release, all sporting numerous marks on their bodies. However, the most prominent was the similar golden mark right above their pussies, pulsing softly.

A proud smile grew on his face as he took in their utterly fucked expressions. All three lay with their eyes closed, and they sported similar delirious smiles as they breathed heavily.

‘Killed a bunch of death eaters, including that slimeball Lucius, and got myself two beautiful veela girls with a sadistic streak to put most of those pathetic Inner Circle bastards to shame,’ Harry thought in satisfaction.

It was indeed a day well spent.

To be continued...

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Chapter Text

"Think we're close?" Ginny muttered, her voice low but steady, her wand gripped tight in her hand.

Harry shot her a quick grin, his demeanor utterly relaxed. They'd already taken care of every Death Eater that had come out to party tonight, and they had nothing to be wary about anymore, not that they ever did with him there.

"Close enough. Worst case, we kill our way out of whatever's next."

Ginny smirked, about to reply, when a sharp crack split the air. A jet of red light streaked toward them from the shadows ahead, fast and wild. Harry's reflexes kicked in like a whip—he flicked his wand up, a casual "Protego!" emerging over his wand. The spell slammed into an invisible wall, bursting into sparks that lit up his face for a split second as it was swatted aside.

Ginny didn't flinch, just shifted her stance beside him, ready.

"Who's there?" a voice barked, tight with nerves. Another spell followed—orange this time, sloppy and off-target. Harry sidestepped it easily, twirling his wand like it was an extension of his arm. He gave it a flick, and a wand sailed out of the darkness, landing with a soft thud in the grass. A muffled curse followed as whoever it was scrambled for it.

"Stop! Identify yourselves!" another voice shouted, this one deeper, edged with authority. Shapes emerged from the misty darkness in front of them—people in Ministry robes, darting forward with their wands raised, their faces pale and twitchy. Aurors flanked the group, their eyes darting like they expected Death Eaters to lunge from every shadow. Harry squinted, catching the glint of a badge on one of them, but the dark made it impossible to tell who was who.

"Easy," Harry called, his tone calm but firm, warning the group that another aggressive move will be met with equal force. "You're wasting spells on the wrong people."

"Drop your wands!" a jittery Auror snapped, his voice cracking halfway through. He fired another Stunner, and Harry parried it with a lazy flick, sending it spinning into a nearby tree. The bark splintered with a loud crack, and the Auror jerked, stumbling back.

"Enough!" A familiar voice cut through the chaos. Arthur Weasley stepped forward with his hands raised, his face creased with worry and relief all at once. The faint light from a hovering Lumos caught his red hair, and Harry felt his lips quirk a bit. "Lower your wands, all of you—it's my daughter and Harry Potter!"

The Ministry group froze, their wands still half-raised, still suspicious. They couldn't really be blamed given the events that had transpired that night.

Barty Crouch Sr. loomed behind Arthur, his sharp features drawn tight, and his mustache twitching as he scanned Harry and Ginny like they might sprout Death Eater masks any second. The Aurors muttered among themselves, one of them retrieving his disarmed wand with a scowl.

"Harry? Ginny?" Arthur pushed past the others, his voice softening as he got a better look at them. "Merlin's beard, where have you been? We've been out of our minds!"

Ginny stepped forward, brushing a strand of hair from her face, her chin lifting in defiance as she eyed the men behind her father. Harry had to stifle a smirk at that. She looked like she was ready to take on the whole lot of them.

"We got separated, Dad. When the attack started, everyone was running—Ron, Hermione, the twins, us. It was a mess. It was like the crowd just swallowed them up, and we couldn't find our way back."

Arthur's eyes widened, flicking between her and Harry. "You've been out there on your own all this time?"

"Yeah," Ginny said, her tone dry but steady. "Thankfully, Harry's got a knack for not getting us killed. We stuck together, tried to loop back to the camp, but it was pitch-black, and the crowd kept pushing us the wrong way. Then we heard Death Eaters—shouting, spells flying—so we bolted in the opposite direction. Took us farther out, but we didn't exactly have a map."

Arthur exhaled sharply, running a hand through his thinning hair. "You don't need to say anything. I understand, Ginny." He turned to Harry, his expression softening. "Harry, thank you—for keeping her safe. I don't know what I'd do if…"

Harry shrugged, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "She kept me on my toes too. We're a decent team."

Ginny gave him a meaningful smirk as he gazed at her with that look on his face.

Meanwhile, Arthur just looked at them for a moment, relief washing over his face like a tide. "The only thing that matters is you're both here now, safe. Let's get back to the camp—Ron and the others are waiting, probably worried sick."

"Wait." Barty Crouch's cold and clipped voice sliced through the moment, stopping them in their tracks. He stepped closer, his eyes narrowing as he studied Harry and Ginny. "Did you see anything out there? Anyone… peculiar?"

Harry tilted his head, his brow furrowing. "Peculiar how?"

Crouch's jaw tightened, his gaze flicking to the Aurors before settling back on Harry. "We've found Death Eaters scattered around—dead. Not just knocked out or captured. Killed. Brutally. Something's off about it."

Harry frowned, his mind already turning, but before he could say anything, Ginny's voice cut in, sharp and quick. "That must've been them—the Death Eaters we saw."

Arthur blinked, turning to her. "What do you mean?"

"When we were running," Ginny said, her words tumbling out with a mix of urgency and unease, "we stumbled across a few bodies. Dead ones. We didn't stick around to check, obviously—got out of there fast. But later, we nearly tripped over another scene. There were Death Eaters fighting, Dad. Killing each other. Shouting and cursing like they'd lost their minds."

The Ministry group went still, the air thickening with disbelief. An Auror—a burly man with a scarred cheek—scoffed. "Death Eaters turning on each other? That doesn't happen. They're loyal to a fault."

"Maybe not," Harry said, his voice low but carrying that quiet confidence that forced everyone to give him their undivided attention. He stepped forward, hands in his pockets, looking casual and perfectly at ease about it. "We overheard them while we were hiding. They were arguing—screaming, really. Something about Voldemort."

The entire group shivered, a few yelping at the mention of the name, but Crouch's head snapped up, his eyes boring into Harry. "What about him?"

Harry met his gaze, unflinching. "They were yelling about whether he's really gone. A few of them swore they'd seen him—alive, giving orders. The others didn't believe it, called him a liar, said he was trying to take over now that Voldemort's 'dead.' It got ugly fast. Wands out, spells flying. Next thing we knew, half of them were on the ground."

A ripple of shock ran through the group. The Aurors exchanged uneasy glances, while one of the Ministry officials—a wiry woman with a pinched face—muttered, "That's absurd. You-Know-Who's dead. Everyone knows that."

"Doesn't sound like they got the memo," Ginny shot back, crossing her arms.

Crouch's expression darkened, his fingers tightening around his wand. "You're certain of this? You heard them say his name?"

"Not really his name, but I don't know what other Dark Lord they might be talking about," Harry said with a shrug, his tone even. "They weren't exactly whispering."

The group erupted into murmurs—some skeptical, some rattled. The scarred Auror shook his head. "Death Eaters fighting over a ghost? Sounds like panic talking. Or a trick."

"Maybe," Harry allowed, shrugging like it didn't faze him either way. "But they didn't look panicked. They looked furious. Like they'd been waiting for an excuse to tear into each other."

Crouch opened his mouth, clearly itching to dig deeper, but Arthur stepped in, his voice firm. "That's enough, Barty. They've been through hell tonight—let's not interrogate them in the middle of it. They need rest, not more questions."

Crouch's mustache twitched, his eyes flashing with frustration, but he didn't argue. After a long, tense beat, he sighed, his voice heavy with resignation. "Fine. Go. But we'll need to talk more later."

Arthur nodded, already turning to Harry and Ginny. "Come on, you two. Let's get you back."

They fell into step beside him, the Ministry group fading into the shadows as they trudged toward the camp. The night pressed in around them, the distant crackle of fires and murmurs of survivors growing louder with each step. Harry glanced at Ginny, catching her eye. For a split second, a smirk flickered across her face—sharp, knowing, and it was gone as fast as it came. He mirrored it, the barest twitch of his lips, before they both smoothed their expressions into something neutral, perfectly innocent.

Arthur didn't notice, too busy muttering about how relieved Molly would be. "She'll probably hug you both to death," he said, a tired chuckle escaping him. "And then give you an earful for wandering off."

"Wouldn't expect anything less," Ginny replied, her voice light as she chuckled.

XXXXX

Smoke still clung to their clothes as Harry, Ginny, and Arthur trudged up the uneven path, the exhaustion of the night settling into their bones. Ginny let out a yawn as the door creaked open before they even reached it, spilling warm light and a flurry of voices into the chilly air.

"Arthur!" Molly's cry hit them first, sharp and trembling. She barreled out, her apron askew, and her arms swallowing Ginny in a hug so tight it looked like she might never let go. "Ginny! Oh, my girl—Harry!" She yanked Harry in next, squeezing him until his ribs almost creaked, her tears dampening his shoulder.

"Blimey, Mum, let 'em breathe," Ron grumbled from the doorway, but his voice cracked with relief. He stepped forward, clapping Harry on the back hard enough to jostle him. "Thought you'd gone and gotten yourself eaten by Death Eaters, mate."

"Not so easily," Harry said, flashing that easy grin of his. "It'd take more than a bunch of crappy idiots in masks to get rid of me."

"Don't tempt fate, Harrykins."

Harry looked over as the Weasley sons spilled out behind Ron—Fred and George with matching smirks, Bill rubbing his head as if trying to stave off a headache, Charlie yawning wide enough to show off a chipped tooth, and Percy hovering near the back, adjusting his glasses like he was about to file a report.

"Good to see you in one piece," Charlie said, ruffling Ginny's hair until she swatted him off.

"Barely," George chimed in, leaning against the doorframe. "Heard you kicked some ass tonight, Harry. Teach us that trick sometime?"

"Yeah, reckon we could use it on Percy when he starts lecturing," Fred added, dodging Percy's indignant swat to the head.

"Honestly," Percy muttered, "this is no time for jokes. The Ministry will want statements—"

"Stuff the Ministry," Charlie cut in, clapping Harry on the shoulder. "You two look like you've been dragged through a dragon pen. What happened out there?"

Ginny flicked her hair back, stepping into the spotlight like she owned it. "Got separated in the chaos. Crowd was mad—running, screaming, the works. Harry and I stuck together, dodged some Death Eaters, saw some… weird stuff. Took us ages to find our way back."

"Weird stuff?" Hermione piped up, emerging from the kitchen with a mug of tea clutched tight. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her brown hair more disheveled than usual, but she zeroed in on Ginny like a hawk.

"Later," Arthur said, waving it off. "They're knackered. Let's get everyone inside—tea, food, and bed. In that order."

Molly herded them in like a fussy hen, piling plates with scones and shoving mugs into hands. The kitchen buzzed with overlapping voices—Ron recounting how he'd tripped over a tent peg, Fred and George speculating about Death Eater infighting that Harry and Ginny told them all about, and Hermione quietly watching Harry and Ginny over the rim of her cup. Harry stayed loose, leaning back in his chair, answering questions with that calm and assured drawl that made it sound like he'd planned the whole night. Everyone attributed his demeanor to tiredness and lack of sleep.

Eventually, the adrenaline faded, and yawns started breaking up the chatter. "Right, they're back, so now, you're all off to bed," Molly declared, shooing them upstairs. "Harry, you're with Ron. Hermione, with Ginny. No arguing."

The group dispersed, footsteps thudding on the creaky stairs. Harry shot Ginny a quick look as they parted—nothing big, just a flicker of something insinuating—before following Ron up to his attic room while Ginny led Hermione to hers.

Her room was dim, lit only by a flickering lantern on the dresser. Ginny kicked off her boots, tossing her dirt-streaked jacket over a chair, while Hermione methodically unlaced her shoes, her movements precise even through her exhaustion. They changed in silence—Ginny into an oversized Holyhead Harpies shirt and Hermione into neat pajamas—brushing teeth, splashing water on their faces, the routine calming them both after the night's madness.

They climbed into their beds, the springs groaning under them. None seemed to fall asleep though, contrasting thoughts running through both their minds. The silence kept stretching, thick and restless. Ginny lay on her back, staring at the cracked ceiling, while Hermione curled on her side, her breathing too uneven for sleep.

"Can't sleep, huh?" Ginny's voice broke the quiet, low and teasing.

Hermione didn't answer right away, her fingers twisting the edge of her blanket. After a beat, she murmured, "Just… thinking. About the attack."

Ginny hummed, rolling onto her elbow to face her. "Yeah, it was a nightmare out there. Harry and I saw some wild stuff—bodies everywhere, Death Eaters scrapping like animals. Kept each other sane, though. Dodging spells, hiding in the dark. He's good to have around when it all goes to hell."

Hermione's lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes flicking to Ginny. "You two seemed… close when you got back."

Ginny's smirk was quick and sharp as it flashed in the dim light, but her voice stayed light. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Hermione shrugged, her gaze steady but not quite challenging. "Just something I noticed. All day, really—since we got to the camp. You and Harry. Close."

Ginny sat up, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, her head tilting as she studied Hermione. "You've got something to say, Hermione. Spit it out."

Hermione hesitated, her fingers tightening on the blanket. She wondered what to say, her thoughts running a million miles a minute until it burst out, fast and unsteady. "I saw you. At the camp, after everyone else was asleep. You snuck into Harry and Ron's room in the tent. I—I saw what you were doing. You and Harry."

The air went taut, the tension rising and making it warmer. Ginny's eyes widened, her mouth dropping open in a perfect mask of shock. "What the—Hermione, are you serious? You spied on us? What the hell is wrong with you?"

Hermione flinched at that, her face flushing red. "I didn't mean to—I couldn't sleep, I saw you and got curious. I didn't know what you were doing sneaking out like that, and the flap was open, and—"

"No," Ginny snapped sharply, her voice rising but still not quite enough to spill outside. "You don't get to play innocent. You had no right to poke your nose into my business—or Harry's. How do you think he'd feel, knowing you watched us like some creep?"

"I wasn't—" Hermione's voice cracked, her hands balling into fists. "I didn't mean—it was an accident, Ginny, I swear—"

"Accident?" Ginny laughed, short and bitter. "You accidentally followed me? Accidentally stood there gawking? Accidentally watched us shag? Come off it."

Hermione shrank back, her bravado crumbling. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have… I just—I don't know. I was curious, and then I saw, and I couldn't stop looking."

Ginny let the silence hang, her anger softening into something calculated, her eyes glinting with a new edge, like a cat that had spotted a canary. She slid off her bed, crossing the small space to perch on the edge of Hermione's close enough that their knees brushed. Her voice dropping low to a husky murmur. "Couldn't stop looking, huh? Watched it all, then. Him pinning me down, his hands rough on my hips, tearing my shirt open. Me on top, riding him slow, then fast—his breath hot against my neck, groaning my name. You saw how he moves, how he feels. Bet it's burned into your head now."

Hermione's breath caught, her eyes wide, but she didn't pull back. Ginny leaned in, her fingers brushing Hermione's arm. "He's wild when he lets go—strong, sure, every thrust like he owns you. And me—I took it all, gave it back just as hard. Screaming for him, clawing his back 'til he bore the marks. You saw that, didn't you? How it made me shake, how I begged for more."

"Ginny—" Hermione's voice was a whisper, strained, her face a mess of shock and heat.

"Bet it got you hot," Ginny pressed, her smirk wicked, her tone coaxing. "Watching him take me apart, knowing how good he is. I saw your face when we got back—jealous, maybe. Not 'cause I had him, but 'cause you didn't. You've thought about it, haven't you? Those hands on you, that mouth. He's got this fire—pulls you in, makes you want to burn."

Hermione swallowed hard, her hands trembling. "That's… I wouldn't—"

"Why not?" Ginny's fingers slid to Hermione's wrist, light but firm. "You saw us. You know what he's like—how he looks at you sometimes, all trust and heat. He's not just mine, Hermione. He could be yours too. I'd let you have him—hell, I'd watch, cheer you on. Imagine it: him between your thighs, slow at first, then relentless, 'til you're screaming like I was."

Hermione's chest heaved, her eyes locked on Ginny's, caught in the raw, filthy web she wove. "This isn't… it's not right."

"Says who?" Ginny's grin was feral, her voice soft but relentless. "You're not some prude, Hermione. You're curious—hungry, even. You watched us fuck, and you didn't run. That's not shame. That's want. He'd ruin you in the best way, and I'd help him do it."

Hermione's breath hitched, her eyes darting away. "That's ridiculous."

"Is it?" Ginny pressed, her smirk returning, slow and sly. "You've been watching us all day, Hermione. Noticing how close we are. Maybe you're not mad I was with him. Maybe you're mad it wasn't you."

"Stop it," Hermione whispered, but it lacked conviction, her face a mess of guilt and confusion.

"Why? You brought it up. You saw us—saw him. Harry's got this… pull, doesn't he? That quiet confidence, the way he takes charge. You can't tell me you've never thought about it. That you don't want it."

Hermione's jaw tightened, but she didn't pull away. "You're twisting this."

Ginny chuckled, getting up and slowly lying down on her bed again. "Whatever you say."

The room went quiet again, the lantern flickering low. Hermione stared at Ginny, her breath uneven and her mind a tangle of denial and curiosity, sparked by her words. Ginny didn't push, just watched, letting the words sink in, her smirk softening into something that almost looked like a challenge.

"Sleep on it," she said finally, stretching like nothing had happened before she rolled on her side. "No rush. He's not going anywhere. And you know he's worth it."

As Ginny shifted on her back and closed her eyes, a small smile playing on her lips, Hermione was left staring at the ceiling, her pulse racing and her thoughts a violent storm. Ginny's graphic taunts echoing in her head, and sleep eluded her all the while.

XXXXX

The heavy oak doors of Malfoy Manor creaked open, admitting a gust of cold morning air and three figures cloaked in the somber garb of the Ministry. The grand foyer, usually a gleaming showcase of wealth with its polished marble floors and towering portraits, felt dim and oppressive this morning.

Narcissa Malfoy stood at the foot of the spiraling staircase, her platinum hair pulled back tightly, and her face a mask of poised expectancy. Beside her, Draco lingered, his young teenaged frame slouched slightly, and his hands stuffed into the pockets of his tailored robes. He'd been summoned from his room, grumbling about the interruption to his brooding over the upcoming Quidditch season.

The trio from the Ministry stepped forward. At the lead was a wiry man with a pinched face, his badge glinting faintly in the chandelier's light—likely some low-ranking official Narcissa didn't bother to recognize. Behind him came Cornelius Fudge, his bowler hat clutched nervously in his hands, and Dolores Umbridge, her toad-like smile stretched thin with faux sympathy. Between them, levitated on a stretcher, was a shape draped in a stark white cloth.

Narcissa did not need telling. She knew what this meant. Even as the realization dawned on her, she felt nothing but apathy, her eyes steely as she gazed at them.

"Mrs. Malfoy," the wiry man began, his voice nasal and grating, "I'm afraid we bring grave news. During the Death Eater attack near the Quidditch World Cup grounds, your husband, Lucius Malfoy, was… well, he didn't make it. We recovered his body after the chaos settled."

Narcissa's hand flew to her chest, her lips parting in a soft gasp. She knew how to play the part of a proper pureblood lady, aware of what was expected of her.

"No," she murmured, her eyes wide in disbelief and her voice trembling just enough to sell the act. "Not Lucius. Not my husband."

Inside, her thoughts churned differently. 'Good riddance,' she mused, her mind flicking to the vault keys she'd finally have control over, the freedom she could now enjoy, and the social invitations that would come where she could act without his insufferable shadow looming over her. She'd never loved him—never even liked him much. He was a means to an end, a gilded ladder to climb into the elite circles of wizarding society. His death was inconvenient, sure, but hardly a tragedy.

Draco, however, froze. His grey eyes widened, darting from the Ministry man to the shrouded figure.

"What?" he snapped, his voice cracking. "What do you mean, 'didn't make it'? That's rubbish! Father's too smart for that—he wouldn't just… just die!" He took a step forward, his fists clenching at his sides, the color draining from his already pale face.

Fudge cleared his throat, stepping into the fray with his usual bumbling air. "Now, now, young Draco, it's a terrible shock, I know. Lucius was a fine man, a pillar of our community. His loss is… well, it's simply dreadful. We thought it best to bring him here ourselves, to spare you the indignity of a public retrieval."

Umbridge nodded, her pink cardigan clashing garishly with the somber mood. "Such a tragedy," she cooed, her voice dripping with insincerity. "Lucius was so dedicated, so influential. The Ministry will feel his absence keenly, I'm sure."

Narcissa turned her head slightly, her gaze settling on the covered form. "Yes," she said softly, letting a single tear—summoned with years of practiced control—glisten in her eye. "He was… everything to us." 'Everything I could have done without,' she thought, suppressing the urge to scoff. Lucius had been a bore, a braggart, always strutting about with his cane and his self-obsessive nonsense. She'd endured his lectures, his cold hands, his endless schemes—all for the Malfoy name, all for the Malfoy gold. Now, she was free, or would be once the paperwork cleared.

Draco, meanwhile, shoved past his mother, his boots thudding against the marble as he approached the stretcher.

"Let me see him," he demanded, his voice rising. "I don't believe you—this is some trick, some stupid Ministry lie!"

His hands trembled as he reached for the cloth, but the wiry official stepped forward, blocking him.

"Mr. Malfoy, please," the man said, his tone firm but wary. "It's not a pleasant sight. The attack was brutal—something I haven't seen since the war ended. We've cleaned him up as best we could, but—"

"I don't care!" Draco shouted, his face twisting with a mix of rage and panic. "He's my father! I need to see him!" He lunged again, and this time Fudge intervened, grabbing Draco's arm with surprising strength for such a fidgety man.

"Draco, my boy, calm yourself," Fudge said, his voice strained. "We're all grieving here. Let's not make this harder than it needs to be."

Narcissa glided forward, placing a hand on Draco's shoulder. "Darling, listen to the Minister," she said, her tone smooth as silk. "They've brought him home. That's what matters." She squeezed lightly, her nails digging in just enough to warn him. 'Don't make a scene, you little fool,' she thought. 'Not when I'm so close to having it all.'

Draco wrenched free, spinning to face her. "Home? He's dead, Mother! Don't you get it? He's gone!" His voice broke, and he raked a hand through his slicked-back hair, disheveling it. "Father was—he was everything! He taught me how to be a Malfoy, how to hold my head up, how to win! And now he's just… just lying there?"

For a moment, Narcissa faltered, caught off guard by the raw pain in her son's eyes. She recovered quickly, smoothing her expression into one of gentle sorrow. "I know, Draco," she said, her voice low. "He was your guide, your strength. We'll honor him, I promise." 'Honor him with a tasteful funeral and a swift redecoration of this dreary house,' she added silently, already picturing lighter curtains and fewer serpent motifs.

Umbridge clasped her hands together, her smile widening. "Such a devoted son," she said, her eyes glinting with something predatory. "Lucius would be proud, I'm sure. He always spoke so highly of you, Draco."

Draco ignored her, dropping to his knees beside the stretcher. His hands hovered over the cloth, hesitant now, as if touching it would make the nightmare real. "He can't be gone," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. "He was supposed to be here—supposed to see me take over, make the family proud. He promised he'd always be here."

Narcissa watched him, her lips pressed into a thin line. She should feel something, she supposed—pity, perhaps, for the boy who'd idolized a man so utterly unworthy of it. Lucius had been Draco's hero, his god, a towering figure who'd shaped him into the arrogant, brittle young man kneeling before her. But all she felt was a faint irritation. 'He'll get over it, she thought. He's young. He'll find a new idol, or I'll find one for him.'

Fudge shifted uncomfortably, glancing at Umbridge. "We, er, we'll need to discuss arrangements," he said, his tone tentative. "The Ministry will want a statement, of course, and there's the matter of Lucius'… affiliations. Nothing official, mind you, but—"

"Cornelius," Narcissa cut in, her voice sharpening just enough to silence him, "my husband is dead. Surely your questions can wait until we've had time to mourn." She gestured toward the stretcher, her movements graceful but dismissive. "Please, leave him with us. We'll handle the rest."

Fudge nodded hastily, backing toward the door. "Of course, of course. Our deepest condolences, Mrs. Malfoy. Draco." Umbridge followed, her simpering smile lingering until the doors closed behind them, leaving the Malfoys alone with the body.

Draco stayed where he was, his shoulders shaking now, silent sobs wracking his frame. "He didn't deserve this," he whispered. "He was better than them—better than all of them."

Narcissa knelt beside him, her robes pooling around her like spilled ink. "He was a powerful man," she said, choosing her words carefully. "A force in our world. No one can take that from him—or from you." She rested a hand on his back, her touch light, almost detached. 'Powerful enough to die like a fool in some muddy field,' she thought, her mind already racing ahead to the solicitor's office, the will, the freedom that awaited her.

Draco turned to her, his eyes red-rimmed and desperate. "What do we do now, Mother? Without him?"

She met his gaze, her expression softening into something almost maternal. "We go on, Draco," she said. "We're Malfoys. We always do." And as he buried his face in her shoulder, she stared over his head at the shrouded figure, her lips curving ever so slightly. 'Yes,' she thought. 'We go on—better than ever.'

TBC.

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Chapter Text

The late morning sun streamed through the crooked windows of the Burrow's kitchen, casting long golden rays across the worn wooden table. Outside, gnomes scurried through the overgrown garden, occasionally letting out high-pitched curses as they tumbled over each other. The usual chaos of the Weasley household had resumed after last night's turmoil, but an undercurrent of tension remained, like a low hum beneath the surface.

Mrs. Weasley bustled around the kitchen, her wand flicking with practiced precision as she directed a parade of pots and pans. Eggs cracked themselves into a large bowl while bread sliced and toasted in midair. The comforting aroma of frying bacon and fresh tea filled the air. It seemed the woman was hellbent on forgetting the essence of destruction that had clung to them all just hours ago.

"Breakfast!" she called up the stairs, her voice carrying through the rickety house. "Everyone down now before it gets cold!"

Footsteps thundered down the stairs as the house's occupants descended like a small avalanche. Fred and George tumbled in first, shoving each other through the doorway, followed by Ron and Charlie deep in conversation about a Quidditch match. Percy strode in with an air of importance, a copy of the Daily Prophet clutched in his hand. Bill sauntered in last, his fang earring catching the light.

Harry and Ginny entered together, their shoulders brushing as they made their way to the table. Hermione followed a moment later, her eyes darting to the pair before quickly looking away. She took a seat beside Ron, putting as much distance between herself and Ginny as the crowded table would allow.

"Good morning, dears," Mrs. Weasley said, pressing a quick kiss to Harry's forehead as he sat down. "Sleep well?"

"Like the dead," Fred answered, grabbing a piece of toast.

"Speaking of which," George added, "heard anything more about those Death Eaters, Dad?"

Mr. Weasley looked up from his tea, his expression grim. "Nothing official yet. The Ministry's keeping things quiet until they sort through everything."

Percy cleared his throat importantly, smoothing the newspaper on the table. "Well, the Prophet's not being so tight-lipped. They're calling it 'Death Eater Infighting' on the front page."

"Let me see that," Charlie said, leaning closer to his brother to read the article.

The front page featured a large, moving photograph of a dark skull hovering above a field, the snake-tongue slithering out as it rotated slowly. The headline blared: "WORLD CUP TERROR: DEATH EATERS TURN ON EACH OTHER."

"Blimey," Ron breathed, leaning forward to get a better look. "They're actually reporting it?"

"What did you expect?" Bill asked, buttering his toast. "It's Skeeter. The woman's got this uncanny power to sniff out news, no matter how confidential. Not surprising she caught wind of this and managed to get it published. Also, can't exactly cover up a dozen masked nutters blasting each other to bits. It was bound to be out soon."

Mrs. Weasley winced, sending a sharp look at Bill. "Language at the table, please."

"Sorry, Mum," Bill said, not looking particularly apologetic.

Percy adjusted his glasses, scanning the article. "It says here that Lucius Malfoy was among the casualties."

A heavy silence fell over the table. Harry and Ginny exchanged a quick glance, their lips quirking a bit. That had been one of the best developments in the aftermath of the World Cup final.

"Lucius Malfoy?" Hermione asked, her voice slightly higher than usual. "Are they sure?"

"According to this, they found him this morning," Percy read, his tone clinical. "Body was returned to the family for burial."

"Draco must be devastated," Hermione murmured, her brow furrowed.

"Who cares?" Ron snorted, shoving a forkful of eggs into his mouth. "Rotten git deserved it, if you ask me."

"Ronald!" Mrs. Weasley gasped, swatting his shoulder. "That's a terrible thing to say!"

"What?" Ron protested, his mouth still full. "He was a Death Eater, Mum! He would've happily killed all of us!"

"Be that as it may," Mr. Weasley said firmly, "celebrating anyone's death isn't something we do in this family."

Harry leaned back in his chair, his expression neutral but his eyes alert, taking in the conversation with quiet interest. Ginny, beside him, reached for the juice, her sleeve riding up just enough to reveal a faint bruise on her wrist. Hermione's eyes widened slightly as she caught the mark, instantly recognizing it for what it was. A small flush crept up her neck and she darted her gaze away quickly.

"How'd it happen?" Fred asked, his usual mischievous tone temporarily subdued.

Percy skimmed the article again. "Doesn't say specifically. Just that he was 'killed in an altercation with fellow Death Eaters.' Apparently, there was some kind of disagreement among them."

"About Voldemort," Harry said casually, ignoring the sharp gasps from a few people around the table as he took a sip of his tea. "Like we told you last night, Mr. Weasley."

All eyes turned to Harry who merely raised an eyebrow as he looked around.

"You really heard them arguing about that?" Bill asked, leaning forward intently. "About whether he's back?"

Harry nodded, his posture relaxed despite the seriousness of the subject. "Clear as day. Some were saying he's alive and giving orders. Others didn't believe it."

"And they started killing each other over it," Ginny added, her voice steady. "We saw at least three go down before we ran."

Hermione stared at her plate, her food untouched. "It's horrible," she whispered, almost to herself. "The killing, I mean."

"Better them than us," Ginny replied, her tone light but her eyes hard. "Death Eaters aren't exactly known for their mercy."

"No, they're not," Harry agreed, something dark flickering across his face before it disappeared, as if it'd never been there. "Seems like they're even worse to each other."

"It's nonsense anyway," Percy said dismissively. "You-Know-Who is dead. Has been for years. These are just desperate fanatics grasping at straws."

Harry shrugged, but his eyes didn't match his casual demeanor. He exchanged a glance with Ron and Hermione whose lips pursed.

"Maybe. Maybe not."

"Either way," Mr. Weasley interjected, "the Ministry's in an uproar. Barty Crouch wants to talk to you both today, Harry, Ginny. About what you saw."

"Why today?" Mrs. Weasley protested, her hands on her hips. "They've barely had time to recover!"

"It's fine, Mrs. Weasley," Harry assured her, his voice calm and confident. "Better to get it over with."

"I'll go with them," Hermione suddenly offered, her eyes darting between Harry and Ginny meaningfully.

The meaning dawned on Ginny in an instant and her lips curled into a small, knowing smirk. "Worried about us, Hermione?"

Hermione flushed, ducking her head. "I just thought—well, I might be able to help with the statements. Make sure everything's properly documented."

"Always the scholar," Ron teased, oblivious to the tension. "They just need to tell what they saw, Hermione, not write an essay."

"Actually," Mr. Weasley said apologetically, "Crouch was very specific. Only Harry and Ginny, since they were the ones who witnessed it firsthand."

Hermione's shoulders sagged slightly. "Oh. Of course."

"Don't worry," Ginny said, her voice honey-sweet as she reached across the table to touch Hermione's hand briefly. "We'll tell you everything when we get back. Every... little... detail."

Hermione jerked her hand away, her cheeks coloring. "I—yes, that would be—thank you."

Harry watched the exchange with a glint of amusement in his eyes, but his face remained impassive. He turned to Arthur and asked, "What time do we need to be at the Ministry?"

"After lunch should be fine," Mr. Weasley replied, checking his watch. "Crouch said he'd meet us in his office around three."

"Perfect," Harry nodded, helping himself to more eggs. "Plenty of time."

The conversation shifted to lighter topics as breakfast continued. Charlie regaled them with stories of Romanian dragons, while Fred and George whispered conspiratorially at the end of the table. Percy occasionally interjected with Ministry regulations related to Charlie's tales, earning eye rolls from his siblings.

Through it all, something else was going on beneath the normal family chaos. Harry was eating calmly, his movements relaxed, with Ginny sitting beside him, looking utterly relaxed. She leaned close to him occasionally, whispering something that made his lips twitch in a near-smile. Hermione watched them from the corner of her eye, her hands fidgeting with her napkin, and it was when her eyes darted down slightly that she noticed it. A furious blush overtook her features as she realized what was going on under the table, her eyes transfixed on Ginny's hand as it moved subtly.

She looked around in alarm, but everyone else was either occupied with chatting or the food to pay any attention to the pair. Her eyes darted back to Ginny's hand and as she looked up, her breath hitched. Ginny stared her directly in the eyes before a wicked grin emerged on her face.

"I know you want it," she mouthed, winking.

One by one, everyone started to get up and leave but the two kept at it, somehow managing without anyone being the wiser.

She couldn't believe they were doing it right there at the table when everyone was present, but then she recalled how they hadn't cared the slightest bit when they'd fucked in that tent with Ron sleeping right next to them. The memory evoked her own forbidden desires and Hermione furiously quashed those thoughts, pointedly finishing her meal. However, try as she might, she couldn't help but let her gaze return to them, watching discreetly.

Hermione was not as discreet as she believed herself to be. Ginny had a smirk on her face as she kept jerking Harry off, all the while eyeing Hermione out of the corner of her eye. She knew how risky this was, but the thrill of doing it like this was much greater than fear of being caught.

Once everyone apart from them three had left, Mrs. Weasley began clearing the plates with a wave of her wand. She levitated them with her to the kitchen, and the moment she was gone, Ginny made her move.

Hermione's eyes bugged out as Ginny dropped to her knees with a muffled thump, crawling under the table like she owned the place. Her eyes sparkled with that wild, don't-give-a-damn glint, catching Hermione's shocked stare.

Harry's jaw tightened, his eyes flicking to Hermione for a split second before they closed, a barely audible groan escaping his lips as he gripped his fork tightly.

Hermione's breath hitched, her fingers strangling her napkin like it owed her money. She couldn't look away, even though her brain was yelling at her to bolt. She watched as Ginny's head dipped, her lips undoubtedly wrapping around Harry's cock with zero hesitation, sucking him off right there under the table. The wet, sloppy sounds were faint but hit Hermione like a freight train, making her face go redder than it already was. Her thighs clenched hard, and she bit her lip till it stung, trying to squash the heat pooling low in her gut. She was pissed at herself, but damn, part of her was hooked—on the thrill, on the wrongness of it all.

Ginny was in her element, her tongue swirling and her lips sliding up and down Harry's length. She felt like she was born for this, and maybe she was. Her hands gripped his thighs, her nails digging in just enough to make him squirm. She'd glance up now and then, locking eyes with Hermione, daring her to say something. That smug little smirk never left her face, even as she took him deeper, her throat working him like it was nothing. She loved this—loved screwing with Hermione's head, loved the rush of almost getting caught.

Harry was loving it, his breaths coming fast and shaky. Ginny was even more daring than he'd expected, and he wouldn't have it any other way. His free hand twitched like he wanted to grab Ginny's hair and started fucking her mouth in earnest, but he allowed her to take charge this time.

He shot a look at Hermione, and holy shit, the raw heat in his eyes nearly knocked her over. She jerked her gaze away, her heart hammering, and once again, her mind flashed back to that damn tent—Harry and Ginny going at it like animals while Ron snored nearby. It was messed up how much it turned her on, how much she wanted to know what that kind of reckless felt like. She would never accept it, but damn she couldn't help how she felt about it.

Ginny picked up the pace, her head bobbing faster, one hand pumping the base of Harry's cock while her mouth worked the rest. She let out a low hum, and Harry choked back a groan, trying to play it off with a fake cough. Hermione's eyes went saucer-wide—she knew he was close. She should've bolted, should've gotten the hell out of there, but her ass was glued to the chair, her gaze stuck on the way Ginny's lips stretched, the faint bulge in her cheek as she went all in.

Harry's hips bucked slightly, and his hand slammed the table, making the plates and cutlery rattle. Hermione flinched, her own gasp stuck in her throat as she watched him grit his teeth, his face twisted in a look that screamed he was close.

Ginny didn't miss a beat, sucking harder, her tongue flicking over the tip as Harry spilled into her mouth. She swallowed every drop, milking him dry until he slumped back, his chest heaving, looking like he'd just run a marathon.

The room went quiet, the only sound being the distant clink of dishes from the kitchen where Mrs. Weasley remained none the wiser. Ginny popped up from under the table, wiping her lips with a grin and licking her fingers clean.

She plopped back in her chair, resting an elbow on Harry's shoulder. "Like the view, Hermione?" she teased, her voice low and cocky, and her eyes dancing with victory.

Hermione's face resembled a furnace, her brain a total mess of "what the fuck" and "why am I still here?" She glanced at Harry, who was catching his breath, his eyes dark and unreadable. He held her stare a little too long, and it sent a shiver down her spine. She wanted to yell, to call them out, but her voice was gone, drowned in the turmoil of her own dirty thoughts.

Smirking, Ginny stretched beside Harry like a cat. "We should get ready for the Ministry," she said to Harry, standing up. "Mind if I shower first?"

"How about I join you?" he replied with a grin, acting like a typical hormonal teenager in Hermione's eyes. She looked at him disapprovingly, which was funny considering what had happened over the past couple of days. "I can help you reach the hard parts."

"Such a gentleman," Ginny teased, her hand trailing across his shoulder as she moved past him. She caught Hermione's eye as she passed, a smirk on her face. "Maybe next time. It does get tough getting to the hard parts."

Hermione remained transfixed, her breathing ragged as she watched Ginny lick her fingers clean. She didn't need to be told what it was, and her toes curled, her grip on her spoon tightening.

"I'm off, then," Ginny announced, sauntering toward the stairs. "Back in a bit."

Suddenly, Hermione felt the world closing around her as she realized she and Harry were alone at the table now. Her heart thumped in her chest as she stared hard at the table, knowing his eyes were fixed on her.

"Hermione," Harry said simply, and she jerked, her eyes wide. Harry stifled a chuckle at her reaction and leaned forward, "Ginny told me you bought some books this summer? About advanced defensive magic?"

Hermione started, nearly knocking over her juice. "Y—yeah. The defense books. I—they're upstairs. In my trunk."

"Show me," Harry said, standing. It wasn't quite a question, and Hermione understood as much. She was surprised with his commanding tone, but she found herself complying.

"What's kind of books, Harry dear?" Mrs. Weasley asked, levitating his, Ginny's, and Hermione's plates with her to the sink.

"Advanced defensive magic," Harry explained with a small smile. "Hermione always likes to read ahead. And after what happened at the World Cup, I want to be prepared next time."

"Next time?" Mrs. Weasley echoed, turning from the sink with alarm. "What do you mean, next time?"

Harry's smile was reassuring but somehow didn't reach his eyes. "Just being cautious, Mrs. Weasley. Better safe than sorry, right?"

"Well, I suppose," she said reluctantly. "But don't go looking for trouble, Harry. You've had enough of that to last a lifetime."

"Don't worry," he replied with the same calm confidence that Hermione had observed in him lately. "Trouble usually finds me without me having to look."

Hermione stood shakily, smoothing her jumper. "The books are this way," she murmured, heading for the stairs. Every part of her was screaming to bolt, her pulse pounding, but her body refused to obey any command except the one Harry had seemingly given her. To show him these books.

Harry followed her casually, eyeing her as they walked. The sounds of the shower running filtered through the thin walls of the bathroom as they walked past it. Steam leaked from beneath the bathroom door, carrying the faint scent of Ginny's floral shampoo.

"So," Harry said, his voice soft enough that only Hermione could hear, "these books?"

Hermione glanced at the bathroom door, then back at Harry, her face a mixture of confusion and something more complicated. "They're in Ginny's room," she whispered. "Where I'm staying."

Harry nodded, gesturing for her to lead the way. "After you."

Hermione hesitated, her hand trembling slightly on the banister. "Harry," she started, her voice barely audible. "About—"

"Yes?" he prompted when she didn't continue, his eyes steady on hers.

The bathroom door creaked, the sound of the shower changing pitch as Ginny adjusted the water. Hermione's eyes darted toward the sound, and back to Harry.

"Nothing," she said quickly. "It was nothing. Let's just—the books are this way."

She hurried up the next flight of stairs, Harry following at a more measured pace. The door to Ginny's room stood ajar, and Hermione was assaulted with last night's conversation between them.

Harry paused at the threshold, watching as Hermione nervously rummaged through her trunk. "You know," he said conversationally, suppressing a smirk. "Ginny told me you two had an interesting talk last night."

Hermione froze, her back to him. So he knew everything. That explained his own behavior at the table just minutes ago. "Did she now..."

"Hmm," Harry confirmed, leaning against the doorframe. "Very... illuminating, she said."

Hermione straightened slowly, a couple of heavy tomes clutched to her chest like a shield. "Harry, I—"

"Found what you're looking for?" he asked, his voice mild. He was in no mood to make it easy for her. Teasing and playing with her was a lot more fun than coming entirely clean.

Hermione shifted as she nodded wordlessly, unable to meet his eyes.

"Good," he said, pushing off from the doorframe. "We should head back down."

He turned to go, but paused, glancing back over his shoulder. "Oh, and Hermione? When we get back from the Ministry, maybe we can continue our... discussion. The three of us. Only if you want though."

Before she could respond, he was gone, his footsteps fading down the stairs. Hermione stood alone in Ginny's room, the book clutched to her chest, and her heart pounding loud enough to drown out everything else.

Downstairs, Harry found Mr. Weasley sitting at the table and he resumed his seat as if nothing had happened. A few minutes later, Ginny returned, her hair damp and her skin flushed from the hot water. She slid into the chair beside Harry, their shoulders touching.

"All yours," she told him, her voice light.

"Perfect timing," he replied, standing. "We leave in an hour, right, Mr. Weasley?"

Mr. Weasley nodded, folding his newspaper. "That should give us plenty of time to get through security."

"Great," Harry said, his eyes flicking to the stairs where Hermione had just appeared, her face composed but her eyes troubled. "Wouldn't want to miss our appointment."

Hermione watched from the bottom of the stairs, her book still clutched to her chest, as Harry disappeared up the staircase. When she turned, she found Ginny looking directly at her, that same knowing smirk playing at the corners of her mouth.

"I hope you had fun?" Ginny asked innocently.

"Yes," Hermione replied, her voice steadier than she felt. "Very... interesting."

"Isn't it so," Ginny agreed, her eyes glittering with insinuation and mirth. "But the practical application is where the real learning happens, don't you think?"

Mrs. Weasley bustled past, oblivious to the subtext. "More tea, anyone?"

"Please," Ginny said sweetly, never taking her eyes off Hermione. "I'm absolutely parched."

XXXXX

The Ministry of Magic's atrium was packed with people. Witches and wizards rushed across the polished dark floor. Everyone seemed tense after what happened at the World Cup.

Harry walked between Arthur and Ginny, looking relaxed but drawing attention anyway. Unlike the worried Ministry workers hurrying past, he moved confidently, taking everything in with alert eyes. Ginny walked beside him, occasionally brushing against his shoulder, keeping her face neutral except for a slight smile at the corner of her mouth.

"Security's tighter than usual," Arthur said quietly as they got to the check-in desk. A line of people waited with wands ready for inspection. "Not surprising, considering what happened."

"Kind of late for that, isn't it?" Ginny said, looking at a nervous security witch checking wands with shaky hands. "Closing the barn door after the horse is gone."

Arthur frowned at her. "It's not that simple, Ginny. The Ministry has rules—"

"Everyone knows what those rules are worth," she shot back, not bothering to lower her voice. Some people looked their way, staring at Harry before quickly looking elsewhere.

Harry didn't say anything, just watched the security check with mild interest. When it was his turn, he handed over his wand without hesitation, his fingers briefly touching the woman's trembling ones.

"Eleven inches, holly, phoenix feather core," the woman said nervously, putting Harry's wand on a brass scale. A small piece of parchment came out from the bottom. "Been in use for two years. Is that right?"

"Three," Harry corrected smoothly, his voice calm, a supportive smile on his face. It was enough to make the woman blush and check the slip again.

"Right, of course. Three years. My mistake." She handed the wand back quickly, almost dropping it in her hurry.

"No worries. I understand, given the situation," Harry replied with a small smile, earning one in return.

After Ginny and Arthur had their wands checked too, they headed to the golden gates leading to the elevators. Harry glanced at the woman over his shoulder, smiling when their eyes met. The woman's eyes widened slightly but she turned around to check other visitors' wands. His smile still in place, Harry turned around.

"Someone you know?" Ginny asked, having not missed the little exchange. All she received was an amused glance.

People moved out of their way as they approached. Harry noticed this, his eyes showing a hint of amusement, but he said nothing.

"Level Two," Arthur said as they squeezed into a crowded elevator. "Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

The elevator jerked backward and started going up. Harry leaned against the wall, looking completely at ease despite the tight space and curious stares. One witch kept glancing at him, then quickly looking away when he caught her eye.

Ginny moved closer to him, the sides of her breast pressing against his arm. "Real subtle, aren't they?" she whispered just loud enough for him to hear.

Harry's lips twitched as he glanced down in amusement. "Always are. And you're not any better."

"Don't know what you're talking about," she murmured, a wicked smile playing on her lips.

The elevator stopped at Level Two, and a cool female voice announced, "Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters, and Wizengamot Administration Services."

They stepped out into a hallway lined with doors. This level wasn't fancy like the atrium—just plain walls, flickering torches, and some wanted posters. Ministry workers hurried past carrying files, looking stressed.

Arthur led them past the Auror Headquarters, where they could hear raised voices through the half-open door. Harry caught bits of conversation as they passed—"...never seen spellwork like it..." and "...tore right through them..." and "...complete bloodbath..."

"Crouch's office is down here," Arthur said, leading them away from the noise. "He's head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation now, but he keeps an office on this level for... special cases."

"Like us?" Ginny asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Like the Death Eater situation," Arthur corrected gently. "Crouch ran the DMLE during the war. He knows more about Death Eaters than most people."

They stopped at a plain door with a small brass sign that read "B. Crouch, Special Consultant." Arthur knocked twice, sharp and quick.

"Enter," came a clipped voice from inside.

The office was sparse and extremely organized. Filing cabinets lined one wall, each drawer neatly labeled. A large desk dominated the center of the room, its surface clear except for one stack of parchment and a silver quill stand. Behind it sat Bartemius Crouch Sr., sitting stiffly with a perfectly trimmed mustache. His cold, calculating eyes moved from Arthur to Ginny before settling on Harry with intense focus.

"Ah, Weasley. Potter. Miss Weasley." He nodded to each one, not bothering to stand up. "On time. Good. Please sit down."

Three chairs had been placed in front of the desk. Harry took the middle one, relaxing into it with ease. Crouch didn't comment but Harry saw his eyes twitch a bit at his comfortable demeanor. Ginny sat to his right, copying his confident posture while Arthur settled on Harry's left, sitting forward slightly like he was ready to jump in if needed.

"Thanks for coming," Crouch said, sounding formal rather than grateful. "I'll get to the point. What you saw at the World Cup has important security implications."

Harry leaned back, resting one ankle on his opposite knee. Crouch noticed and his eyes twitched once again, to Harry's amusement. "You mean the Death Eaters killing each other?"

Crouch's mustache twitched this time. "Exactly. It's... unprecedented. Death Eaters are known for many things, but fighting each other like this isn't one of them."

"First time for everything," Ginny commented, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

Crouch's eyes narrowed slightly. "Indeed. Which is why your testimony is crucial. I need you both to tell me, in as much detail as possible, exactly what you saw and heard."

Harry exchanged a quick glance with Ginny. "We were running from the campsite," he began, his voice calm and steady. "Everyone was panicking, heading for the woods. We got separated from the others in the crowd."

"The Death Eaters were burning tents, floating Muggles in the air," Ginny added matter-of-factly. "Basic scare tactics, from what I've heard."

Crouch's eyebrows rose slightly at her casual description. "Continue."

"We went deeper into the woods," Harry said. "Trying to circle back to the campsite from a different direction. That's when we heard them—shouting, cursing. Sounded like they were arguing."

"How many were there?" Crouch asked, suddenly holding his quill over a fresh piece of parchment.

Harry tilted his head slightly, like he was remembering. "Eight, maybe ten. Hard to tell in the dark. They were all wearing masks."

"And they were fighting among themselves?" Crouch pressed, his quill moving quickly across the parchment.

"Not at first," Ginny said, leaning forward slightly. "They were arguing. Yelling about their master."

Crouch's hand stopped, his eyes darting up to meet hers. "What specifically about... him?"

Harry shifted slightly, his fingers drumming on the arm of the chair. "Some of them were saying he's back. Alive. Giving orders again."

A heavy silence fell over the office. Arthur shifted uncomfortably, but Harry and Ginny remained perfectly still, watching Crouch's reaction intently.

"And the others disagreed?" Crouch finally asked, keeping his voice controlled.

"Violently," Harry confirmed, with a hint of dark humor. "Called the first group crazy, said they were trying to grab power using Voldemort's name."

Crouch flinched at the name but to his credit, he recovered quickly. "And that's when the fighting started?"

"That's when the killing started," Ginny corrected coolly. "One second they were shouting, the next there were curses flying everywhere. Not stunners either. The deadly kind."

"They weren't holding back," Harry added. "It was... efficient."

"Efficient," Crouch repeated, studying Harry with renewed intensity. "An interesting choice of words, Mr. Potter."

Harry met his gaze directly. "It's an accurate one. They weren't dueling for show. They meant to kill, and they did."

"Can you describe any specific spells you saw?" Crouch asked, his quill ready again.

Harry's expression remained neutral. "Green lights. Red lights. Purple ones that seemed to cut through flesh. I'm not exactly a spell expert, Mr. Crouch."

"But you recognized the Killing Curse?" Crouch pushed.

"Everyone knows what that looks like," Harry replied, his tone suddenly cooler. "Don't they?"

The tension in the room increased. Arthur cleared his throat awkwardly. "Barty, perhaps we should—"

"What happened next?" Crouch interrupted, completely ignoring Arthur.

"Chaos," Ginny said simply. "Bodies falling. Screaming. Blood." She shrugged like this was normal. "We didn't stick around to watch the end."

"Understandable," Crouch muttered, making another note. He looked up sharply. "Did you see Lucius Malfoy among them?"

Harry and Ginny exchanged another quick glance.

"Hard to tell with the masks," Harry said carefully. "They all look the same in those robes. And they were wearing hats, so couldn't see his girly hair either. Would've easily spotted him otherwise."

"But you're aware he was found dead?" Crouch pressed, ignoring the hint of mockery in Harry's voice.

"We read it in the Prophet this morning," Ginny confirmed, her face giving nothing away.

Crouch leaned back in his chair, putting his fingertips together under his chin. "Mr. Potter, Miss Weasley... I'm going to be honest with you. We found over two dozen wizards in Death Eater regalia in the area. All dead."

"That's a lot," Harry murmured, a flash of something dark passing behind his eyes.

"The spell damage was... extensive," Crouch continued, watching them closely. "Our experts say it was unlike anything they've seen since the height of the war. Precise work. Lethal. Not the kind of magic you'd expect from drunk Death Eaters having a disagreement."

"Are you asking us something specific, Mr. Crouch?" Ginny asked, lifting her chin slightly in challenge.

Arthur shifted again, looking increasingly uncomfortable. "Barty, if you're suggesting—"

"I'm not suggesting anything, Arthur," Crouch cut in smoothly. "I'm trying to understand what happened. These children witnessed something unprecedented."

"We're not children," Harry said quietly, his voice somehow filling the room despite its softness. "And we've told you what we saw."

Crouch studied him for a long moment, his expression unreadable. "Yes, you have. Now, let me tell you what we found." He pulled a file from his desk drawer and opened it. "Crabbe, dead. Cause: severed spine. Goyle, dead. Cause: blood loss from multiple precision cutting curses. Parkinson, dead. Cause: unknown, but his heart was physically crushed within his chest. Malfoy, dead. Cause: decapitation by curse."

Arthur visibly paled. "Merlin's beard, Barty! Is this necessary?"

"I believe it is," Crouch replied without taking his eyes off Harry and Ginny. "Because this wasn't just Death Eaters fighting each other. This was execution-level spellwork. The kind that requires training. Intent. Power."

Harry's expression didn't change, his eyes steady on Crouch's. "Sounds like they took their argument seriously."

"Indeed," Crouch said softly. "Most seriously." He closed the file with a snap. "Did you witness any of these specific deaths?"

"No," Harry answered evenly. "Like Ginny said, we didn't stick around."

"And you saw no one else nearby? No other wizards who might have gotten involved?"

"Just Death Eaters killing Death Eaters," Ginny confirmed, her fingers tapping lightly on the arm of her chair. "If someone else was there, we didn't see them."

Crouch's mustache twitched again, showing his frustration. "I see." He made one final note before putting down his quill. "Well, I appreciate your time. If you remember anything else—anything at all—I want you to contact me directly."

"Of course," Harry agreed easily, uncrossing his legs and sitting forward. "Are we done here?"

"For now," Crouch said, eyeing them keenly. "Though I may have more questions as our investigation continues."

"We're happy to help," Arthur jumped in, standing quickly. "But these two have been through quite an ordeal. I'm sure you understand."

"Perfectly," Crouch replied, though his eyes said otherwise. He stood, extending his hand first to Arthur, then to Harry. "Mr. Potter, a word of advice, if I may?"

Harry accepted the handshake, his grip firm. "Sure."

Crouch held on a moment longer than necessary, his eyes boring into Harry's. "These are dangerous times. Even whispers of You-Know-Who's return can spark... unwise actions. Best to be careful about repeating such things."

"I only told you what I heard," Harry replied, his voice soft but carrying an unmistakable edge. "What you do with that information is up to you. But if there's even 0.1 percent of truth to it... I don't think I need to tell you what it could mean."

"Indeed," Crouch murmured, releasing his hand. "Indeed you don't."

To be continued...

Check out my profile for more of my work. Also, find me on any other site using the same username. Just add it after the URL and you're good to go. Thanks for reading.

Chapter Text

As they left the office, Harry's posture remained relaxed, but his eyes had become more focused. Ginny walked close beside him, their arms brushing, while Arthur led the way, his back stiff with tension.

"That went... well," Arthur said uncertainly once they were out of earshot, heading back toward the elevators.

"Did it?" Ginny asked skeptically.

"Crouch is thorough," Arthur explained, lowering his voice as a group of aurors passed them in the hallway. "He was just doing his job."

"Seemed like he was fishing for something specific," Harry observed, his tone casual but his eyes alert as he watched the passing aurors.

"Crouch has always been... intense," Arthur sighed. "Especially about Dark wizards. He led the charge against You-Know-Who's followers after the war. Put dozens in Azkaban, including his own son."

"His own son?" Ginny repeated, raising her eyebrows.

Arthur nodded grimly. "Barty Crouch Jr. Was with the Lestranges when they tortured Frank and Alice Longbottom into insanity. Crouch Sr. sentenced him personally. No mercy, not even for family."

Ginny gasped, having not known about Neville's parents.

"Sounds like a great guy," Harry remarked dryly.

"He was expected to become Minister before that scandal," Arthur continued as they reached the elevators. "Now he's stuck in International Magical Cooperation. Quite a step down, but he still has influence."

The elevator arrived with a clatter, empty this time. As they stepped inside, Arthur pressed the button. "I need to stop by my office first, if you two don't mind? Just need to check on something quickly."

"No problem," Harry said, leaning against the elevator wall. "We're not in a hurry."

The elevator began its descent, rattling between floors. Ginny moved closer to Harry, her voice dropping to a whisper. "He's suspicious. Crouch."

Harry's lips curved in the ghost of a smile. "Let him be."

Arthur frowned at the elevator buttons, lost in his own thoughts and seemingly unaware of their quiet conversation.

As they passed Level Five, the elevator jerked to a stop, and the doors opened to reveal a familiar face. Harry's eyes immediately sharpened as he recognized the girl standing there. Her usually perfect appearance was slightly disheveled, her eyes red-rimmed despite her attempt to hide it with makeup. She froze when she saw who was in the elevator.

For just a moment, something darkly possessive flashed in Harry's eyes—a hunger that had nothing to do with food. Ginny noticed, her own expression subtly shifting as she observed the interaction.

"Parkinson," Harry said, his voice casual yet somehow intimate. It seemed Pansy noticed it as well as her expression twitched slightly. "Going down?"

Pansy hesitated for a moment before she stepped into the elevator, positioning herself as far from them as the small space would allow. "Potter," she acknowledged stiffly, her voice slightly hoarse. She nodded curtly at the others. "Weasleys."

Arthur, always polite, nodded back. "Miss Parkinson. I'm... sorry for your loss."

A flash of raw pain crossed her face before she could hide it behind her usual haughty mask. "Thank you," she said, the words clipped. It was more cordial than one would expect from the resident bitch of Slytherin, and Harry found himself getting slightly surprised by her relatively affable demeanor.

Harry watched her, his gaze never leaving her face. "How are you holding up?" he asked, keeping his tone softer than before.

Pansy's eyes darted to his, suspicious and vulnerable at once. "What do you care, Potter?"

"Just asking," he replied with a casual shrug. "Death is... complicated."

Something in his voice made her stare at him more intently, her expression a mix of confusion and something indecipherable. "Yes," she finally said. "It is."

The elevator continued its descent in tense silence. Harry kept his eyes on Pansy, studying her with an intensity that would have been uncomfortable if she hadn't been so caught up in her own grief and confusion. Just once, she glanced back at him, catching his gaze—and for a split second, she felt she saw something, something that made her breath catch.

When the elevator reached the Atrium, Pansy practically bolted out, but not before Harry called after her, "Parkinson."

She paused abruptly, turning slightly but not fully facing him.

"Things change," he said simply. "Remember that."

Her brows furrowed, but she gave a small nod before disappearing into the crowd. All the while, Harry kept his calculating gaze on her retreating figure, his lips curved into the barest of smirks.

"You know her from school?" Arthur asked, oblivious to the undercurrents.

"You could say that," Harry replied, his eyes still following Pansy's retreating form. "We have... history."

Ginny made a small noise that might have been amusement or scorn.

The three of them made their way through the Atrium toward the smaller corridor leading to Arthur's office. They had just reached the entrance when a Ministry assistant came rushing up, looking flustered.

"Mr. Weasley! Thank goodness I found you," she said, slightly out of breath. "Mr. Perkins needs you in your office immediately. There's been an incident with those regurgitating toilets in Manchester—they've started multiplying and the Muggles are calling it a sewage crisis. The Obliviators are overwhelmed and requesting backup from your department."

Arthur's eyes widened. "Oh dear, that's not good at all. I need to handle this right away." He turned to Harry and Ginny, looking conflicted. "I'm terribly sorry, but this is urgent. Will you two be alright to head back to the Burrow on your own?"

"We'll be fine," Harry assured him. "We can floo from the atrium."

"Are you sure?" Arthur asked, clearly torn between duty and responsibility for them.

"Yes, Dad," Ginny said with a roll of her eyes. "We're both of age. We can take care of ourselves now. Don't worry. We'll go straight back home. Promise."

Arthur hesitated for a moment before he nodded. "Alright. But directly home, understand? No detours. Especially not in this environment."

"Of course," Harry agreed, his expression perfectly sincere.

Arthur studied them both for a moment longer before turning to follow the assistant. "I'll see you both at home later!"

As Arthur hurried away, the office fell silent. Ginny glanced at Harry, a knowing look in her eyes. "Well, that's convenient."

"Isn't it just," Harry murmured, his eyes meeting hers with a spark of something dangerous. "Seems like we have some free time."

"What are you thinking?" Ginny asked, though her tone suggested she already knew.

Harry's gaze drifted toward the direction Pansy had gone. "I think I need to have a chat with an old... friend."

A flash of disappointment crossed Ginny's face which she covered up quickly, although Harry did not miss it. He merely smirked.

"She belonged to you, didn't she?" Ginny asked quietly. "Before."

Harry's smile was brief but genuine. "She will again," he said simply. He gestured forward with mock formality. "Shall we?"

She nodded, falling into step beside him. "Lead the way."

Harry and Ginny moved casually through the bustling crowd in the atrium, his eyes sweeping through the space, taking in the exit routes that one might take.

"There," Ginny murmured, nodding toward the main entrance. Through the glass doors, they could see Pansy's distinctive dark hair as she descended the visitor's entrance steps. "She's not using the floo."

"Smart girl," Harry said approvingly. "Probably doesn't trust Ministry monitoring right now. Can't blame her."

They followed at a distance, slipping past the security desk. Harry gave a casual nod to the security guard who barely glanced up from his Prophet crossword. Outside, London's gray afternoon light cast long shadows across the street as they emerged onto the pavement.

Pansy walked quickly, her heels clicking against the concrete with sharp, agitated taps. Her shoulders were rigid, her head held high despite the obvious strain. She paused at the corner, glancing back toward the Ministry entrance with an expression of barely contained anxiety.

"She's waiting for someone," Ginny observed, following Harry's gaze.

"Or checking if she's being followed," Harry replied. His fingers twitched slightly, and he murmured something under his breath. A small smile played at the corners of his mouth.

"What did you just do?" Ginny asked, her voice low and intrigued.

"Nothing harmful," Harry said innocently. "Just a little... insurance policy. In case we need to track her later."

Before Ginny could respond, a certain individual emerged from the alcove near Pansy. Draco Malfoy briskly walked toward her, his usually pristine appearance somewhat disheveled. His face was pale and drawn, grief and anger etched into every line.

"Interesting," Ginny murmured. "He looks like he hasn't slept all night."

"Oh, I think he slept rather peacefully," Harry remarked with amusement. "Must've gotten the news in the morning. Poor bloke lost his dear father. Couldn't have happened to a nicer person."

Barely a second later, Narcissa Malfoy emerged with fluid grace. Even in mourning attire, she commanded attention. Her black robes were perfectly tailored, her blonde hair immaculately styled. Only the slight tightness around her eyes hinted at any distress, though Harry suspected it wasn't grief that put it there.

Pansy's reaction was immediate and volatile. Her hands clenched into fists as she saw them approach.

"What are you doing here?" Pansy's voice carried clearly across the entrance, sharp with accusation.

"Pansy," Draco began, his tone cautious. "We came to offer—"

"Offer what?" Pansy cut him off. "Your condolences? Your family's friendship? How touching."

Narcissa stepped forward, her expression carefully composed. "We understand you're grieving, dear. We all are. The losses we've suffered—"

"Losses?" Pansy's voice rose dangerously. "Is that what you're calling it?"

Harry's eyes gleamed with interest. This was better than he'd hoped. He raised his wand subtly, keeping it concealed within his sleeve.

"What's she talking about?" Ginny whispered.

"Watch and learn," Harry murmured back.

Draco's face hardened. "My father died fighting for what he believed in. He died with honor."

"Honor?" Pansy laughed bitterly. "Is that what you think happened? Your precious father dragged mine into that disaster at the Cup. Got him killed for nothing."

"That's enough," Narcissa said sharply, though her eyes flickered with something that might have been satisfaction.

Harry's keen eyes did not miss the slight twitch of the woman's lips and his smirk widened. His wand moved almost imperceptibly. A silent incantation slipped out, his subtle wand movement hidden even from Ginny standing beside him.

Narcissa's composure faltered for just a moment as an unexpected sensation began at the base of her spine. A gentle, tickling warmth that made her skin prickle with awareness. Her brows furrowed and she shifted slightly, trying to ignore it.

"My father believed in the cause," Draco insisted with a furious whisper, stepping closer to Pansy. "He believed in blood purity, in tradition—"

"He believed in power," Pansy snapped. "And look where it got him. Look where it got all of them."

The sensation along Narcissa's spine intensified, spreading outward like fingers of warm static electricity. She pressed her lips together, fighting to maintain her expression of dignified grief.

"You think this is amusing?" Ginny whispered to Harry, noting his satisfied smirk.

"Educational and fun," he remarked softly. "Watch her struggle."

The tingling sensation had reached Narcissa's shoulders now, making her want to shiver despite the warm afternoon. She clasped her hands together tightly, her knuckles white with effort.

"Perhaps we should discuss this elsewhere," Narcissa suggested, her voice slightly strained. "This is hardly appropriate for—"

"No," Pansy interrupted. "I think this is perfect. Right here where everyone can see. Where everyone can know that the great Malfoy family's loyalty means nothing."

Draco's face flushed with anger. "How dare you—"

"How dare I what? Tell the truth?" Pansy stepped closer, her own fury building. "Your father convinced mine to join that attack. Promised him glory, promised him favor with the Dark Lord's supporters. Instead, he got my father killed."

The magical sensation Harry was directing at Narcissa had now spread to her arms, making her skin feel hypersensitive beneath her robes. Every slight breeze, every small movement of fabric, became acutely noticeable. She fought to keep her breathing steady, her eyes widening as she felt a slight dampness between her legs.

"This is cruel," Ginny observed, though her tone held more admiration than disapproval.

"She looked so haughty at the Cup," Harry replied quietly. "Deserves to be knocked down a peg."

A small crowd had begun to gather around the three arguing figures. Ministry workers emerged from the building, drawn by the raised voices and the recognizable names being thrown about.

Harry's smile widened as he recognized several faces in the growing crowd. Fudge appeared, his bowler hat slightly askew from his hurried exit. Behind him came Dolores Umbridge, her pink cardigan bright against the gray afternoon, and several other senior Ministry officials.

"Mrs. Malfoy," Fudge called out, approaching with his practiced politician's concern and the call for keeping up public appearances. He might have conveyed it in private, but certain roles had to be kept up in front of the masses as well. "I'm so sorry to hear about Lucius. Such a tragic loss."

Narcissa turned toward the Minister, and Harry's magical assault intensified. The tingling sensation became more insistent, more distracting. It felt like dozens of feathers being drawn across her skin simultaneously.

"Minister," she managed, inclining her head gracefully despite the growing discomfort. "Your condolences are most appreciated."

"Indeed," Umbridge added, her voice syrupy with false sympathy. "The entire Ministry mourns his passing. Such a dedicated public servant."

The magical sensation reached Narcissa's neck, making her want to scratch at her collar. Instead, she lifted her chin higher, determined not to show weakness.

"Lucius would be honored by your words," she said, though her voice had developed a slight tremor.

Harry's next spell was more targeted, more specific. The tingling became a gentle but persistent sensation along her collarbone, just beneath where her robes met her skin, and it slowly trickled down to her cleavage, brushing over the swell of her breasts. Narcissa's breath caught visibly, her fists clenching.

"Are you quite well, Mrs. Malfoy?" Fudge asked, noticing her slight discomfort.

"Grief affects us all differently," she replied carefully, one hand moving to her throat as if checking her jewelry. "The loss has been... overwhelming."

"Of course, of course," Fudge nodded sympathetically. "Take all the time you need."

Meanwhile, Pansy and Draco's argument had escalated. Their voices carried clearly across the gathering crowd.

"Your father was a coward," Pansy declared, her composure finally cracking completely. "He hid behind his money and his connections, and when it mattered, he got good people killed."

"You take that back," Draco snarled, his hand moving toward his wand.

"Or what?" Pansy challenged. "You'll curse me? Here? In front of half the Ministry?"

While a part of him wanted to relish the growing argument, Harry's magical attention on Narcissa intensified again. The sensation spread further downward, the touch roaming all over her tits in a way that made her nipples harden. Her eyes widened further and a soft hiss escaped her when the touch descended, roaming all over her belly and slowly making its way down her navel, pushing under the waistband of her knickers. It was making her shift her weight from foot to foot in a way that might have looked like restless grief to observers but was something entirely different.

"She's struggling beautifully," Ginny murmured appreciatively.

"The best part," Harry replied softly, "is that she knows exactly what's happening but can't do anything about it without looking like she's having a breakdown."

Narcissa's jaw tightened as she fought against the urge to move, to scratch, to do anything that might relieve the maddening sensations Harry was inflicting upon her. Every muscle in her body was tense with the effort of maintaining her dignity. The touch was now right above her womanhood, soaked and inflamed and itching for relief.

She had no idea who was behind this. The crowd was too big to pinpoint a source, and she was not in a state to seek the individual out either. It was taking all she had to maintain her composure.

"Perhaps," she said to Fudge, her voice carefully controlled, "we might continue this conversation somewhere more private? The Ministry entrance seems inappropriate for—"

Her words were cut off as Harry's next spell hit her with the force of a dozen gentle touches all at once. The touch pushed further, and she felt her lower lips being parted wide. The sensation was too much like multiple fingers spreading her wide and pushing inside her pussy. As if that was not enough, her entire torso, her tits, her nipples, her neck, her belly, and even her back and her arse felt like they were being caressed by invisible hands, and she couldn't prevent the sharp intake of breath that followed.

"Mrs. Malfoy?" Umbridge stepped closer, her toad-like eyes wide with concern. "You look quite pale."

"I'm fine," Narcissa said quickly, perhaps too quickly. "Just... the grief is very fresh."

Harry's grin showed how fun it was to see this haughty vision of sexy cockiness reduced to this, but he wasn't finished. His next spell was more daring, and even more invasive. The tingling sensation had already become more intimate, more personal, in places that made Narcissa's face flush with mortification and unwilling arousal. But now, the fingers were incessantly thrusting in and out of her pussy in a way that she had never experienced in her life. The feeling was mortifying, the hands were demanding, and against her control, she found herself loving every second of it.

Her vision had gone blurry under the relentless assault of those fingers as they kept thrusting in and out of her needy quim, and she closed her eyes for a moment, desperately fighting for control. She could not lose it, not here in front of half the ministry. Word traveled fast, and before she knew, she would have become nothing short of a laughingstock, a scarlet woman in the eyes of every witch and wizard in Wizarding Britain and beyond.

When she opened her eyes, her bleary gaze swept the crowd until it found Harry's face in the distance. For just an instant, their eyes met, and her vision cleared immediately as she saw his knowing smirk.

Understanding flashed in her eyes. Fury. Humiliation. Arousal. And underneath it all, something that might have been grudging respect for the audacity of it.

"You'll excuse me," she said to the Minister, her voice tight but still composed, or at least as composed as she could keep it. "I believe I need to sit down."

"Of course, of course," Fudge replied, though he looked puzzled by her sudden distress.

Harry eased off his magical assault slightly, allowing Narcissa to regain some composure. But he kept just enough pressure to remind her that he could resume at any moment.

"Narcissa," a new voice called out. A statuesque blonde woman approached alongside another who looked like a younger version of her, both their gazes prideful and carrying just a touch of amusement. "We wanted to express House Greengrass's sympathies for your loss."

"Thank you, Anastasia," Narcissa replied with a small sneer, though her attention was partially focused on maintaining her control against Harry's continued magical interference.

The crowd around them had grown larger, with more Ministry officials and curious onlookers gathering to witness the public display of grief from one of wizarding society's most prominent families.

"This is getting dangerous," Ginny observed quietly. "Too many people watching."

"That's what makes it fun," Harry replied, though he did dial back his spells slightly. "She can't react properly without drawing attention she doesn't want."

Draco had moved closer to Pansy now, his face red with anger. "You're upset," he said, his voice lower but still audible. "You're not thinking clearly. My father was a great man."

"Your father was a Death Eater," Pansy shot back without hesitation.

The crowd went deadly silent. Even the background noise of people bustling about seemed to fade as everyone processed what she'd just said in public.

"Oh my," the younger of the two blonde newcomers whispered loud enough for all to hear, making Harry glance at her. The amusement at the predicament was entirely unhidden, and Harry felt his lips quirk a bit.

Meanwhile, Fudge's face had gone white. "Miss Parkinson, I think perhaps you're distraught—"

"Am I?" Pansy turned to face the Minister directly. "Am I distraught, or am I finally telling the truth?"

Narcissa seized the moment to step forward, using the distraction to cover her own discomfort. "She's grieving," she said firmly. "People say things they don't mean when they're in pain."

Harry wasn't about to let her escape so easily. He intensified his spells again, making her stumble slightly as she tried to move with fingers playing with her pussy once again.

"Oh dear," Anastasia Greengrass said softly, reaching out to steady Narcissa. "Perhaps you should sit down. Help me out here, Daphne?"

"I'm quite alright," Narcissa insisted, though her voice was becoming increasingly breathless.

"You don't look alright, Mrs. Malfoy," Daphne observed with concern that was entirely fake as she stepped beside her mother to steady Narcissa from the other side. "Perhaps St. Mungo's—"

"No," Narcissa said sharply, then caught herself as Daphne's eyes narrowed slightly. "No, thank you. I simply need a moment."

Harry's magical assault had become a steady, relentless pressure now. The tingling sensation covered her entire body, making every nerve ending hypersensitive. She felt like she was being touched everywhere at once, and the public nature of her predicament made it infinitely worse.

"This is brilliant," Ginny whispered, watching Narcissa's struggle with obvious enjoyment. "She's trying so hard to maintain dignity while you're driving her absolutely mad."

"The best part," Harry murmured back, "is knowing that she knows I'm doing it. She can see me watching her, getting her all worked up, pushing her to the orgasm she so desperately wants, but she can't do anything about it."

Indeed, Narcissa's eyes had found Harry again in the crowd. Her expression was a mixture of fury, humiliation, and something else entirely. Despite her situation, despite the magical torment he was putting her through, there was a glint in her eyes that suggested she was very... impressed by his audacity.

"You're enjoying this," Ginny observed, noting the subtle change in Narcissa's expression.

"She's strong," Harry acknowledged. "Stronger than I expected. That makes it more interesting."

The crowd was still focused on Pansy and Draco's argument, but several officials had begun to pay more attention to Narcissa's distress.

"Perhaps we should move this inside," Fudge suggested nervously. "Away from public view."

"No," Pansy said loudly. "Let them see. Let everyone see what your 'respectable families' really are."

Draco's hand was definitely on his wand now. "Pansy, stop this."

"Or what? You'll hex me like your father would have?"

The accusation hit home. Draco's face went white, then red, then white again.

Harry chose that moment to hit Narcissa with his strongest spell yet. The magical sensation became overwhelming, making her legs weak and her breath come in short gasps.

She swayed on her feet, one hand reaching out blindly for support. Anastasia and Daphne caught her, their faces now creased with slight concern.

"Narcissa, you're clearly unwell," Anastasia said loudly enough for the crowd to hear. "Perhaps grief counseling—"

"I don't need counseling," Narcissa managed through gritted teeth. But her composure was cracking. The magical assault was relentless, and she could feel herself losing the battle for control.

"Mother," Draco said, suddenly noticing her distress. He abandoned his argument with Pansy and moved to her side. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she whispered, though she was barely able to stand now. "Just... tired."

Harry's eyes met hers across the crowd again. This time, his smile was pure predatory. He had her exactly where he wanted her: helpless, humiliated, and completely at his mercy.

"Please," she whispered, so quietly that only Draco could hear. But her eyes remained locked on Harry's face, and he could read her lips perfectly.

"Please what?" he mouthed back silently, his expression challenging.

For a moment, something like defeat flickered across her features. Then, with visible effort, she straightened her spine and lifted her chin.

"I need to go home," she announced to the crowd, her voice steady despite everything. "This has been... overwhelming."

"Of course," Fudge agreed quickly. "Take all the time you need."

As she turned to leave, Harry finally relented, ending his magical torment. The relief was immediate and visible, though she managed to hide most of her reaction.

"That was cruel," Ginny said, though she was smiling.

"That was necessary," Harry corrected. "She needed to understand the new dynamic."

They watched as Narcissa made her way to the floo, with Draco supporting her arm. Her movements were still slightly unsteady, but she maintained her dignity.

Just before she reached the floo, she turned back one last time. Her eyes found Harry's across the distance, and for a moment, the mask of grief slipped entirely.

What he saw there was something that made him smirk: anger as expected, humiliation as intended, fear as planned, and something else. Something that looked almost like anticipation.

Then she was in the floo, and in no time, she and her son vanished with emerald swirls.

"She's not finished with you," Ginny observed.

"Good," Harry replied with satisfaction. "I'm not finished with her either. Won't be until she's bent over for me, calling me her lord and master with all her heart."

"You're a bad man," she whispered with a grin as she leaned closer, making Harry glance at her with a smirk.

"You know me so well," he replied, discreetly pinching her arse. "Now come on, time to sink my claws into a vulnerable prey."

"Parkinson?"

Harry nodded, and they began to move through the thinning crowd toward where Pansy stood alone, looking lost and angry. Her argument with Draco had resolved nothing, and she was clearly unsure what to do next.

The two Greengrass women had already left once the drama had ended, but not before the younger one, Daphne, had given Pansy a measured look.

As they approached, Pansy looked up, her eyes red-rimmed but alert. "Potter," she said warily. "I should have known you'd be here."

"Should have," Harry agreed easily. "Walk with me, Parkinson."

It wasn't really a request, and they all knew it. After a moment's hesitation, she fell into step beside him as they moved away from the Ministry entrance.

"That was quite a show," Harry commented casually. "Very public. Very dramatic."

"I'm done pretending. I meant every word I said back there," Pansy said defiantly.

"I know you did," Harry replied. "That's what made it interesting."

They walked in silence for several minutes, moving through the London streets with no apparent destination. Finally, Pansy spoke again.

"What do you want, Potter?"

Harry's smile was enigmatic. "To talk. To listen. To offer... perspective."

"Perspective on what?"

"On loss. On change. On opportunity."

Pansy stopped walking abruptly. "What are you talking about?"

Harry turned to face her, his green eyes intense and knowing. "Your father is dead, Parkinson. Your family's position is uncertain. Your old alliances are worthless now. And let's face it, after the stunt you pulled back there, I can't see little Draco being there for you anymore."

"As if he was ever there," Pansy seethed. "And with his worthless father dead, there's not much he can do about anything."

"So that's what it was. You cutting a weed off? Ruthless," Harry smirked.

Her face flushed with anger. "So?"

"So," Harry continued calmly, "that means you have choices to make. About who you are. About what you want. About who you belong to."

The last words carried a significant meaning that made Pansy's breath catch. "I don't belong to anyone."

"Let's not pretend to be ignorant," Harry said simply. "You've always belonged to someone. Your father was Lucius' bootlicker, and he made sure you belonged to Draco. He died for his foolishness. You, on the other hand, seem to be a bit smarter if you decided to cut your ties with Draco in such public fashion. But your situation is no better than it was before. I guess what I'm trying to say is that there's a big question hanging in front of you right now."

Pansy remained silent for a moment, staring at a Harry Potter she didn't recognize anymore.

"And what question is that?" She asked nervously.

Harry's lips quirked a bit. "The question is whether you get to choose who you belong to now."

Ginny watched the exchange with growing interest, noting the subtle shift in Pansy's expression as Harry's words sank in.

"And what if I don't want to choose?" Pansy asked, though her voice had lost some of its defiance.

Harry's smile was almost gentle. "Then the choice gets made for you. And you might not like the result."

The meaning of his words hung between them as they stood on the London pavement. Pansy's lips were pursed, her fists clenched as she stared at a relaxed Harry who gazed back at her with nothing but absolute confidence radiating off him.

"You're not an idiot, Pansy," Harry said gently, deliberately using her first name. "And you know the choices you have in front of you. The question is, will you make them? Or will you give that right to someone else once again? I believe you know the consequences to both."

She did. She most certainly did.

"I'll leave you to decide. Take your time and once you've made your decision, let me know," Harry said finally as he turned around, with Ginny following suit beside him. "Oh, and Pansy," he didn't turn around, merely glanced out of the corner of his eye, "do know that you have limited time. You might want to be quick on that decision. Later."

And with a casual wave, Harry walked away with Ginny in tow, leaving a shocked and nervous Pansy Parkinson behind, one whose entire world had been upended within a day. And now she found herself facing a challenge she'd never thought of before, one that would change her life once again, for better or worse.

To be continued…

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Chapter Text

The familiar iron gates of Parkinson Manor loomed ahead as Pansy approached on foot, her mind still reeling from the day's events. What the hell did he mean, exactly? The question had been circling through her thoughts like a vulture ever since she'd watched Harry Potter walk away with that knowing smile.

She'd burned her bridges with the Malfoys in spectacular fashion. Called Lucius a Death Eater in front of half the Ministry. Told Draco his father was a coward who got good people killed.

Good people?

Had she really called her own father good? The man who'd spent years kissing Lucius Malfoy's arse and teaching her to do the same?

Maybe I did mean it. Her father might have been weak, might have been a follower, but at least he'd never pretended to be something he wasn't. Unlike Lucius with his public face of nobility and the wretched darkness he kept private.

Not unlike my own father.

The thought was unpleasant, but not false.

And now Potter was offering her... what exactly? She couldn't shake the way he'd looked at her, like he could see straight through every mask she'd ever worn.

You've always belonged to someone.

The bastard wasn't wrong. First her father, then the expectation that she'd belong to Draco.

But what did he mean about choosing?

The front door opened before she could reach for the handle. Her mother stood in the entrance, and Pansy's stomach dropped at the expression on her face. Cordelia Parkinson looked like a woman standing on the edge of a cliff, watching the ground crumble beneath her feet.

"Inside. Now." Her mother's voice was tight with barely controlled fury.

Pansy stepped into the foyer, noting how empty the house felt without her father's presence. The portraits on the walls seemed to watch her with disapproving eyes, as if they already knew what she'd done.

"Mother, I can explain—"

"Explain?" Cordelia's voice rose to a shriek. "Explain how you publicly humiliated our family? How you destroyed years of careful alliance building? How you spat on your father's grave?"

Here we go.

Pansy straightened her spine, preparing for the storm she'd known was coming.

"I told the truth."

"The truth?" Her mother's laugh was hysterical. "You called Lucius Malfoy a Death Eater in front of the Minister of Magic! You accused him of getting your father killed!"

"Because he did get Father killed!" Pansy shot back. "He convinced him to join that attack at the Cup. Promised him glory and favor, and what did Father get? A fucking gravestone!"

The slap came so fast Pansy barely saw it coming. Her cheek stung as her mother's hand connected with her face.

"How dare you use such foul language in this house," Cordelia hissed. "How dare you dishonor your father's memory with such lies."

Lies?

Pansy touched her burning cheek, anger flaring in her chest. "They're not lies, Mother. And you know it."

"What I know," her mother said through gritted teeth, "is that Draco Malfoy sent me a letter. He told me everything. How you screamed at him and Narcissa like a common fishwife. How you made a spectacle of yourself in front of the entire Ministry."

Of course he had.

Little ferret probably ran straight home to write it.

Pansy had expected as much, but it still stung to have it confirmed.

"Good," she said defiantly. "Let him tell everyone. At least they'll know where I stand."

"Where you stand?" Cordelia's voice cracked with desperation. "You stupid, foolish girl. Do you have any idea what you've done?"

"I've told the truth about what happened to Father. I've refused to pretend the Malfoys are anything other than what they are."

"What they are is powerful!" Her mother grabbed Pansy's shoulders, shaking her. "What they are is influential! What they are is our only hope of maintaining any standing in society!"

There it is.

Pansy saw it clearly now, the fear lurking behind her mother's fury. This wasn't about honor or family loyalty. This was about survival in the only world her mother knew how to navigate.

"The Malfoys lost their patriarch, Mother. Lucius is dead. Their power isn't what it used to be."

"You think that matters?" Cordelia's grip tightened. "You think Narcissa Malfoy is some helpless widow? She's one of the most cunning women in our circles. She'll find ways to rebuild, to maintain influence. And now you've made yourself her enemy."

"So what if I have?"

"So what?" Her mother's voice rose again. "Draco will be the head of the family now. He'll remember this insult. He'll make sure everyone knows you can't be trusted. Who do you think will want to associate with us then?"

Us. Always us, never just Pansy. Never about what Pansy wanted or needed. It was always about the family's position, the family's reputation, the family's convenience, or rather, her mother's now.

"Maybe I don't care about associating with people who only value power and blood status," Pansy said quietly.

Her mother stepped back as if she'd been slapped again. "Don't care? This is your heritage, your birthright. This is everything your father worked for."

"Father worked to make other people rich and powerful while we scraped for their approval!" The words exploded out of Pansy before she could stop them. "He spent his whole life bowing and scraping to the Malfoys, and what did it get him? A death that meant nothing!"

"You will not speak of your father that way." Cordelia's voice was dangerously quiet now. "You will not dishonor his memory."

"I'm not dishonoring his memory. I'm refusing to repeat his mistakes."

"His mistakes?" Her mother laughed bitterly. "His mistakes were trusting you to understand your duty. His mistake was thinking you had any sense in that pretty little head of yours."

The insult hit home, but Pansy pushed past the sting. She was finally beginning to see something in her mother's eyes, something that made everything click into place after all these years.

"This isn't about Father at all, is it?" Pansy said slowly. "This isn't about my duty or family honor. This is about you."

"What are you talking about?"

"You're scared." The realization came with crystal clarity. "You're terrified that without the Malfoy connection, without their protection, you'll have nothing. No status, no security, no place in the society you've spent your whole life trying to climb."

"That's ridiculous," Cordelia denied, but her voice lacked conviction.

"Is it? Look at you, Mother. Really look at yourself. When's the last time you did anything that wasn't about maintaining appearances or securing invitations to the right parties?"

Her mother's face flushed red. "I have maintained this family's position through very difficult circumstances. I have preserved what your father built."

"Father didn't build anything!" Pansy's voice cracked with emotion. "He was a follower, just like you are. Just like you've tried to make me."

"You ungrateful little bitch." The words came out as a whisper, but they carried the sheer intensity of years of frustration that had been piling up. "After everything I've sacrificed for you, everything I've done to secure your future—"

"Secure my future? You mean secure yourself a comfortable retirement by marrying me off to Draco." Pansy felt something break inside her chest, some last connection to the woman who'd raised her. "That's all I've ever been to you, isn't it? A commodity to be traded."

"You are my daughter, and you will do your duty to this family."

"No." The word came out stronger than Pansy had expected. "I won't."

"You will write to Narcissa Malfoy tonight," Cordelia continued, pretending she heard nothing. "You will beg her forgiveness for your outburst. You will grovel if necessary to repair the damage you've done."

Grovel. The word hung in the air between them like a curse.

"Absolutely not."

"You will do as I say, or you will face the consequences. The Malfoys have long memories, Pansy. They don't forgive easily. Do you want to spend the rest of your life as a pariah?"

"If it means I don't have to spend the rest of my life as their pet, then yes." Pansy's voice was getting stronger with each word. "I'd rather be a pariah than a slave."

Her mother's face went white. "You don't know what you're saying. You're upset, you're not thinking clearly. When you calm down, you'll realize—"

"I'll realize what? That I should have kept my mouth shut? That I should have smiled and nodded while they talked about Father like he was expendable?" Pansy's anger was building now, all the rage and grief and frustration of the years past finally boiling over. "That I should have pretended to be grateful for the scraps they threw us?"

"Those scraps kept us alive! Those scraps gave us a place in society!"

"Those scraps made us into beggars!" Pansy screamed. "They made you into a coward who's more afraid of losing an invitation to tea than she is of losing her daughter!"

The slap this time was harder, sending Pansy stumbling backward. But instead of shame or submission, she felt only fury.

"There it is," she said, touching her lip where it had split. "Show me who you really are, Mother. Show me the woman who'd rather hit her daughter than face the truth about herself."

"The truth?" Cordelia's voice was shaking now. "You want the truth? The truth is that you're a foolish child who thinks the world owes her something. The truth is that without connections, without alliances, we are nothing in this world."

"Then maybe that world isn't worth being part of."

"Easy words from someone who's never had to fight for survival. You think you can just walk away from everything? Go where? Do what? You have no skills, no prospects, no future without the connections I've spent years building."

She's right about that much. But even as the thought crossed her mind, Pansy remembered Harry Potter's words. The question is whether you get to choose who you belong to now.

"Maybe you're right," Pansy said quietly. "Maybe I don't have prospects or skills or connections. But at least I'll have my right to choose."

"Right to choose doesn't pay for food or shelter. Right to choose doesn't protect you from enemies."

"And groveling to the Malfoys does?"

"Yes!" The word exploded from her mother's lips. "Yes, it does! That's how this world works, Pansy. That's how it's always worked. The strong protect the weak, and in return, the weak serve faithfully."

"Listen to yourself." Pansy stared at her mother as if seeing her for the first time. "Listen to what you're saying. You're talking about serving faithfully like it's something to be proud of."

"It is something to be proud of. Loyalty, duty, service to those above us—these are virtues."

"Those aren't virtues, Mother. Those are chains." Pansy felt something cold and hard settle in her chest. "And I'm done wearing them."

Her mother's face twisted with desperate anger. "You are barely an adult, Pansy. You know nothing about the world, nothing about survival, nothing about the realities of life. You will do as I say because I am your mother and because I know what's best for you."

"What's best for me? Or what's best for your social standing?"

"They're the same thing!"

"No, they're not." Pansy's voice was deadly quiet now. "They never were. And I'm done pretending they are."

She turned toward the stairs, intending to go to her room, but her mother's voice stopped her.

"If you walk away from this, you walk away from everything. Your inheritance, your name, your family. Is your pride worth that much?"

Pansy paused on the bottom step, her hand gripping the banister. For a moment, she wavered. Everything she'd ever known, everything she'd been raised to value, was tied up in the world her mother represented.

But then she thought about her father's funeral this past afternoon. About the hollow words of sympathy from people who'd never really cared about him. About the way they had spoken of honor while defending a man who'd led others to their deaths for his own ambition.

About the way Harry Potter had looked at her like she might actually be worth something more than… whatever she was worth now.

"Yes," she said without turning around. "It is."

"You stupid, selfish little bitch." Her mother's voice cracked completely now. "You'll regret this. When you're living in squalor, when no one will associate with you, when you realize what you've thrown away, you'll come crawling back."

Pansy turned to face her mother one last time. The woman standing in their expensive foyer, surrounded by portraits of dead ancestors and furnished with wealth built on others' backs, looked smaller somehow. Diminished.

"Maybe I will regret it," Pansy said. "But at least it will be my choice to regret."

"Don't you dare walk away from me. I am your mother. You owe me respect, you owe me obedience."

"I owe you nothing." The words came out flat and final. "You want to know what I've learned about loyalty and duty, Mother? I've learned that they only flow one way with people like you. You demand them from others but never give them in return."

"That's not true."

"Isn't it? When did you ever stand up for Father when the Malfoys treated him like a servant? When did you ever defend me when other pureblood families looked down on us? When did you ever show loyalty to anyone except whoever could give you the most social advantage?"

Her mother opened her mouth to respond, but immediately closed it again. The silence stretched between them.

"That's what I thought," Pansy said. "You know what, Mother? I hope the Malfoys do blame you for what I said today. I hope they cut you out of their precious social circle. Maybe then you'll understand what it feels like to be expendable."

"Pansy, please." For the first time, her mother's voice held something other than anger or desperation. It held fear. "Don't do this. We can fix this. We can make this right."

Alas, it was too late. Something had broken in Pansy, some final thread that had connected her to this house, this life, this woman, and this version of herself.

"No, we can't," she said simply. "Because I don't want to fix it. I'm done with all of it."

She turned and headed up the stairs, her mother's voice following her.

"You'll be back! You have nowhere else to go! No one else will take you in!"

She's probably right. But Pansy didn't care anymore. She'd figure it out. Anything was better than staying here, slowly suffocating on other people's expectations.

In her room, she pulled out her school trunk and began throwing clothes into it. She didn't have much money, but she had a little. Enough for a room somewhere, at least for a while.

Her mother appeared in the doorway, watching her pack with something like panic in her eyes.

"This is madness. You can't survive on your own."

"Watch me."

"Where will you go? What will you do?"

Good questions. Pansy didn't have answers to either of them. But she kept packing anyway.

"I don't know," she admitted. "But I'll figure it out."

"Pansy, please. I'm begging you. Think about this rationally."

For a moment, Pansy's hands stilled on her trunk. She looked at her mother standing in the doorway, and for just an instant, she saw not the social climber or the demanding parent, but a frightened woman who genuinely didn't understand how to exist outside the only world she'd ever known.

Maybe I should feel sorry for her. But the sympathy wouldn't come. There had been too many years of being treated like a chess piece, too many moments when her mother had chosen status over her daughter's happiness.

"I have thought about it," Pansy said quietly. "For the first time in my life, I'm thinking clearly."

She closed the trunk and lifted it from the bed. It was heavier than she'd expected, but she managed.

Her mother stepped aside as Pansy walked past her into the hallway.

"If you leave now, don't expect to come back," her mother called after her, desperation making her voice shrill. "I won't have you embarrassing this family any further."

Pansy paused at the top of the stairs. "Good. That makes this easier."

"You're making the biggest mistake of your life."

"Maybe." Pansy started down the stairs, each step feeling like a small victory. "But at least it's my mistake to make."

The front door closed behind her with a final-sounding click. Standing on the steps of Parkinson Manor with her trunk at her feet and no clear destination in mind, Pansy felt something she hadn't experienced in years.

She felt free.

Now what? The question should have terrified her. Instead, she found herself thinking about green eyes and a knowing smile, about words that had seemed like a threat but might have been an offer.

The question is whether you get to choose who you belong to now.

Maybe it was time to find out what choice really meant.

XXXXX

"And there, we're all done," Alisia said with a grin, her wand moving with a flourish as she stepped back from the chair.

Ginny blinked a few times, her hand moving to her temple. "That felt... strange. Like someone was rearranging furniture in my head."

"The memories will settle naturally," Alisia assured her, tucking her wand into her robes. "Give it a few minutes. The false recollections will feel as real as any other memory you have."

Harry watched from his position against the wall, his arms crossed. "How detailed did you make it?"

"Detailed enough to fool any Auror's questioning," Alisia replied, her blue eyes meeting his. "You two hid in an abandoned hut, heard the screams and explosions, waited until it was all clear before getting out. Simple but believable."

Irina looked up from the tea she was brewing at the small kitchen counter. "The beauty of a good lie is in its simplicity. Too many details and it becomes suspicious."

"Exactly," Harry nodded. "The Ministry will want to close this case quickly. They won't dig too deep if the story makes sense and is backed by memories."

Ginny stood from the chair, stretching her arms above her head. "I have to admit, this place is cozy. Much better than I expected when you two said you were moving to Hogsmeade."

The cottage was indeed modest but comfortable. Warm wooden beams crossed the ceiling, and a stone fireplace crackled in the corner. Bookshelves lined one wall, filled with volumes that Harry suspected contained more dark magic than the average wizard's collection.

The cottage was not too far from The Shrieking Shack, and Harry suspected the owner must be desperate to be rid of it due to its location, which was why these two had gotten settled in within a day.

"We wanted something that felt like home," Irina said, bringing over a tray with four steaming cups. "Bulgaria has its charms, but after what happened..."

"We felt we needed a fresh start," Alisia finished, settling onto the couch. "And being close to our Master was important."

Harry accepted his tea, noting the way both veela watched him. Their devotion was still new, the bond between them fresh but undeniably strong. "The Ministry still doesn't know you're here?"

"Officially, we're still missing," Alisia confirmed. "Two Bulgarian veela who vanished during the chaos. It's better that way."

Ginny curled up beside Harry on the small sofa, her body naturally gravitating toward his warmth. "What about your families? Won't they worry?"

Irina's expression darkened slightly. "Veela society isn't like human families. We were performers, nothing more. Our troupe was disbanded after the attack anyway."

"Their loss," Harry said simply, and both veela smiled at his words.

"You always know what to say," Alisia murmured, her voice carrying that sultry quality that came effortlessly to her kind. "It's one of the things we adore about you."

The conversation lulled as they sipped their tea. Harry could feel the tension in the room, the way the three women kept glancing at him and each other. There was something electric in the air, something that had been building since they'd arrived.

"So," Ginny said, breaking the silence, "how does it feel to have your own place? Free to do whatever you want?"

"Liberating," Irina answered, her dark eyes sparkling. "Though it feels incomplete somehow."

"Incomplete how?" Harry asked, though he suspected he knew the answer.

Alisia set down her cup and leaned forward. "We've been thinking about our night together. When we first... when we all came together."

"That was incredible," Ginny said softly, her cheeks flushing pink. "I've never felt anything like it."

"Neither had we," Irina admitted. "Veela magic combined with... well, with what we share with you, Harry. It was intoxicating."

Harry felt his lips quirk a bit. "What are you getting at?"

"We want to inaugurate our new home properly," Alisia said, her voice dropping to a whisper.

"And there's only one way to do it," Irina added, moving closer to where Harry sat.

Ginny's hand found Harry's thigh, her fingers tracing small circles. "I think I have an idea what you two are getting at."

"Do you now?" Harry's voice was amused but it still had that husky tone that made all three young women shiver.

"It's the only way we could think about," Alisia grinned. "What better way to start our new life in our new home than to have our Master help us out like the great Master he is?"

"In every room, on every surface," Irina said boldly with a grin, her cheeks flushed with desire.

Harry stood, setting down his cup with exaggerated slowness. The three women watched him with rapt attention, waiting for his response. He could feel their need, their desire, radiating from them in waves.

"Is that what you want?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous.

"Desperately," Alisia added, rising from the couch.

"We've been thinking about nothing else," Irina confessed, moving to stand beside her fellow veela.

Harry looked at each of them in turn. Alisia and Irina, the deadly beautiful veela who had pledged themselves to him after that night of blood and passion.

"Then come here," he commanded softly.

As Ginny lounged on the couch, the two veela women moved toward him without hesitation, drawn by his voice and the power he wielded over them. Irina reached him first, her hands sliding up his chest as she pressed herself against him.

"We want you so badly," she murmured against his neck.

Alisia joined her, their hands coming up in exploring Harry's body through his clothes. The veela's touch carried that supernatural allure, making Harry's skin tingle wherever they made contact.

"This house needs to know who its true Master is," Alisia said, her lips brushing his ear.

"Every room should echo with your name," Irina added, her voice husky with desire, her fingers working at the buttons of Harry's shirt.

Harry smiled, and the predatory expression on his face made them all weak in the knees.

The afternoon sun streamed through the cottage windows, casting golden light across the wooden floors. Outside, Hogsmeade went about its business, unaware of the heat building within the modest walls of the veela's new home on the outskirts of the village.

Harry's hands moved to Irina's waist, pulling her closer as Alisia pressed against him from the behind, their large tits mashing against his body. The scent of their arousal mixed with the lingering smell of tea and the wood smoke from the fire.

"I love how you take control," Ginny whispered, her hands quickly working her clothes off. As much as she wanted to be included, there was a perverse sort of fun watching and enjoying Harry command two older veela women who couldn't get enough of him.

"We all do," Alisia said, her voice breathless against Harry's neck where she pressed featherlight kisses, her tongue darting out to taste him.

"Show me how much you it then," Harry challenged.

In response, Irina smirked, her blue eyes bright with mischief and desire.

She stood on her tiptoes and captured his lips in a demanding kiss, one hand tangling in his dark hair while the other darted downward to grab his throbbing manhood through his trousers. She let out a moan of approval upon finding him hard and ready for them and began rubbing his bulge over his clothes.

Meanwhile, Alisia's hands roamed freely, mapping the muscles of his back and shoulders as she kept kissing all over his neck, sucking on his earlobe before drifting downwards once again.

The cottage felt alive with their combined energy, the magic of two powerful veela women focused entirely on one man. It was intoxicating, overwhelming, and exactly what they all craved.

"So where first?" Harry asked against those soft lips that quickly dropped, kissing along his jaw.

"Upstairs," Alisia murmured against his neck, her voice rough with want.

"Upstairs it is then," Harry smirked, and Irina yelped before she giggled as Harry grabbed her delicious rump and hoisted her over his shoulder. Alisia grinned when he repeated the same with her, and with a breathless laugh each, both veela women gazed at each other lustfully as their Master began walking with them upstairs.

A naked and aroused Ginny quickly shot to her feet and followed behind them, her clothes easily forgotten. She wanted some for herself, but she knew when to be patient. After all, good rewards came for those who waited for their turn. She had learned as much by now.

XXXXX

"Fuck, Harry, you're so deep," Irina gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders as Harry thrust deep into her quivering snatch, her legs wrapped tight around his waist. Her body shuddered, still sensitive from the orgasm he'd already given her.

The bed creaked under their rhythm, the wooden frame groaning with each powerful movement. Sweat glistened on Irina's skin, her blonde hair splayed across the pillow. Her blue eyes locked on Harry's, filled with raw devotion.

Alisia knelt beside them, her hands roaming Irina's trembling thighs, spreading them wider for Harry. Her own body buzzed from the climax Harry had wrung from her earlier, her skin flushed and lips swollen.

"Take her, Master," Alisia purred, her voice thick with arousal. She leaned down, kissing Irina's neck and nipping at her collarbone. Irina moaned, arching into the touch, her body caught between Harry's relentless thrusts and Alisia's teasing caresses.

Ginny sprawled across the bed, her lightly freckled skin glowing in the afternoon light filtering through the curtains. Her bare chest heaved, her body still tingling from the orgasms Harry had coaxed from her earlier, first with his fingers and tongue and then with his magnificent cock.

She watched Harry fuck the veela, her hazel eyes dark with hunger.

"Fuck, you're so fucking good," Irina said, her voice hoarse.

Ginny propped herself on one elbow, her free hand trailing down her own body, teasing her sensitive folds as she soaked in the sight of Harry dominating Irina.

Harry's hands gripped Irina's hips, pulling her harder against him. His cock slid in and out of her gushing pussy, slick with her arousal. The wet smacking sounds of their bodies filled the room, mingling with Irina's sharp cries and the low murmurs of Alisia and Ginny.

"You feel so fucking perfect," Harry growled, his voice rough. He shifted, changing the angle, and Irina's scream tore through the air as he hit her clit with each thrust. Her walls clenched around him, her body trembling on the edge again.

"Harry, please," Irina begged, her voice breaking. "I'm so close again."

Her hands clutched at him, desperate, her veela allure pulsing through the room, making the air thick with desire. Alisia's fingers found Irina's clit, rubbing tight circles all around it, and Irina's head fell back, a choked moan escaping her lips.

"Yes, yes, fuck!"

Harry didn't slow, driving into her with steady, punishing thrusts.

"Come for me," he ordered, his voice low and commanding.

Irina's body obeyed on its own volition, another one of her massive orgasms crashing over her. Her scream echoed in the bedroom she would be sharing with Irina, her walls spasming around Harry's cock. Her legs shook, and Alisia held her thighs, kissing her through the waves of pleasure.

As Irina's cries faded to whimpers, Harry slowed, pulling out carefully. His cock glistened, hard and throbbing.

Irina panted, her body limp, but her eyes burned with adoration as she looked at him.

"You're incredible," she whispered, reaching for him. Harry allowed her to pull him in an embrace, their naked sweaty chests pressing wetly as he kissed her, deep and possessive, before turning to Alisia.

Alisia was ready, crawling toward him on her knees, her blonde hair falling over her shoulders.

"My turn to please you again, Master," she said, her voice sultry. She gently pushed him onto his back, and Harry let her, his hands reaching out to rest on her hips as she swung one leg over his waist and straddled him. However, before she could sink onto his cock once again, Ginny moved, quick and eager.

"I think after everything, our Master deserves to have us all make him feel good together," Ginny said, her voice playful but her eyes blazing with heat. She settled between Harry's legs on her knees, her hands wrapping around his shaft.

Alisia pouted but didn't protest, sliding off to join her. Irina, still catching her breath, crawled closer, her lips brushing Harry's thigh. The three women surrounded him, Alisia to his left, Irina to his right, and Ginny right between his legs.

Ginny moved first, her tongue flicked over the tip of Harry's cock, tasting Irina's arousal mixed with his precum. She moaned softly, her lips closing around him, sucking gently.

Harry grunted, pushing himself up on his elbows as he watched her. "Fuck, Ginny," he said, his voice tight. Her mouth worked him slowly, her tongue swirling around the head before sliding down his length.

Irina joined her, her lips kissing along the side of Harry's shaft, her tongue darting out to lick where Ginny's mouth didn't reach.

"We taste so good together," she murmured filthily, her breath hot against his skin. Her hand cupped his balls, massaging gently, and Harry's hips bucked, a low growl escaping him.

Alisia's lips found his inner thigh, kissing and nipping, her hands stroking his legs. "We're all yours," she said, her voice soft but eager. She moved higher, her tongue tracing the base of his cock, joining Irina's efforts.

The three women worked in sync, their mouths and hands worshipping him, their veela magic and Ginny's raw passion blending into an overwhelming sensation.

Ginny took him deeper, her throat relaxing as she bobbed her head, her lips stretched around his girth. Saliva dripped down his shaft, and Alisia licked it up, her tongue brushing Ginny's lips in the process. The sight made Harry's cock twitch, his control slipping momentarily.

"You're all so fucking perfect," he said, his voice rough with heat. His hands tangled in their hair one after the other—Ginny's red locks, Alisia's golden strands, Irina's blonde waves—guiding them gently but firmly.

Alisia sucked at the base of his cock, her lips brushing his balls, while Irina's tongue teased the sensitive skin just below. Ginny's mouth moved faster, her moans vibrating around him.

The combined sensation was too much after all the delayed orgasms, pushing Harry closer to the edge. His breathing grew ragged, his grip tightening in their hair. "I'm gonna come," he warned, his voice strained.

"Do it," Ginny said, pulling off just enough to speak, her lips brushing his tip. "Come for us, Harry."

She dove back down, sucking harder, her hand stroking what her mouth couldn't reach. Alisia and Irina redoubled their efforts, their tongues and lips relentless, their hands caressing his thighs and balls.

Harry's body tensed, his orgasm building fast. "Fuck," he groaned, his hips jerking. The first pulse hit, and Ginny moaned as his cum filled her mouth, hot and thick. She swallowed greedily, but pulled off, letting Alisia take over. Alisia's lips closed around him, catching the next spurt, her tongue milking him as she sucked. Irina leaned in, her mouth joining Alisia's, their tongues brushing as they shared him.

Harry's groans filled the room, his body shaking as the three women took turns and drew every last drop from him. His orgasm seemed to last forever, their mouths and hands coaxing him through it.

When he finally stilled, his chest heaving, they didn't stop immediately. Ginny licked him clean, her tongue gentle but thorough. Alisia kissed the tip of his cock, her eyes locked on his, filled with adoration. Irina pressed soft kisses to his thighs, her hands stroking his legs.

"Damn, you three," Harry said, his voice hoarse. He reached for them, pulling them up to lie beside him. Irina curled against his left side, her head on his chest. Alisia nestled against his right, her lips brushing his shoulder. Ginny draped herself across his legs, her cheek resting on his thigh. They were all panting, their bodies slick with sweat, and the air heavy with the scent of sex.

"You're our everything," Ginny whispered, her voice soft but fierce. She kissed his thigh again, her eyes shining with devotion as she absently traced her mark.

"Always," Alisia added, her hand tracing lazy circles on his chest. Her own mark pulsed gently in perfect sync with her allure, a warm hum in the room.

Irina lifted her head, grinning. "I know it sounds bad, but I'm so glad those pricks decided to attack during the World Cup or we wouldn't have met," she said, her tone teasing but her eyes warm. She kissed his chest, right over his heart as her mark also pulsed brightly, sending tingles of warmth through her very being, soothing her.

Harry chuckled, his arms tightening around them. It did sound morose, but neither could give a fuck about it.

After all, he'd gotten two gorgeous veela women as his faithful. What was there to complain about?

To be continued…

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Chapter Text

It was almost evening by the time they got back home. The floo flared green, and Ginny stepped out, followed by Harry who maintained his casual gait as he followed behind her to where the rest of the family was gathered in the dining room.

"How did it go?" Mrs. Weasley called, rushing forward to envelope them both in hugs. "Not too difficult, I hope?"

"Fine, Mum," Ginny said, returning the embrace. "Just questions about what we saw. Nothing we couldn't handle."

Harry nodded, pulling off his jacket and hanging it on the back of a chair. "Crouch was thorough, but it was straightforward enough. We told him what happened, he took notes, asked for clarification on a few points, and that was it."

"Did they say anything about catching the rest of them?"

"They're working on it," Harry replied, but it was clear from his tone that he didn't particularly care either way.

"Good," Mrs. Weasley said firmly, bustling around to check on the roast. "The sooner they're all locked up in Azkaban, the better."

Hermione watched from her seat at the table, her eyes tracking every movement, every glance between Harry and Ginny. The way Ginny's hand brushed Harry's arm as she passed him. The way Harry's fingers lingered on the small of her back as he guided her to the table. The casual intimacy in how they moved around each other, like they were two parts of the same whole. It was subtle, and no one else seemed to notice, but Hermione caught every detail.

"Well, sit down then," Mrs. Weasley bustled, waving her wand to set two more places. "Dinner's getting cold, and I won't have you going hungry after such a long day."

As they settled into their chairs—Harry beside Ron, Ginny beside Hermione—the redhead caught Hermione's intense stare and smiled sweetly.

"Miss us, Hermione?"

"I was just wondering how it went," Hermione said quickly, her cheeks flushing at being caught staring. "The questioning, I mean. Was Crouch difficult?"

"Oh, it went very well," Ginny replied, easily pouncing on Hermione's slight misstep there. "Didn't it, Harry?"

"Mmm," Harry agreed, reaching for the potatoes and ladling a generous portion onto his plate. "Very... productive afternoon."

Ron snorted, helping himself to more gravy. "Productive? It was just questions, wasn't it? How can answering questions be productive?"

"You'd be surprised," Ginny said lightly, cutting into her roast beef, "how much can happen in a few hours when you're really focused on something."

Hermione's grip tightened on her fork. The innocent words felt filled with double meaning, and she found herself analyzing every syllable, every variation in Ginny's voice.

"Speaking of surprising things," Ginny continued, helping herself to some carrots and passing the bowl to Charlie, "we ran into quite the scene outside the Ministry."

"What kind of scene?" Fred asked, perking up with interest. "Anything exciting?"

"The Malfoys," Harry said simply. "Well, what's left of them."

"You saw Draco?" Hermione asked, her voice slightly higher than usual. Despite everything, she felt a pang of something—not quite sympathy, but recognition of loss.

"Oh, we saw him alright," Ginny snorted, sharing a look with Harry. "Along with his mother and Pansy Parkinson."

"Parkinson was there?" Ron asked, wrinkling his nose in distaste. "What for? Thought she'd be keeping her head down after everything."

"Apparently," Ginny said, her eyes dancing with mischief as she took a sip of her pumpkin juice, "she had some things to say about the Malfoy family's recent... loss."

"What kind of things?" George leaned forward, intrigued.

"Let's just say," Harry said carefully, "Pansy wasn't very sympathetic about Lucius's death."

"She tore into them," Ginny added with obvious relish, setting down her glass and leaning forward slightly. "Right there in front of everyone. Called Draco a coward, said his father got what he deserved for being stupid enough to get himself killed, blamed him for everything, even called him a Death Eater."

"Blimey," Ron breathed, his eyes wide with surprise. "In public? With people watching?"

"Very public," Harry confirmed, his lips quirking upward in what might have been amusement. "There was quite a crowd. Ministry workers heading home, a few reporters still hanging around from earlier, even Fudge and his people."

Ron let out a bark of laughter, nearly choking on his potatoes. "Serves the git right! Getting dressed down by Parkinson of all people. Must've been absolutely humiliating."

"Oh, it was," Ginny said, her voice filled with satisfaction. "Especially when his mother tried to intervene and put Pansy in her place in her own way."

"Narcissa got involved?" Mrs. Weasley asked, frowning with concern. "That doesn't sound like her. She usually keeps herself above such... public displays."

"She tried to," Harry said, his tone casual but Hermione could see something in his eyes that sent a chill down her spine. "Didn't go well for her either."

"What do you mean?" Charlie asked, looking up from his own plate where he'd been methodically working through his vegetables.

"What happened?" Hermione found herself asking, though she wasn't sure she wanted to know. There was something in Harry's expression that made her pulse race.

Harry's lips curved into the faintest smile, and for a moment his mask of casual indifference slipped, revealing something predatory underneath. "Sometimes people need to be reminded of their place in the world."

The cryptic answer made everyone stare at him, and Hermione felt a shiver run down her spine at zhis voice. It wasn't boastful or cruel—it was matter-of-fact, like he was stating an obvious truth.

"Good," Mrs. Weasley said firmly, though she looked a bit uncomfortable with the conversation's direction. "The Malfoys have caused enough trouble for one lifetime. About time someone stood up to them."

"Indeed they have," Harry agreed, his fingers drumming lightly on the table. "But I don't think they'll be causing much more trouble going forward."

"Well," Mrs. Weasley said, clearing her throat and obviously wanting to move away from talk of the Malfoys, "let's talk about something more pleasant."

The conversation shifted to Charlie's dragon work, but Hermione found herself unable to focus on his tales of fireproof gloves and territorial disputes. Every laugh Ginny shared with Harry, every casual touch, every meaningful glance felt magnified. She barely touched her food, too distracted by their dynamic that went unnoticed by every single person apart from her.

"The thing about Horntails," Charlie was saying, "is that they're incredibly intelligent. More so than most people realize. They remember faces, hold grudges, even develop preferences for certain handlers."

"Sounds familiar," Ginny murmured, just loud enough for Hermione to hear, though her comment seemed to be directed at her plate.

"You alright, Hermione?" Ron asked, noticing her untouched roast and barely-touched vegetables. "You've barely eaten anything. Are you feeling sick?"

"I'm fine," she said quickly, forcing herself to take a bite. "Just thinking about... things."

"What kind of things?" Ginny asked innocently, though her eyes held a knowing glint that made Hermione's skin prickle.

"Just... the Ministry visit," Hermione managed, her voice steadier than she felt. "It must have been intense, being questioned about everything you witnessed."

"Oh, it was," Ginny agreed, her voice dropping slightly. "Very intense. Wasn't it, Harry?"

"Definitely memorable," Harry replied, his gaze lingering on Hermione's flushed face for just a moment too long.

Fred, oblivious to the tension crackling between the three of them, launched into a story about a prank gone wrong involving Whizzing Worms and an unfortunate hairpiece. George picked up the thread, and soon the twins were regaling the table with their comedic mishaps, drawing laughter from everyone except Hermione, who remained distracted.

As dinner wound down and people began clearing away their plates, Ginny stretched languidly in her chair, her back arching in a way that drew Harry's eyes to her curves. Hermione eyed him with a small frown, not that he paid her any heed.

"I think I'll get some rest for a few minutes before that Quidditch game," she announced. "All that excitement at the Ministry wore me out."

"You kids and Quidditch," Mrs. Weasley said, waving her wand to send dishes floating toward the sink in a graceful parade. "Do what you will. But remember you've had a long day, both you and Harry. You need your rest."

"Coming, Hermione?" Ginny asked sweetly, standing and pushing in her chair. "We should probably discuss those defense books you wanted to show me."

Hermione's pulse spiked, her fork clattering slightly against her plate. "Defense books?"

"The ones Harry mentioned this morning," Ginny reminded her with a patient smile, as if speaking to someone who'd forgotten something obvious. "You said you had some interesting new material about advanced protective charms."

"Oh. Right. Yes, of course." Hermione's voice sounded distant to her own ears.

Harry watched the exchange with obvious amusement, his eyes moving between the two girls like he was watching a particularly engaging play. "Have a good evening, ladies."

"Oh, we will," Ginny said, her voice carrying that same loaded tone that made Hermione's skin prickle with awareness. "Won't we, Hermione?"

Hermione said nothing.

XXXXX

Hermione sat on the edge of Ginny's bed, her mind churning with the events of the day. The casual way Harry and Ginny interacted, the loaded glances, the subtle touches—it all felt like it set her nerves on fire. She had no idea why though, or maybe she did, and that's what terrified her.

She replayed the morning's scene under the breakfast table, the memory making her face burn with shame and a particular feeling she didn't want to acknowledge. The way Ginny had looked at her, that challenging stare, the whispered words that seemed to echo in her mind: "I know you want it."

The casual boldness of it, the complete lack of shame or hesitation, was so foreign to Hermione's carefully controlled world. She'd spent her entire life being the responsible one, the one who thought things through, who weighed consequences and made rational decisions. But watching Ginny act with such brazen confidence made her question whether all that careful control was worth it.

She picked at the bedspread, her fingers tracing the worn pattern while her thoughts spun in circles. What did it say about her that she'd been unable to look away? That even now, hours later, she could still feel the heat of that moment?

The door slammed shut with a bang that made Hermione jump, her heart leaping into her throat. She whirled around to find Ginny standing by the door, her hand still on the handle, wearing an utterly unapologetic grin.

"Oops," Ginny said, not sounding sorry at all. In fact, she sounded delighted. "Did I startle you?"

Hermione's hand flew to her chest, feeling her racing heartbeat through her shirt. "Ginny! You scared me to death."

"Did I?" Ginny asked innocently, pushing off from the door and walking toward the bed with the predatory grace of a cat stalking prey. "Sorry about that."

But she didn't look sorry. She looked absolutely delighted, her eyes bright with mischief as she took in Hermione's flustered state with obvious satisfaction.

"You seem jumpy," Ginny observed, settling onto the bed beside Hermione with a faint thump. Close enough that their knees almost touched, close enough that Hermione could smell her floral shampoo. "Everything alright?"

"I'm fine," Hermione said quickly, scooting slightly away but finding herself trapped between Ginny and the headboard. "Just tired. It's been a long day."

"Hmm," Ginny hummed, tilting her head and studying Hermione's face as if examining an interesting specimen. "You know, I promised I'd tell you everything about what happened at the Ministry today."

Hermione's mouth went dry, her tongue feeling thick and clumsy. "You don't have to—"

"Oh, but I do," Ginny interrupted, her voice dropping to a more intimate tone that seemed to wrap around Hermione like silk. "I always keep my promises, Hermione. You should know that about me by now."

The redhead leaned back on her hands, the position making her seem more relaxed while somehow also more dangerous. Like a lioness pretending to lounge while actually preparing to pounce.

"Harry wanted to be here for this conversation too, actually," Ginny said casually, as if commenting on the weather.

Hermione's eyes went wide, her breath catching audibly. "What?"

"Mmm," Ginny nodded, clearly enjoying the shock painted across Hermione's features. "He was quite insistent about it, actually. Said he thought you might have questions for him too, about what happened. About what he did."

"I don't—why would he—" Hermione stammered, her thoughts scattering like leaves in a hurricane. The idea of Harry being here, in this room, talking about whatever had happened at the Ministry, made her pulse race for reasons she didn't want to examine.

"But I told him no," Ginny continued, her tone almost conversational, as if they were discussing homework rather than whatever game she was playing. "I said it might be too much for you. That you might not be able to handle both of us at the same time."

There was something mocking in Ginny's voice, a subtle condescension that made Hermione's spine stiffen with indignation. The implication was clear—that she was some fragile flower who couldn't handle adult conversations or adult situations.

"I can handle perfectly well—" Hermione began hotly, her cheeks flushing with irritation.

"Can you?" Ginny asked with raised eyebrows, her expression one of polite skepticism. "Because you looked ready to faint this morning when I was just having a bit of fun under the table."

Hermione's face flamed at the reminder, but underneath the embarrassment was a growing anger. "That wasn't—you were—"

"I was what?" Ginny prompted, her eyes dancing with amusement as she watched Hermione struggle for words. "Having a good time with Harry? Enjoying myself? Living my life instead of just thinking about it?"

The casual way she said it, like it was the most natural thing in the world, made Hermione feel foolish and prudish. She was a grown woman, for crying out loud. She'd read about sex, thought about it, even had her own private moments of exploration. She had desires too, thoughts and wants that she kept carefully locked away in the deepest corners of her mind. Being spoken to like some blushing virgin was insulting.

"I'm not some sheltered child, Ginny," Hermione said, her voice sharper than she intended, her chin lifting with stubborn pride. "I understand perfectly well what you were doing."

"Do you?" Ginny asked, leaning forward slightly, her voice dropping to barely above a whisper. "Because you looked absolutely fascinated. Like you'd never seen anything like it before. Like you wanted to crawl under there with us."

The mocking tone was unmistakable now, and it stung worse than a slap. Hermione felt her temper flare, bright and hot in her chest. "I'm not naive."

"I never said you were," Ginny replied smoothly, her voice taking on a soothing quality that somehow managed to be even more condescending. "But you are curious, aren't you? About what it's like to stop thinking so much and just... feel. To stop analyzing everything to death and actually experience something."

Hermione opened her mouth to protest, to deny the accusation, but something in Ginny's knowing stare made the words die in her throat.

"Anyway," Ginny said, settling more comfortably on the bed and crossing her legs, "let me tell you about what happened with the Malfoys. Since you're so eager to hear about it."

Despite her irritation, despite the way Ginny was speaking to her like a child being told a bedtime story, Hermione found herself leaning forward slightly, drawn in despite herself.

"It was quite the show," Ginny began, having already decided to be less than truthful about it. A bit of embellishment was no harm in her opinion. "Pansy was already laying into Draco when we arrived at the Ministry steps. Going on about how his father was a coward who got himself killed over his own stupidity."

Hermione winced involuntarily. Whatever she thought of the Malfoys, the idea of speaking so callously about someone's dead father seemed harsh. "That's cruel, even for her."

"Oh, it got much worse," Ginny continued with obvious relish, her eyes lighting up at the memory. "She called him weak, said he was just like his father—all talk and no backbone when it really mattered. That he'd probably end up the same way, dead in a ditch somewhere because he was too stupid to know when to keep his mouth shut."

"In front of people?" Hermione asked, imagining the scene with growing horror and fascination.

"Oh yes, there was quite an audience," Ginny confirmed. "Ministry workers heading home, a few journalists who'd been hanging around hoping for a story. Perfect timing, really. That's when Narcissa stepped in."

"What did she do?"

"Tried to put Pansy in her place," Ginny said, her eyes glittering with the memory. "Started going on about blood purity and knowing one's betters. You know, the usual Malfoy superiority complex. All that pure-blood nonsense about breeding and proper society."

Hermione could picture it clearly—Narcissa Malfoy's cold arrogance, her imperious tone, and the way she'd look down her nose at someone she considered beneath her station.

"She told Pansy that she was clearly overwrought with grief and not thinking clearly," Ginny continued, "and that she should apologize immediately for speaking about her betters with such disrespect."

"And then?"

"And then," Ginny said, and suddenly her voice changed into one of admiration and reverence, "Harry got involved."

Hermione felt her pulse quicken, anticipating what was coming but not knowing exactly what to expect.

"What did he do?" she asked, though she wasn't entirely sure she wanted to know. There was something in Ginny's expression, a hungry satisfaction, that made her stomach flutter with nervous anticipation.

Ginny's smile turned predatory, and she cackled evilly in her mind. Time for the hook.

"He walked right up to Narcissa, bold as you please. No hesitation, no deference to her age or status. Just walked right into the middle of their little scene like he owned the place."

Hermione felt her breath catch, imagining Harry striding into a confrontation with that casual confidence she'd been noticing more and more lately.

"She tried to dismiss him," Ginny continued, her voice growing more animated as she relived the memory. "Told him to mind his own business, that this was a private family matter and he had no right to interfere."

"What did he say?"

"He just looked at her," Ginny said, her voice dropping to almost a whisper, as if sharing a sacred secret. "You know that look he gets sometimes? When he's completely in control and knows it? When he's not asking for anything because he doesn't need to?"

Hermione nodded despite herself. She'd seen that look, though she'd never been able to put it into words before.

"He told her she was mistaken if she thought her family name still meant anything," Ginny said, her voice filled with pride and admiration. "That the only reason anyone had ever tolerated the Malfoys was fear of Lucius and his connections, and now that he was dead..."

"He said that? In public?" Hermione's voice was barely a whisper.

"Oh, that was just the beginning," Ginny said, her eyes bright with hunger and excitement. "Narcissa got all huffy, started sputtering about respect and proper behavior and knowing one's place. So Harry stepped closer."

Ginny paused, clearly savoring the memory, her tongue darting out to wet her lips.

"He invaded her personal space completely," she continued, her voice taking on a dreamy quality. "Close enough that anyone watching could see she was uncomfortable. Close enough that their bodies were almost touching. Close enough that she had to crane her neck back to look at him. And then he said, very quietly but just loud enough for the crowd to hear, that perhaps she should learn some humility."

Hermione's breath caught in her throat. "What happened then?"

"She tried to back away," Ginny said, her voice growing more excited, "but Harry followed. Every step she took backward, he took one forward. He kept talking, explaining exactly how precarious her position was now. How her husband's crimes had left her with nothing but enemies."

"In front of everyone?"

"In front of everyone," Ginny confirmed, her voice filled with savage satisfaction. "He systematically dismantled her entire sense of superiority. Made her realize that without Lucius's protection, without his fear tactics and political connections, she was nothing. Less than nothing."

Hermione found herself hanging on every word, her pulse racing as she imagined the scene. Harry's quiet authority, Narcissa's growing panic, and the crowd watching everything unfold.

"He explained," Ginny continued, "how her husband had died because he was too arrogant to see that times had changed. How she could easily end up in trouble if she didn't learn to adapt to her new circumstances."

"He threatened her?"

"Oh no," Ginny said with a wicked grin, "nothing so crude. He just made it very clear what reality looked like now. How the balance of power had shifted. How someone in her position might want to consider being more... accommodating to those she'd previously looked down upon."

Hermione swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly dry. The way Ginny described it, the casual way she talked about Harry dominating another person, made her feel things she didn't want to think about.

"By the end of it," Ginny continued, "she was practically trembling. This woman who'd looked down on everyone her entire life, who'd raised her son to believe he was inherently superior to people like us, reduced to stammering apologies and backing away like a scolded child."

"And Draco?"

"Draco?" Ginny laughed, the sound sharp and delighted. "Draco just stood there with his mouth open, watching his mother get put in her place by the famous Harry Potter. I don't think he said a single word the entire time. Just watched his whole world get turned upside down."

Hermione felt a rush of something—shock, arousal, admiration—all tangled together in a way that made her head spin and her skin flush.

"Harry was magnificent," Ginny said softly, her voice filled with pride and hunger. "The way he commanded the situation, the way everyone hung on his every word. Even Pansy shut up and watched. Even the Ministry workers stopped what they were doing to see what would happen next."

The admiration in Ginny's voice was unmistakable, and it sent another jolt through Hermione. The way she spoke about Harry's dominance, his control, made Hermione's skin prickle.

"He didn't raise his voice once," Ginny continued, her eyes distant with memory. "Didn't need to. He just... owned the moment. Owned her. Made it clear that the natural order had changed, and she was on the bottom now."

Hermione's hands clenched in her lap, her knuckles white with tension. The way Ginny described it, the casual way she talked about Harry dominating another person, made her feel things she didn't want to admit even to herself.

"You should have seen the crowd," Ginny added with a satisfied smile. "Everyone watching, seeing the great Narcissa Malfoy reduced to nothing by a teenager still of school. They all were just staring, trying to process what they were seeing."

"How did it end?" Hermione managed to ask, her voice hoarse.

"She left," Ginny said with obvious relish. "Which was the best she could do after everything."

Hermione felt dizzy, overwhelmed by the vivid picture Ginny had painted and her own unexpected reactions to it.

Ginny stretched languidly, clearly pleased with the effect her little exaggerated story was having on Hermione, whose flushed face and rapid breathing hadn't gone unnoticed.

"Well," she said, standing up from the bed, "that's what you missed. Quite the educational experience, really. Harry said it was important to establish new... expectations early, before anyone got confused about how things work now."

She moved toward the door, pausing with her hand on the handle to look back at Hermione, who sat frozen on the bed.

"See you downstairs in a bit, Hermione," she said with a knowing smirk that seemed to see right through her. "Try not to think too hard about everything I've told you. I'm speaking from personal experience that it's better to just feel instead of analyze."

And with that, she was gone, leaving Hermione alone with her churning thoughts and racing pulse.

For a long moment, Hermione sat frozen on the bed, her mind reeling from Ginny's words. The vivid picture Ginny had painted—Harry's control, Narcissa's humiliation, the crowd's fascination—played over and over in her head like a film she couldn't stop watching.

She tried to tell herself she was appalled by Harry's behavior, that reducing someone to public humiliation was wrong regardless of who they were or what they'd done. But the rational part of her mind was being drowned out by something more primal, more honest.

The image of Harry standing over Narcissa, completely in command, completely certain of his power, wouldn't leave her mind. It made her pulse race and her skin flush in ways that had nothing to do with embarrassment and everything to do with want and desire.

Finally, with a frustrated groan that seemed to come from the depths of her soul, she threw herself face-first onto the bed, burying her face in the pillow that smelled faintly of Ginny's floral shampoo. Her thoughts were a chaotic mess of conflicting emotions—shock at Harry's behavior, arousal at the display of dominance, confusion about her own reactions, and underneath it all, a growing hunger she didn't know how to name.

The pillow muffled her groan of frustration as she tried to make sense of what she was feeling. This wasn't like her. She was rational, logical, and controlled. She didn't get swept away by stories of public confrontations and power plays.

But the image of Harry's quiet authority, of his complete confidence in his own power, wouldn't leave her mind. And worse, she found herself wondering what it would feel like to be the focus of that intensity, that control.

Not for the first time since she'd arrived here, Hermione felt she was way out of her depth.

Outside the door, Ginny leaned against the wall, her smirk widening as she heard Hermione's muffled groan of frustration. The sound sent a thrill of satisfaction through her, confirming what she'd suspected—Hermione was breaking down, her careful control cracking under the weight of desires she'd never allowed herself to acknowledge.

It was only a matter of time before she cracked.

To be continued…

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Chapter Text

Outside the door, Ginny leaned against the wall, her smirk widening as she heard Hermione's muffled groan of frustration. The sound sent a thrill of satisfaction through her, confirming what she'd suspected—Hermione was breaking down, her careful control cracking under the weight of desires she'd never allowed herself to acknowledge.

"Enjoying yourself?"

Ginny turned to find Harry approaching down the hallway, his steps silent on the old wooden floors. His eyes held the same predatory gleam she'd seen in them all day, the look of a hunter who'd caught the scent of prey.

"A lot more than I should, to be honest," she whispered back, pushing off from the wall to meet him halfway.

His hands found her waist immediately, pulling her against him with a possessiveness that made her pulse race and her knees weak. The solid warmth of his body, the familiar scent of his skin, and the way his fingers pressed into her flesh like he was claiming the territory he had full ownership over—it all sent heat coursing through her veins.

"You're such a bad girl," he murmured against her ear, his breath hot against her skin, his fingers trailing down her sides, brushing over her curves in a way that made her shiver. "Teasing your friend every chance you get."

"The worst," she agreed breathlessly, her head falling back as his lips found the sensitive spot where her neck met her shoulder.

His touch sent shivers through her, his hands mapping her body like he owned every inch of it. And he very much did, she thought hazily as his teeth grazed her throat, sending sparks of sensation straight to her core.

"She's fighting it," Ginny managed to say between quiet gasps, her fingers clutching at his shoulders for support, "but she's breaking down. It's only a matter of time before she stops thinking and starts feeling."

"Mmm," Harry hummed against her skin, his hands growing bolder, more demanding, kneading her perky rear like dough. "You know I could break her down myself in about five minutes, right? Have her begging for whatever I wanted to give her."

Ginny's laugh was breathless and wicked, filled with the confidence of someone who knew exactly what she was doing.

"Oh, I know exactly what you're capable of," she said, her fingers tangling in his hair and tugging slightly. "I've been on the receiving end of that focus, remember? But I want to be the one to do it. I want to be the one who breaks down that prim and proper exterior and shows you what's underneath."

The words made Harry's eyes darken with want, his grip on her tightening. "Fuck, that's hot," he growled, pressing her more firmly against the wall, his body caging her in.

"I thought you'd like that," Ginny whispered, her voice smug even as her breath hitched from his ministrations. "The idea of me corrupting the brilliant Hermione Granger, turning her into something wild and desperate… Merlin, that's so hot!"

Their mouths crashed together in a heated kiss, all teeth and tongue and desperate need. Harry's hands roamed over her body while hers clutched at his shoulders, pulling him closer, always closer.

"It's been brilliant watching you evolve into what I always knew you were capable of," he murmured against her lips when they broke apart for air. "The way you've been working her over, how you get under her skin, make her question everything she thought she knew about herself…"

"She wants it," Ginny gasped as his mouth moved to her collarbone, his teeth scraping against sensitive skin. "She just doesn't know how to ask for it. Doesn't know how to stop being the good girl long enough to ask for what she really wants."

"She won't have to ask," Harry said, his voice dark with promise, with certainty. "When you're done with her, she'll be begging for it. Begging for me to claim her as mine, to do with as I please. And imagine when I ask her to service my faithful Gin."

The thought sent heat coursing through Ginny, and she kissed him harder, her nails digging into his shoulders hard enough to leave marks. Meanwhile, Harry had her hoisted in the air, keeping her back pressed against the wall as she rubbed her nether lips against his manhood, only thin barriers of fabric separating them.

"HARRY!" Ron's voice suddenly boomed from downstairs, cutting through their heated moment like a bucket of cold water. "Where are you? We're ready for the Quidditch game!"

They froze, breathing hard against each other, their bodies still pressed together in frustration.

"Shit," Harry muttered, resting his forehead against Ginny's, his eyes closed as he tried to regain control.

"I'm going to kill your best friend," Ginny whispered, her voice filled with frustrated desire and genuine murderous intent.

Harry chuckled despite the interruption, pulling back just enough to look at her flushed face, her swollen lips, the wild look in her eyes that promised retribution for the interruption, and her hard nipples poking against the fabric, signifying how aroused she truly was.

"Later," he promised, kissing her hard one more time and pulling her flush against him, pressing his hard cock against her pussy and making sure she could feel exactly how much he wanted her, how much restraint it was taking for him to step away. "We'll continue this later."

"Yes, we will," Ginny said, her voice carrying both greed and desire in equal measure. "I'll hold you to that, Master."

"HARRY!" Ron called again, louder this time.

"Coming!" Harry called back, though his eyes remained fixed on Ginny's, dark with promise and frustrated desire. "He really gets on my nerves sometimes."

Reluctant, he stepped back, squeezing her rear one final time as he lowered her to the floor, his hands trailing up and down her sides possessively, before he finally let go.

"Later," he repeated, his voice low and full of promise. The mere sight of him made her knees weak.

"Later," she agreed, her voice steady despite the way her heart was racing.

They walked down the stairs together, Harry's hand finding the small of her back in that casual, possessive way that had been driving Hermione crazy all evening. Just as they reached the stairs, the door to Ginny's room opened with a soft creak.

Hermione stepped out, her hair slightly mussed from burying her face in the pillow, her cheeks still flushed from her internal struggle. She looked up just in time to see Harry and Ginny walking away together, his hand on her lower back, fingers resting on the curve of her ass, and their heads bent close in quiet conversation that seemed to exclude the rest of the world.

For a moment, she just stood there in the doorway, watching their retreating figures with a conflicted expression that warred between longing and resentment. Part of her wanted to call out, to insert herself into whatever moment they were sharing, and to demand answers to questions she wasn't brave enough to voice. But another part of her, the part that was still reeling from Ginny's narrative and her own shameful reactions to it, held her back.

The casual way they moved together was mesmerizing in its intimacy. Harry's thumb traced small circles on Ginny's back through her shirt, a gesture so natural it was clearly habitual. Ginny leaned into the touch slightly, her body language speaking of complete trust and familiarity. They didn't need words to communicate—every movement, every glance, every small touch was part of a conversation Hermione couldn't decipher but desperately wanted to understand.

As they disappeared down the stairs, their voices became distant murmurs and interrupted only by Ron's increasingly impatient calls about the Quidditch game.

With a sigh, Hermione leaned against the doorframe. Her thoughts were more tangled than ever, a mess of rational objections and irrational desires that made her feel like she was losing her grip on who she was supposed to be.

The image Ginny had painted of Harry at the Ministry—confident, commanding, and completely in control of the situation and everyone in it—kept playing in her mind. She tried to reconcile it with the Harry she thought she knew, the modest boy who'd never seemed comfortable with attention or praise. But lately, there had been glimpses of something else. Moments when his green eyes held depths she'd never noticed before, when his voice carried an authority that made people listen without question.

She thought about Narcissa Malfoy, reduced from a haughty woman to someone utterly out of control in front of a crowd. The woman who had always looked at Hermione with such disdain whenever they'd happened to cross paths, who had embodied everything cold and superior about the wizarding world's old guard, brought low by a few quiet words from Harry Potter.

The rational part of her mind insisted she should be appalled. Public humiliation was cruel, regardless of who deserved it. But that rational voice was being steadily drowned out by something more primal, more honest. The image of Harry's quiet authority, of his complete confidence in his own power, made her pulse race in ways that had nothing to do with moral outrage.

She pressed her back against the doorframe, closing her eyes and trying to push away the unwelcome thoughts. But they kept coming—Harry's hands on Ginny under the breakfast table, the casual way he'd touched her afterward, and the dark promise in his eyes when he'd invited her to continue their "discussion." And none of that compared to all the times she had witnessed them together in ways she truly shouldn't have.

What would it feel like, she wondered despite herself, to be the focus of that intensity? To have Harry Potter look at her the way he looked at Ginny—like she was something he wanted, something he intended to have? To have him touch her the way he touched Ginny? And what would it feel like to serve him the way Ginny so wholeheartedly did, as if his pleasure and satisfaction were the only two constants in the world and nothing else mattered?

The thought sent raw heat coursing through her, and she opened her eyes with a sharp intake of breath. She was Hermione Granger. She was logical, controlled, and rational. She didn't have thoughts like these about her best friends, and she didn't let herself be swept away by stories of dominance and submission.

But even as she told herself this, she could still hear the echo of Ginny's voice.

"Sometimes it's better to just feel instead of analyze."

From downstairs came the sound of footsteps and voices as they prepared for their evening Quidditch game. Ron's voice carried clearly, complaining about Harry taking too long and threatening to start without him. She heard Mrs. Weasley fussing about someone forgetting their cloak, and Mr. Weasley's patient voice explaining the rules to what must be a new variation of the game.

Normal family sounds. Normal evening activities. Everything exactly as it should be, while she stood here having decidedly abnormal thoughts about her best friends.

She should go downstairs, she told herself. Should join the family game, laugh at the twins' silly antics, cheer when any of her friends made a good play. Should return to being the Hermione everyone expected her to be—helpful, rational, and sometimes slightly disapproving of anything too wild or reckless.

But instead, she found herself remembering the way Harry had looked at her that morning when he'd asked about the defense books. The command in his voice, the expectation that she would comply. It was as if her compliance was all but assured.

And she had complied, hadn't she? She had followed him upstairs like a moth drawn to flame, clutching her hands to her chest like armor that couldn't protect her from her own treacherous thoughts.

The sound of the front door opening and closing reached her, followed by the distant sounds of the family spreading out across the yard for their game. Soon the house would be empty except for Mrs. Weasley in the kitchen, and she would be alone with her thoughts and the phantom warmth of Ginny's story.

She closed her eyes and thought about Harry's hands on Narcissa Malfoy—not physically, but the way he'd used his presence, his voice, his quiet authority to reduce her to nothing. The way Ginny had described it, with that breathless admiration and obvious arousal, made it clear that she'd found the display deeply attractive.

What did that say about Ginny? About Harry? About the dynamic between them that she was only beginning to understand?

And what did it say about her that she couldn't stop thinking about it?

XXXXX

"How dare she? How dare Pansy speak of Father like that in public?" Draco whirled to face Narcissa, his gray eyes blazing. "Calling him a Death Eater in front of half the Ministry! The damage to our reputation—"

"Will be contained," Narcissa interrupted smoothly from her position on the sofa. She sat with perfect poise despite the afternoon's events, her legs crossed elegantly and one manicured hand resting on the armrest. Her mourning robes were pristine, her hair immaculately styled. To any observer, she appeared the picture of composed widowhood.

"Contained? Mother, she humiliated our family name!" Draco's voice cracked slightly. "And Father... Father is dead, and she acts as if he deserved it!"

Narcissa studied her son with calculating eyes. His grief was genuine, she knew, but it was also inconvenient. Emotional outbursts would serve no purpose now except to draw unwanted attention.

"Draco. Sit down."

He stopped pacing but didn't sit, his jaw clenched with stubborn defiance. "I can't just—"

"You can and you will." She rose gracefully, moving to pour herself a glass of wine from the crystal decanter on the side table. "Pansy Parkinson is a grieving girl who lost her father. Her words today were born of pain, not malice. The Ministry understands this, as would everyone else who witnessed her outburst."

"But the things she said—"

"Will be dismissed as the ravings of someone in shock." Narcissa took a small sip of her wine, savoring the expensive vintage. "By tomorrow, the Prophet will report it as a tragic display of grief between two families who lost loved ones in the same incident. Nothing more."

Draco finally sank into the chair across from her, running his hands through his pale hair. "I should have stopped her. Should have hexed her before she could say another word."

"And confirmed every accusation by displaying the exact behavior she was condemning?" Narcissa's tone was gently mocking. "Really, Draco, I expected better strategic thinking from you."

He flinched at her criticism. "Sorry, Mother."

"Do not be sorry, Draco. Do better from now on."

Draco nodded sullenly.

"However, it doesn't mean actions won't have consequences," Narcissa continued, her tone getting slightly darker. "The girl is spirited, and believe me when I say that the last thing she would agree to is apologize to us publicly."

"She has to," Draco said darkly. "I'll make sure she does."

"You'll do no such thing," Narcissa said firmly. "The Parkinsons have been subpar in their conduct over the years, and there is nothing they could offer us that would increase our station in the society. It is them who need our support now more than ever, and they know it. Cordelia would be desperate, but her daughter? I doubt it."

"All the more reason for her to learn her lesson!"

"And is it worth the effort?" Narcissa asked, unimpressed. "You need to choose your battles more wisely, Draco. You need to learn what deserves your effort, and what is better left ignored. Without our support, the Parkinsons are worthless. Their ruin is imminent, whether you do anything or not."

"I had plans for her," Draco muttered.

"That girl being your plaything would've been more than she deserved," Narcissa said disdainfully. "But now, you are the sole male survivor of this family. You need to start thinking differently. The days of amateur behavior are gone, Draco. Act like how your father would've wanted you to."

Draco did not look too pleased, but he did not refute her words.

"We can discuss more later. You look exhausted. You should rest now."

It wasn't entirely a lie. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, and his usually immaculate appearance showed signs of strain. The day had clearly taken its toll on him.

"I don't think I can sleep," he admitted quietly.

"Then take a dreamless sleep potion. There's a bottle in your father's study." She moved to him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Tomorrow will bring new challenges, and you'll need your strength."

He looked up at her with something approaching gratitude. "What would I do without you?"

"You'll never have to find out." She squeezed his shoulder once before stepping back. "Now go. Rest. I will take care of everything."

Draco rose, some of his earlier agitation returning. "There's something else. At the Ministry today, you seemed... unwell. Are you certain you're alright?"

Narcissa's expression didn't change, but something flashed in her eyes. "I'm perfectly fine. The stress of the day, nothing more."

"If you're sure..." He hesitated at the doorway. "Good night, Mother."

"Good night, dear."

Narcissa waited until his footsteps faded up the staircase before allowing her carefully maintained mask to slip. The composed widow disappeared, replaced by a woman who was far more complex and dangerous.

She slowly made her way to her bedroom, her back stiff and her steps slightly erratic. Once inside, she closed the door and leaned against it, finally allowing herself to breathe.

Her reflection in the antique mirror across the room showed the toll of the afternoon. Despite looking tidy, her usually immaculate hair had lost some of its perfect styling, and her pale complexion held a flush that had nothing to do with grief. But it was her eyes that betrayed her most—wide and dark.

Narcissa moved to her vanity and began removing her jewelry. The pearl earrings, the black onyx necklace, the silver bracelet that had belonged to her mother—her fingers worked automatically while her mind remained trapped in those mortifying moments in the Ministry.

Potter. Harry bloody Potter.

The name alone made her jaw clench. She'd underestimated him completely, dismissed him as just another teenage boy playing at being a hero. The reality had been far more dangerous.

He'd stood there in that crowd, so casual, so confident, while systematically dismantling her composure with magic she hadn't even detected until it was too late.

She finished removing her jewelry and moved to her wardrobe. The expensive robes came off first, pooling at her feet like a puddle of false propriety she had been wearing all day long and was eager to step out of. Underneath, she wore a silk chemise and matching knickers, both black but far more revealing than anything she'd ever wear in public. The soft fabric clung to her curves, emphasizing the body she kept hidden beneath layers of proper wizarding attire.

In the privacy of her own room, Narcissa allowed herself luxuries that would scandalize her social circle. The chemise was cut low across her chest, showing the swell of her breasts, and it ended high on her thighs. It was her secret rebellion against the suffocating propriety expected of a pureblood matron, one she practiced in the privacy of her bedroom and nowhere else.

She caught sight of herself in the full-length mirror and paused. Even after the afternoon's events, she looked stunning. Her blonde hair fell in waves past her shoulders, and her figure remained trim and elegant despite her age. She'd always known her effect on men, had even used it when necessary, but always from a position of power and control.

Potter had stripped that away from her.

Narcissa moved to her bed and sank onto the silk, finally allowing her legs to give way. The relief was immediate - she'd been fighting to stay upright for hours, and the privacy let her acknowledge just how thoroughly he'd affected her.

The memory hit her like a physical blow. Those invisible touches, spreading across her skin with such daring. He'd known exactly what he was doing, exactly where to focus his attention to drive her crazy. The worst part wasn't the magical assault itself—it was how her body had responded.

She closed her eyes and let herself remember the sensation. It had started as a gentle tingling along her spine, almost pleasant in its subtlety. She'd thought it was nerves, the stress of dealing with Pansy's accusations and the Ministry crowd. But as it spread, as it became more intimate and demanding, she'd realized the truth.

Someone had been touching her. Magically, invisibly, but undeniably touching her in ways that no man—not even Lucius—had dared in years. And despite her fury, despite her humiliation, her body had responded with an eagerness that terrified her.

Narcissa's hand drifted to her throat, tracing the path those phantom touches had taken. Even now, hours later, she could feel the ghost of that sensation. Her skin felt hypersensitive, as if his magic had awakened nerve endings that had been dormant for too long.

She thought about his face in the crowd, that knowing smirk that had told her exactly who was responsible for her torment. He'd watched her struggle, watched her fight for composure, and he'd enjoyed every second of it. The audacity was breathtaking, even as it infuriated her.

But there was more to it than simple magical harassment. She'd seen the challenge in his eyes, the invitation to acknowledge what was happening between them. He hadn't just been humiliating her—he'd been claiming her, marking his territory in the most public way possible while ensuring no one else would ever know.

The memory of the Quidditch World Cup surfaced unbidden. She'd tried to dismiss it, to file it away as teenage bravado, but now it took on new significance. That moment when he'd looked at her, really looked at her, with such brazen appraisal. The way his gaze had traveled over her body, reducing her to something to be evaluated and found wanting.

The galleon. The casual way he'd tossed it in the air while his eyes held hers. The unmistakable message: you're nothing more than a one-galleon whore to me.

Her hands clenched into fists at the memory. The rage was still there, burning bright and fierce. How dare he? How dare some half-blood boy, no matter how famous, treat her with such disrespect? She was Narcissa Black Malfoy, descendant of one of the oldest and most respected pureblood families in Britain. She'd been courted by the most eligible wizards of her generation, had married into power and wealth, had raised a son who would inherit a legacy spanning centuries.

And yet...

And yet she couldn't deny the thrill that had run through her at his boldness. She'd spent her entire life surrounded by men who treated her with careful deference, who approached her with the proper respect due to her station. Despite being married, there had always been a barrier between her and Lucius, one that was rooted in pureblood duty and nothing else. Even he had never treated her like a woman, but an object with only two uses—to look good on his arm in public and to bear him an heir.

Potter had looked at her and seen only a woman he wanted to possess, and the raw honesty of it had been as arousing as it was insulting.

Narcissa shifted on the bed, the silk of her chemise caressing her soft skin. The movement reminded her of those phantom touches, and she felt a flush of heat that had nothing to do with embarrassment. Her body was betraying her even now, responding to memories of magical manipulation with an eagerness that shocked her.

She tried to analyze it clinically, to understand why his touch had affected her so strongly. There had never been any real passion in her marriage. Perhaps it was simply physical need, her body responding to attention it had been denied all her life.

However, that explanation felt too simple. Other men had desired her, had made their interest known in subtle ways that preserved everyone's dignity. Yet, she had never indulged in infidelity, no matter how enticing the thought had been sometimes, no matter how hungry of lustful she'd felt.

Even then, their attention hadn't set her blood on fire the way Potter's magical assault had.

No, there was something else. Something about the way he'd claimed her so completely, so publicly, while ensuring she couldn't resist or retaliate. He'd held all the power, and she'd been helpless to do anything but endure. The role reversal was intoxicating, and she didn't like it in the slightest.

Narcissa rolled onto her side, pressing her face into the silk pillow. She could still smell her perfume from that morning, the expensive French scent that was worth more than those wretched Weasleys made in a year. But even that reminder of her status and sophistication couldn't erase the memory of Potter's hands on her body.

Not his actual hands, of course. But the magical simulation had been so complete, so detailed, that her body hadn't known the difference. She'd felt fingers spreading her, exploring her, claiming her with a thoroughness that left her gasping. The invasion had been total and undeniable, and some traitorous part of her had wanted more.

She thought about his expression when their eyes had met across the crowd. There'd been satisfaction there, yes, but also something deeper. Recognition, perhaps. As if he'd seen something in her that matched what was in himself. The thought should have horrified her, but instead it sent another wave of heat through her belly.

What would he do next? The question tormented her as much as it excited her. Today had been a demonstration, a show of power designed to establish new rules between them. He'd proven he could reach her anywhere, that he could touch her in ways that would humiliate and arouse her simultaneously. But was this the end of it, or merely the beginning?

Narcissa's hand drifted lower, tracing the edge of her chemise where it met her thigh. The silk was warm from her body heat, soft against her fingertips. She imagined it was Potter's hand making that gentle journey as she caressed her inner thigh, so close to her womanhood that she could feel the heat emanating from it, and the thought made her breath catch.

She snatched her hand away, appalled at herself. She was a widow in mourning, for Merlin's sake. Lucius had been dead less than twenty-four hours, and here she was fantasizing about his killer's touch. The impropriety was staggering, even by her own flexible standards.

But propriety had always been a cage, hadn't it? A beautiful, gilded cage that kept her safe and respected but ultimately powerless. Potter had shown her what it felt like to break free from those constraints, even if only for a few stolen moments. The experience had been terrifying and exhilarating in equal measure.

She tried to summon outrage, to focus on the violation and humiliation. He'd manipulated her body without her consent, had forced her to experience pleasure in front of dozens of witnesses who remained oblivious to her torment. It was a form of assault, really, no matter how carefully he'd avoided actual physical contact.

The anger was there, burning bright and fierce. But underneath it, threaded through it, was that traitorous desire that refused to be dismissed. She wanted to hate him purely, to plan revenge that would restore her dignity and put him in his proper place. Instead, she found herself wondering what it would feel like if he touched her for real.

The thought was dangerous territory. She pushed it aside and focused on more practical considerations. Potter had made his move, had established himself as a threat to her composure and dignity. She couldn't allow that to stand. Her reputation, her family's standing, even her own sense of self—all of it depended on her ability to maintain control.

She would have to respond, but carefully. Direct confrontation would only give him more opportunities to humiliate her. No, she needed to be subtler, more strategic. She needed to turn his own weapons against him, to find his weaknesses and exploit them as ruthlessly as he'd exploited hers.

The problem was that she knew so little about him beyond his public persona. The Boy Who Lived, the hero of the wizarding world.

Today had shown her glimpses of the man beneath those titles—confident, ruthless, and far more sexually sophisticated than she'd expected. She would need to learn more, to understand what drove him, what he wanted.

Narcissa sat up, pushing her hair back from her face. The movement made her chemise shift, the silk sliding against her curves and sensitive skin in a way that reminded her again of his phantom touches. She ignored the sensation and focused on planning.

Her first priority had to be information. She needed to know Potter's weaknesses, his desires, his blind spots. Draco might be useful there—he and Potter did not get along at all, but that also meant he knew him better than most. There might be others as well, people who'd observed Potter closely enough to provide useful intelligence.

Once she understood him better, she could begin her campaign. Not the crude retaliation he might expect, but something more refined. She would turn his own attraction against him, use his desire to manipulate him as thoroughly as he'd manipulated her. She would make him want her, make him need her, and then she would withdraw that promise just when he thought he could claim it.

The vision of Potter brought to his knees before her, literally and figuratively, was intoxicating. She imagined him stripped of his arrogance, reduced to pleading for her touch, for her approval, for any scrap of attention she might deign to give him. The reversal would be complete and devastating.

But even as she planned her revenge, that treacherous part of her mind wondered what would happen if her manipulation went too far. If she succeeded in making him desire her, what would she do when he acted on that desire? The question sent another wave of heat through her, and she realized with growing alarm that her plans for revenge might be more dangerous to herself than to him.

She lay back down, pulling one of the silk pillows against her chest. The cool fabric felt good against her flushed skin, but it did nothing to calm the turmoil in her mind. Potter had awakened something in her that she'd thought long dormant, something hungry and reckless that threatened to overwhelm her carefully maintained control.

The smart thing would be to avoid him entirely, to retreat to Malfoy Manor and let the scandal of today's events fade into memory. But she knew she couldn't do that. The challenge had been issued, the gauntlet thrown down. Her pride, her very sense of self, demanded that she respond.

Besides, she was curious now. Potter had shown her a glimpse of possibilities she'd never considered, pleasures she'd never experienced. The proper thing would be to ignore that revelation, to pretend it had never happened. But even after years of practice, propriety had never become her strongest virtue, not when something truly interesting was at stake.

Narcissa closed her eyes and let herself remember one more time: the phantom touches spreading across her skin, the helpless arousal building despite her desperate attempts at control, the moment when her eyes had met Potter's across the crowd and she'd seen her own hunger reflected in his gaze.

Tomorrow, she would begin planning her response. She would research and strategize and prepare for a campaign that would bring Harry Potter to his knees. But tonight, in the privacy of her bedroom, she would allow herself to savor the memory of being thoroughly, completely claimed by a man who saw past her carefully constructed facade to the woman beneath.

The admission should have shamed her. Instead, it made her smile.

Harry Potter thought he'd won today's encounter, thought he'd established his dominance over the proud pureblood matron who'd looked down on his friends. He had no idea that he'd awakened something far more dangerous than wounded pride. He'd awakened desire, and desire could be a weapon more devastating than any curse.

'The game, after all, is just beginning,' Narcissa thought as her hands began their exploration, following those touches in earnest, and she began to pleasure herself to the thoughts of Harry Potter.

She would show him exactly who was the whore when this was finished.

To be continued…

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Chapter Text

Harry swirled the juice around as he drummed his fingers on the table, watching as Percy adjusted his horn-rimmed glasses for the third time in as many minutes. The git had been sitting at the breakfast table for twenty minutes now, and Harry could practically see the pompous lecture building behind those beady eyes.

"Pass the pancakes, would you?" Ginny asked sweetly, her foot finding Harry's under the table, her toes caressing him. She must've seen the derisive look he'd been giving Percy, and this was a way of her asking him very nicely that he shouldn't hex her brother at breakfast, no matter how big of a douche he was.

"Here," Harry said, sliding the plate across. His hand lingered on hers for longer than necessary, and Ginny smirked. He caught the look Hermione gave them and the flush creeping up her neck, and stifled a chuckle.

She muttered something from behind her copy of the Daily Prophet. After three weeks of relentless teasing from Ginny about her perpetual third-wheel status, she'd taken to hiding behind newspapers at meals.

The poor girl had practically stopped being alone with them after Ginny had started making increasingly suggestive comments about "expanding their study sessions."

Ginny caressed his hand some more before she pressed the ends of two of her fingers together, pushing his middle finger through the gap that formed between them. Hermione's newspaper crinkled as she gripped it tighter, her ears turning pink.

"Still can't believe he gave us all that!" Harry heard Fred whisper to George who frantically nodded.

"Who gave you what?" Ron asked.

"None of your business, Ronnekins," George grinned, sitting straight.

Ron didn't seem happy with the response, and as a back and forth started, Harry stifled a smirk as he exchanged a glance with Ginny.

Bagman had conned the twins badly during the World Cup betting, and there was no way she was letting that slide. A little intervention was all it took, and the twins were the happy recipients of the 420 galleons, as promised.

"I find such juvenile behavior highly inappropriate," Percy announced suddenly. He set down his teacup with a soft clink. "Especially given the current climate at the Ministry. Propriety and decorum are more important than ever."

"Oh, here we go," Ron groaned from across the table, reaching for his fourth piece of bacon.

"The Ministry," Percy continued, undeterred, "is facing unprecedented scrutiny following the World Cup incident. Minister Fudge has been working tirelessly—absolutely tirelessly—to restore confidence in our institutions. Why, just yesterday, I stayed until eleven helping draft responses to the Wizengamot inquiries."

Harry exchanged a look with Ginny. Arthur had mentioned that Fudge was catching hell from all sides, especially with Lucius Malfoy no longer around to grease the wheels and cover the Minister's considerable backside. Harry wondered idly who the plump bastard would whore himself out to now that his generous Death Eater benefactor had kicked the bucket.

"How noble of you," Ginny said dryly. "Sacrificing your beauty sleep for the greater good."

"Mock if you will, Ginevra, but some of us understand the importance of public service."

"Some of us also understand the importance of not being an insufferable prat," Ron muttered into his pumpkin juice.

"Ronald!"

"Boys," Mrs. Weasley said sharply from the stove, waving her wand to send more sausages floating to the table. "Enough. Percy, dear, shouldn't you be leaving soon? You did say you had that early meeting."

"In a moment, Mother. I was merely trying to impress upon—"

"Speaking of leaving," Ginny interrupted, desperate to change the subject before Percy launched into a full lecture, "has anyone heard from Bill or Charlie?"

"Charlie sent an owl yesterday," Mrs. Weasley said, brightening immediately. "Says he's doing well. Romania's been quite warm this summer, apparently. And Bill wrote from Egypt earlier this week."

The two oldest brothers had departed a few days after the World Cup, and both had left with knowing grins and comments about how they might be seeing everyone "sooner than they thought." The others still had no clue what that was about, and predictably, speculation followed.

"Probably going to jump out at the Hogwarts Express and surprise us," Ron said hopefully. "That'd be brilliant."

"Don't be ridiculous," Percy sniffed. "They have jobs, Ronald. Important positions. They can't simply abandon their posts for sentimental reunions."

"Unlike some people who never leave their posts," Ginny murmured, just loud enough for Harry to hear. "Even when everyone wishes they would."

Harry bit his lip to keep from laughing. The past few weeks had been relatively uneventful—remarkably so after the chaos of the World Cup. With Arthur leaving before dawn each morning and Percy returning well after dinner most nights, the Burrow had been blissfully quiet. Well, quiet except for the time he and Ginny had spent enthusiastically exploring the possibilities of empty rooms and unlocked doors.

And then there were his visits to Hogsmeade.

Alisia and Irina had settled into their new home beautifully, and Harry had made several trips to help them "settle in." They'd certainly christened nearly every surface in that house. The kitchen counter. The living room sofa. That one particularly memorable afternoon in the upstairs bedroom with the view of the mountains...

The Bulgarian Quidditch Team had released them from their contracts given the circumstances, and the two women were now exploring employment opportunities closer to home. Opportunities that apparently involved a great deal of afternoon availability.

"And Dad should've cleared it with his Head of Department before making a public statement like that—"

"Don't you dare blame your father for what that wretched Skeeter woman wrote!"

Harry stifled another sigh as Mrs. Weasley fumed at Percy and resolved to enjoy the delicious pancakes she'd made for them, even when Hermione joined in on the arguing when the topic of house elves came up. Like seriously? Couldn't she read a book and look at facts instead of looking at things from her activism-tinted glasses? He liked the girl, but she could be a bit much sometimes.

'Maybe a proper stick up her arse would loosen her up a bit,' Harry thought to himself, shaking his head mirthfully as he eyed her.

Percy cleared his throat self-importantly. "As I was saying, the current situation at the Ministry demands that we all conduct ourselves with the utmost—"

"Percy," Mrs. Weasley interrupted with a tired sigh, glancing at the kitchen clock where his hand pointed to "home" but was teetering dangerously toward "late." "Your meeting, dear."

Percy's eyes widened. "Oh! Oh, yes, quite right." He stood abruptly, gathering his briefcase and papers quickly. "Do remember what I said about propriety. It reflects on the entire family."

The moment he disappeared into the fireplace with a flash of green flames, Ron let out an exaggerated sigh of relief.

"Thank Merlin. Another five minutes and I was going to hex him."

"You'd have to get in line," Ginny said, finally removing her foot from Harry's leg. She grinned at him wickedly. "Though I'm sure Harry could think of more creative solutions."

Hermione muttered something under her breath again, raising the newspaper like a shield.

Harry caught Ginny's eye and smirked. Three more weeks of this had been absolute torture for poor Hermione, but he had to admit—watching her squirm was almost as entertaining as the activities that prompted the teasing in the first place.

Almost.

"Right then," Mrs. Weasley said, surveying the table with a critical eye. "Finish up, all of you. We need to leave for King's Cross in an hour, and I won't have you lot making us late because you couldn't stop bickering long enough to pack properly."

Their departure was marked by the usual Weasley family chaos, but finally, they managed to leave in time. Some taxis were arranged for them, and although Harry wanted to simply apparate over, he allowed Mrs. Weasley to usher him in alongside the rest of her brood.

Well, at least he could have some fun at Hermione's expense on the way over, he thought as he sat with her and Ginny pressed against him.

XXXXX

A red-faced Hermione hastily got out of the taxi as they came to a stop at King's Cross, and she briskly walked over to retrieve her trunk and cat-cage. She pointedly avoided either Harry or Ginny who were frankly having too much fun at her expense over the past few weeks.

They knew it was only a matter of time before she cracked, and both were looking forward to see that side of her emerge.

Harry had already let Hedwig fly away to Hogwarts, and he walked with his shrunken trunk in his pocket. They reached the platform entrance in no time. The women went first, followed by the twins and then Ron. Harry stood there waiting for a moment before looking around. He cast a wandless Notice-me-not charm before pulling his wand out and tracing a little rune right at the base of the pillar. The rune glowed green for a second before fizzing away.

Straightening back up, he put his wand away and walked through the pillar, whistling a jolly tune.

The gleaming red engine of the Hogwarts Express was already there, clouds of steam billowing from it. The noise was expectedly high, and there was no hint of the attack in the atmosphere.

Harry found Ron and Ginny waiting by the pillar and he looked around.

"Hermione went ahead. Said she'd find us a compartment."

Harry nodded at Ron and together, they set off to board the train. They found Hermione in a compartment about halfway along. The brunette had claimed the spot by the window, and she merely glanced over when they entered. Her eyes met Harry's for a mere second before she buried her face in her book once again.

Hermione shivered slightly when Harry took a seat beside her, and she pointedly stared at the book in her hand. Ginny sat right opposite her, with Ron sitting with her after closing the door.

"Blimey, shut up already!" He said grumpily, throwing his dress robes over Pigwidgeon's cage.

"The weather's a bummer today," Ginny remarked, and everyone looked outside. It was raining heavily, and they could barely make out anything outside.

"What's that you're reading?" Harry asked softly as he leaned closer to take a look, and Hermione froze for a moment before relaxing against him. She glanced at him sideways, silently telling him to scoot over slightly. Harry merely smiled and shifted, a little bit away but their bodies still touching.

"Rune crafting," she said softly. Her body felt hotter than before, and she cursed herself for reacting in this manner. But what could she really expect after everything that had been going on throughout the summer?

"Interesting," Harry murmured, reaching out and taking her hand, turning the book slightly towards himself. The moment he touched her, Hermione gasped softly. A sharp spark shot from her hand straight through her, and her heartbeat rose. "Something wrong?"

"N-No," she shook her head. "Nothing."

Harry gave her a smile and read alongside her, but Hermione's mind had blanked. This was the first time he'd touched her since that day, and Merlin did it felt different. They'd touched before, but something had changed between them. Fundamentally.

She tried to focus on her reading even as he pulled his hand away from hers, but failed miserably. Something was seriously wrong with her, and she knew she needed to fix it. She could not go on like this.

A little while later, Harry got to his feet and asked, "Going to find the trolley. Anything?"

Hermione shook her head and pointedly buried her face in the book while Ron asked him to get him some Chocolate Frogs.

"A popsicle for me," Ginny said with a dirty smirk. "Preferably a long and thick one."

Hermione eyed the redhead for a moment who was staring at Harry with that sultry look. Her lips pursed and she looked away.

"Be back in a bit," Harry winked, and left the compartment.

XXXXX

The rhythmic clacking of the train wheels against the tracks had become something like background noise. Pansy Parkinson sat alone in the compartment, watching the thick rain splattering the window as the Hogwarts Express carried her back to school. Her trunk sat on the rack above her head, noticeably lighter than it had been when she'd left Parkinson Manor the day after the Quidditch World Cup final. She'd had to sell some things. The nice things. The things that screamed old money and pureblood privilege.

Turned out freedom had a price tag, and hers was paid in jewelry and designer robes.

The small room she'd rented above a shop in Knockturn Alley wasn't much. The wallpaper was peeling, the floorboards creaked, and she was pretty sure something lived in the walls. But it was hers. Nobody told her what to think there. Nobody demanded she smile and curtsy and play the perfect pureblood daughter.

Worth it.

She'd spent most of those weeks alone, learning what it meant to fend for herself. Buying her own food. Washing her own clothes by herself because she couldn't afford the expensive laundering service her remaining clothes demanded. Figuring out how to brew a decent cup of tea without house-elves to do it for her.

The Daily Prophet had been brutal. She'd seen the articles, read the gossip columns. The Parkinsons' dirty laundry aired for all of magical Britain to see. Her mother had done her best damage control, naturally. Painted Pansy as an unstable girl, grief-stricken and irrational after her father's death. Cordelia had even managed to score some sympathy from her social circle, playing the role of a mother abandoned by an ungrateful daughter.

Pansy had expected as much. What she hadn't expected was how little she cared.

The Slytherin common room would be interesting this year. Most of her former friends had already made their positions clear through their silence. No letters. No visits. No owls asking if she was alright or where she'd gone. Just nothing, which told her everything she needed to know about where their loyalties lay.

She was alone. Well and truly alone. Or… not.

She'd thought about Harry Potter exactly once since that day at the Ministry.

That was a lie.

She'd thought about him more than once. She'd thought about him quite a bit, actually. About the way he'd looked at her like he could see past all the bullshit. About his words that had circled through her head like a spell she couldn't shake.

The question is whether you get to choose who you belong to now.

But she hadn't done anything about it. What was she supposed to do? Show up at his door like some pathetic charity case? She'd made her choice to walk away from everything, and that included whatever cryptic offer Potter might have been making. She'd figure out her own path, thank you very much.

Besides, Potter was a blood traitor. A mudblood lover. Just because she'd walked away from her family and the Malfoys didn't mean she'd suddenly become one herself. It just meant she was done being their little puppet.

She still believed mudbloods were stealing magic that didn't belong to them. Still believed in the natural order of things, in blood purity and the importance of maintaining proper magical lineage. She'd just stopped believing that groveling to the Malfoys was the way to preserve that order.

If anything, the Malfoys had proven themselves weak. Lucius had gotten himself killed by his own stupidity, taking her father down with him. Draco was a spoiled brat who'd inherited power he hadn't earned and didn't know how to properly wield. And Narcissa was a widow whose time would soon be over, and in no time, she would be scrambling to maintain relevance in her pathetic high society.

The real purebloods, the strong ones, wouldn't need to threaten and intimidate to maintain their position. They'd simply be powerful enough that others fell in line naturally.

Potter, for all his blood traitor tendencies, at least had real power. She could at least acknowledge that much. He was a powerful wizard, and if the rumors were true, he was tremendously powerful. That was worth something. Maybe even worth swallowing her pride about his choice of company.

But she hadn't reached out. Wouldn't reach out. If Potter wanted something from her, he could come find her himself. She wasn't about to go begging a blood traitor for scraps.

As for Draco… her fists clenched at the thought of him.

She hoped he choked on his own tongue. Hoped his precious family name became mud. Hoped he suffered every day knowing that his father had died because he was arrogant and stupid.

The Malfoys had taken everything from her. Not just her father, but her entire life. Every choice she'd ever made had been filtered through the question of what the Malfoys would think, what they would approve of, how it would reflect on their alliance.

Well, fuck them. Fuck Draco and his superiority complex. Fuck Narcissa and her scheming. And fuck Lucius's memory most of all.

She'd burn their world down if she could. Watch them scramble and panic as everything they'd built crumbled. See how they liked being the ones with nothing.

Her poisonous inner ramblings were interrupted as the compartment door slammed open with enough force to rattle the windows.

Draco Malfoy stood in the doorway, his face twisted with a mix of fury and satisfaction. He stepped inside, drew his wand, and locked the door behind him. Another flick closed the curtains on both sides, blocking anyone in the corridor from seeing inside.

Pansy scrambled, her hand flying to her wand as instinct took over.

"Stup—"

"Expelliarmus!"

Her wand flew from her grip and into Draco's waiting hand. He pocketed both wands, his grey eyes gleaming dangerously.

"Going to curse me, Pansy?" He said, his voice silky but she could detect the poison underneath. "Seriously? You thought you could get a spell off before I did? That's cute. Really. Almost as cute as watching you try to play the rebel at the Ministry."

Pansy's heart hammered against her ribs, but she forced herself to stay still, to meet his gaze without flinching. She'd known this confrontation was coming. Had been dreading it since the moment she'd walked out of her mother's house.

"What do you want, Draco?"

"What do I want?" He moved further into the compartment, and Pansy noticed he was alone. No Crabbe, no Goyle, and no Zabini. He'd come for this himself. "I think we need to have a conversation about respect. About knowing your place. About what happens when trash like you forgets where it belongs."

"Trash?" Pansy's voice was ice. "That's rich coming from you."

"Is it?" Draco's smile was razor-sharp. "Let's talk about the facts, shall we? Your father was a lackey. A useful idiot who did what he was told and got paid in scraps. My father was the one giving orders. My father was the one with real power."

"Your father's dead."

Draco's expression darkened as Pansy glared at him.

"So is yours," he said softly. "The difference is, mine died for something that mattered. Yours died because he was too stupid to say no. Like the loyal dog he was."

Pansy's nails dug into her palms. "Your father got mine killed."

"Your father got himself killed by being incompetent. Don't blame my family because yours couldn't handle the work." Draco leaned against the opposite seat, staring at her like she was a particularly interesting insect. "You know what the real tragedy is? My mother actually liked you once. Thought you'd make an acceptable daughter-in-law. Keep the bloodlines pure, give me heirs, manage the household. Simple things even you couldn't fuck up."

"How generous."

"It was generous," Draco snapped. "Do you have any idea how many families would have killed for that opportunity? To marry into the Malfoy line? And you threw it away because you couldn't keep your mouth shut for five fucking minutes."

"I threw it away because I'm not interested in spending my life as your broodmare."

Draco laughed. "Broodmare. That's funny. Like you had any other prospects. What did you think was going to happen, Pansy? You'd marry some other pureblood heir? News flash—they all saw you the same way I did. A pretty face with adequate curves attached to a mediocre family name. You weren't special. You were convenient."

Each word was meant to hurt, and they did. But Pansy had spent all this time alone with her thoughts, and she'd built up thicker skin than Draco realized.

"If I was so mediocre, why are you here?"

"Because you embarrassed me." His voice dropped to something dangerous. "Because you made me look weak in front of people who matter. Because you stood up in the Ministry and called my father—my father—a Death Eater. You accused him of murder. You made it sound like our family was responsible for your pathetic excuse for a bloodline losing its patriarch."

"You are responsible!"

"We gave your father purpose!" Draco's composure cracked, fury bleeding through. "We gave him something to fight for, something to believe in! If he was too weak to survive the fight, that's on him, not us!"

"He believed in you. In your family. And you got him killed for it."

"He died because he wasn't strong enough. Survival of the fittest, Pansy. It's how the world works. The strong thrive, the weak die off. Your father was weak. End of story."

Pansy wanted to curse him. Wanted to claw that smug expression off his face. But she forced herself to stay still, to keep her voice level.

"Is that what you tell yourself at night? That those who died at the Cup were just weak?"

"Yes." There was no hesitation. "They were soldiers who fell in battle. It happens. The strong survive and move forward. The weak... well, you're looking at what happens to their families."

"Your father didn't survive either."

Draco's hand twitched toward his wand. "Don't push me, Pansy."

"Or what? You'll kill me like your father killed mine?"

"My father was a great man," Draco said through gritted teeth. "He was working toward something bigger than himself. Something that would have secured our world for generations. The fact that people like you can't see that just proves how limited your thinking is."

"Your father was a coward. Nothing else."

Draco's face went red, a snarl escaping his lips.

"You want to talk about cowardice?" His voice shook with rage. "Let's talk about your bitch mother. Let's talk about how fast she threw you away to try and save her own reputation. Let's talk about how she's been spreading rumors about you being mentally unstable. Telling everyone who'll listen that you're damaged, broken, not worth anyone's time."

"I know what she's been saying."

"Do you know what else she's been doing?" Draco's smile returned, cruel and satisfied. "She's been begging. Actually begging my mother for forgiveness. Sending letters, showing up at the Manor, prostrating herself like a common servant. It's pathetic. Your mother is on her knees trying to salvage any scrap of connection to our family, and my mother is letting her grovel because it's amusing."

The image made Pansy's stomach turn. "You're enjoying this," she said quietly.

"Of course I'm enjoying this." Draco pushed off from the door and moved closer. "Your mother spent years kissing my mother's arse, and for what? Your family never had any real power. You were always just... hangers-on. Parasites feeding off the Malfoy name. At least your father was useful sometimes, running errands, doing the dirty work nobody else wanted. But your mother? She was always just taking up space at parties, desperately trying to pretend she belonged."

Rage flared hot in Pansy's chest. Whatever her mother's faults, hearing Draco talk about her like that made something violent wake up inside her.

"Don't you dare—"

"Don't I dare what?" Draco's voice dropped to a dangerous purr. "Say what everyone's been thinking for years? Your family was nothing special, Pansy."

He was right in front of her now, close enough that she could smell his expensive cologne.

"Cordelia Parkinson is finished. She's a joke. A cautionary tale about what happens when you don't keep your family in line. And the best part? It's all your fault."

"I'm not responsible for her choices."

"Aren't you? You're the one who made that scene. You're the one who couldn't just sit down and shut up like you were supposed to. One conversation, Pansy. One funeral. All you had to do was keep your mouth closed for one afternoon, and instead you decided to blow up your entire life."

"It was worth it."

"Was it?" Draco grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him. His grip was bruising. "Is it worth being nobody? Having nothing? Your mother's begging for scraps. Your family name is mud. Everyone knows you're a traitor. Everyone knows you turned on your own kind."

Pansy jerked her chin free. "Let go of me."

"Or what? You'll curse me? With what wand?" He pulled both wands from his pocket, dangling them tauntingly. "You're helpless, Pansy. You've always been helpless. The only reason anyone ever paid attention to you was because of me. Because they thought you were going to be my wife. Now? You're nothing."

"I'm not nothing."

"You are a traitor." He leaned in closer. "A blood traitor who chose to side against her own kind. Do you know what happens to blood traitors, Pansy?"

"I didn't side with anyone."

"You sided against us. That's the same thing. There are only two sides in this war, and you picked wrong." His voice dropped to a whisper. "And now you're going to pay for it."

"There is no war."

"There's always a war. Between the strong and the weak. Between those who understand the natural order and those who try to fight it. My father understood that. Your father tried to understand it but failed. And you?" He laughed. "You don't understand anything at all."

Pansy shoved him back, her anger finally overwhelming all caution. "Your father was a murderer and a coward, and he died like one. Without any dignity, like a commoner."

The defiance came automatically, words spilling out before Pansy could think better of them. She saw Draco's eyes flash, saw his hand move, but she wasn't fast enough to dodge.

The backhand caught her across the face with enough force to send her sprawling onto the seat. Her head bounced off the compartment wall, stars exploding across her vision. She tasted copper—her lip had split, blood filling her mouth.

Shocked, she pressed her hand to her burning cheek, her thumb pressing against the bleeding cut as she stared up at Draco with wide eyes. He'd never hit her before. They'd argued, sure. He'd been cruel with his words plenty of times. But he'd never actually raised a hand to her.

Draco stood over her, calmly pulling a handkerchief from his pocket. He wiped the blood from his ring slowly, his expression almost bored.

"You're nobody now," he said softly, and somehow that quiet tone was more terrifying than his earlier anger. "Nobody cares what happens to you. Nobody's going to come running if you scream. You have no allies at Hogwarts. You have no allies anywhere. That bitchy attitude of yours? It's made sure of that. Everyone knows you're a traitor. And traitors don't get protection. They don't get sympathy. They get what they deserve."

He leaned down, his face mere inches from hers. Pansy wanted to spit in his face, wanted to claw at him, wanted to do anything except sit there frozen while he loomed over her like a predator over prey.

"You better realize what your position is in the world now," Draco continued in the same soft voice. "Because if you don't learn it on your own, I'm going to teach you. And my lessons? They're not gentle."

Fury replaced shock. Pansy glared up at him, every muscle in her body tensing. She might not have her wand. She might be bleeding. But she'd be damned if she was going to cower anymore.

The look on her face must have triggered him because Draco's expression shifted. His hand shot out, fingers tangling viciously in her hair. He yanked her head back, forcing a cry of pain from her throat.

"I don't like that look," he hissed. "That look says you still think you have choices. That you still think you're somebody. Let me make this very clear, Pansy. I'm going to break you so thoroughly that by the time I'm done, you'll be nothing but my little bitch. You'll beg for my approval. You'll thank me for the privilege of breathing the same air. Do you understand?"

Pansy bit down on her split lip, refusing to answer. The pain in her scalp was intense—he was gripping hard enough that she could feel strands tearing.

"I asked you a question." Draco's voice was still quiet, still controlled, and that made it worse somehow. "Do. You. Under—"

In that instant, everything changed.

Draco's eyes rolled back in his head. His grip on her hair loosened, then released entirely. He slumped forward, and Pansy yelped, shoving frantically at his dead weight as he collapsed half on top of her. She scrambled to the side, her heart racing and her breath coming in sharp gasps.

What the hell just happened?

"Well," a male voice said from near the door, equal parts cocky and darkly amused. "That was quite the show."

She recognized that voice. She'd been thinking of him all summer long, ever since she'd left her family home.

Pansy's head snapped up, and her terrified eyes met the amused ones of one Harry Potter.

To be continued…

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Chapter Text

The corridor was more crowded than Harry had anticipated, with students milling about and catching up after the summer break. He navigated through the throng, nodding at a few familiar faces as he made his way toward the front of the train where the trolley usually started its rounds.

He found it near the third carriage, and as expected, he found a certain Ravenclaw beauty there.

"I don't know," Cho was saying. "The Pumpkin Pasties are good, but maybe something lighter?"

She was wearing a light pink jumper over a white top and denim jeans, her dark hair pulled back in a ponytail that swayed as she tilted her head. Harry wondered how it would feel to be pulling at them from behind as he bent her over.

"The Cauldron Cakes?" Marietta suggested.

"Too heavy," the third girl chimed in. "What about Bertie Bott's?"

"Too risky," Cho laughed. "I'm not brave enough for those today."

Harry moved closer, carefully positioning himself directly behind Cho. He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a low, intimate murmur.

"I'd recommend the Fizzing Whizzbees."

Cho jumped, spinning around so quickly she nearly collided with him. Her eyes went wide, one hand pressed to her chest.

Harry chuckled, raising both hands in mock surrender. "Easy there. Did I startle you?"

"A little bit," Cho admitted, her cheeks flushing pink as she took a small step back. Behind her, Marietta and her friend had dissolved into giggles.

"Sorry about that," Harry said with a grin, not sorry at all. He lowered his hands, casually sliding them into his pockets. "But seriously—Fizzing Whizzbees. They're light, sweet, and they literally make you float. Perfect for a rainy day like this."

Cho's flush deepened at his grin, but she managed a smile. "Is that so? And you're an expert on sweets now?"

"Among other things," Harry said smoothly, his green eyes twinkling with mischief. "But yeah, I've done my research. Trust me on this one."

"He does have a point," Marietta interjected, still giggling. "They are good."

"See? Independent verification," Harry said, gesturing toward Marietta without breaking eye contact with Cho. "Can't argue with that."

Cho bit her lip, and Harry found himself staring at it. She noticed, and her breath hitched.

"Well, when you put it that way..."

"I do put it that way," he said softly. "So? Are you going to take my recommendation, or are you going to leave me standing here wondering if my expertise is appreciated?"

"Your expertise," Cho repeated, her voice slightly breathless. "Right."

"Merlin, Cho, just buy the sweets already," the third girl said, though she was grinning widely. "Before you combust."

Cho shot her friend a mortified look before turning back to Harry. "Fine. You've convinced me. Fizzing Whizzbees it is."

"Excellent choice," Harry said approvingly. He stepped slightly to the side as Cho turned to the trolley witch to make her purchase, but he didn't move away entirely. When Cho had her sweets in hand and turned back around, he was still there, waiting.

"So," he said casually. "Looking forward to the new term?"

"I am," Cho said, clutching her candy. "But after everything that happened at the World Cup, I'm a bit nervous about what this year might bring."

Harry's expression sobered slightly. "Yeah, I can understand that. But hey—we're at Hogwarts. Safest place in Britain, right?"

"Right," Cho agreed, though she didn't sound entirely convinced. Then, seeming to shake off the darker thoughts, she smiled again. "Thanks for the recommendation. I'll let you know if it lives up to the hype."

"Oh, it will," Harry said confidently. He reached out, and for a moment Cho thought he was going to touch her arm, but instead he tapped the package of Fizzing Whizzbees in her hand. "And when it does, you'll owe me another chat. Deal?"

Cho's breath caught at the implication. "Deal," she managed.

"Good." Harry's grin was absolutely wicked. "I'll hold you to that, Cho."

He gave her a small wave, nodded to her still-giggling friends, and stepped past them to approach the trolley witch. Behind him, he could hear the urgent whispered conversation that erupted between the three Ravenclaws, and smirked.

"Chocolate Frogs, Pumpkin Pasties, and a couple of those orange ice pops," Harry said to the trolley witch, pulling out some coins. As she gathered his items, he glanced back once to find Cho still watching him. She looked away quickly when their eyes met, her friends practically dragging her down the corridor.

Harry paid for his purchases, shrinking them with a quick wandless spell before tucking them into his pocket. The corridor had cleared somewhat, and he took a moment to focus on the magic he'd woven into the platform earlier that morning.

The rune had been simple—barely more than a tracking charm, really—carved into the platform entrance where it would go unnoticed. He'd keyed it specifically to two magical signatures: Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson. And now, reaching out with his senses, he could see them. Not physically, but as two threads of magic, silver-white and shimmering in his mind's eye.

They were converging.

A sharp, predatory smile emerged on his face as he focused on the location, visualizing it in his mind. Fifth carriage, toward the rear. A compartment. He extended his awareness further, checking for any other presences nearby.

The coast was clear.

With a twist on the spot, Harry apparated, emerging in the narrow corridor outside a compartment door. The movement of the train didn't affect him; he'd timed the apparition perfectly.

He could immediately sense the wards on the door. Locking charms and a silencing charm.

Child's play.

Harry didn't bother to draw his wand. He merely flicked his finger at the door. He didn't take down the silencing charm entirely—that would alert little Draco immediately. Instead, he carefully carved a hole through it, a small gap in the magical barrier that would allow only him to hear what was being said inside.

He listened for a while, and finally deciding he'd heard enough, Harry moved. The locking charm dissolved. The silencing charm collapsed. And before anyone inside could register what was happening, Harry pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The blond Slytherin collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut, his body going limp and tumbling sideways.

Pansy's head snapped up and her terrified eyes met the amused ones of one Harry Potter who stood in the previously locked compartment, his hands casually in his pockets as he stared at Draco's unconscious form. His green eyes were filled with amusement. He looked calculating and interested in what he had witnessed.

"Potter." Her voice came out shakier than she would have liked. She touched her split lip, her fingers coming away bloody. "How did you—the door was locked—"

"Yeah, funny thing about locks." His hands in his pockets, Harry stepped over Draco like the Slytherin heir was a piece of luggage someone had left in an inconvenient spot. "Malfoy's locking charm's not worth shit. Didn't even need my wand."

"What are you even doing here?" She asked, her eyes wide.

"Well, I was standing out there for a while actually. Wanted to see how this little drama played out."

"W-What? You were listening? And you heard everything and just—"

"Waited to see if you'd need help or if you'd handle it yourself?" Harry finished. "Yep. You made quite an impression in the Ministry, Parkinson. I made it clear back then. Right now though? Wanted to see if you had fight left in you or if Malfoy would break you in five minutes."

He moved closer, and Pansy instinctively pressed herself against the window, her pulse still hammering. Harry noticed the reaction and stopped, an eyebrow raised. He held a hand up to reassure her.

"Easy, Parkinson. I'm not going to hurt you." His eyes flicked to her bleeding lip, and to the red mark on her cheek that was probably going to bruise even more spectacularly. "Someone else already took care of that, eh? Got a good hit, looks like. How's the face?"

Pansy's hand moved to her face automatically. "Cut the bullshit, Potter. What do you really want?"

"Right now? I want to know if you're as smart as I think you are." Harry flicked his finger and lifted Draco's body onto the opposite seat. The Slytherin flopped there like a rag doll, his pale hair falling across his face. Pansy's eyes bugged out at the casual display of wandless magic. "He'll be out for a while. Long enough for us to have a conversation, at least."

"You're going to get in trouble," Pansy said. Her tongue explored her split lip, probing the damage. "He'll report you. His mother will complain to the school. You'll—"

"I'll what?" Harry's smile was sharp. "Get detention? Lose house points? Please. First off, the prick didn't even see me. Second, he just assaulted another student on the Hogwarts Express. He locked the door, closed the curtains, disarmed you, and hit you hard enough to split your lip. There are rules against that sort of thing, turns out."

"Nobody will believe me over him."

"Maybe not. But they'll believe me." Harry leaned back, looking entirely too comfortable given the situation. "And I'm happy to tell anyone who asks exactly what I saw when I opened this door. Malfoy standing over you, fist raised, you bleeding and defenseless. Somehow I don't think that's going to play well for him, Slytherin prince or not."

Pansy stared at him, trying to process what was happening. Harry Potter had just saved her, stopping Draco from... what? How far would Draco have gone if Potter hadn't interrupted?

She didn't want to think about that.

"Why?" The question slipped out before she could stop it. "Why do you care what happens to me?"

"You told the Malfoys to fuck off," he said bluntly. "You called out Lucius as a Death Eater in front of the entire Ministry. You burned every bridge you had, destroyed your family's social standing, and walked away from everything you'd ever known. All because you refused to keep pretending that the people who got your father killed were somehow the good guys. Even though your father was not a good guy either. Don't make that face. You know I'm telling the truth."

"That doesn't answer my question."

"Doesn't it?" Harry tilted his head. "You made a choice, Parkinson. A real one. Most people don't have the guts to do that, especially when the cost is so high. I waited outside because I needed some sort of confirmation, I guess. Confirmation that you were worth it. If, after everything that has happened so far, you'd crumbled, begged him for forgiveness, promised to be his good little pet—I'd have walked away. Let you two work out your drama without me. But you didn't. You fought back. Told him his father was a coward and a murderer even after he'd disarmed you and hit you. That's interesting."

"Interesting…"

"Very. It tells me you've got spine. You've got balls. Not literally, but yeah. Tells me you're not just lashing out but actually committed to this new path you've chosen. And that makes you potentially useful."

"Useful." Pansy murmured, feeling something cold settle in her chest. "That's what this is about? You want to use me? You're just like the others then."

"Don't act so offended." Harry chided gently, his smile sharp. "Everyone uses everyone, Parkinson. The only question is whether you get something worthwhile out of it. The Malfoys used you. Your mother used you. Do I want to use you? Absolutely. At least I'm being honest about it."

He had a point, much as Pansy hated to admit it.

She'd realized this wasn't the rescue she'd initially thought it to be, and she had a foreboding feeling about what he would want from her.

She recalled what he'd told her outside the Ministry. The offer she'd thought about throughout the summer.

The question is whether you get to choose who you belong to now.

And truth be told, she had no answer.

"What could you possibly want from me?" She asked in as firm a voice as she could muster, hating herself when it came out wavered.

Harry's expression shifted, and his eyes roamed over her possessively. He smirked as he slowly got to his feet and took a step closer, staring her down. Wide-eyed, Pansy gazed back into his emerald orbs and felt a chill run down her spine as he smirked at her like a predator.

"I want your complete obedience to myself."

Pansy blinked, momentarily thrown off balance. Of all the things she'd expected him to say, that wasn't it. "My what?"

"Your obedience. Your loyalty. Your commitment." Harry said it like he was discussing the weather. "I want you to be mine, Pansy Parkinson. Fully and completely."

"Yours." The word felt strange in her mouth. "What exactly does that mean?"

"It means what it sounds like. You follow my lead. You take my direction. You trust my judgment over your own when it matters." Harry moved closer, and his gaze traveled over her in a way that made Pansy's pulse race. "And yes, before you ask—I want you to become one of my lovers."

Heat flooded Pansy's face, shock momentarily overriding every other emotion. "Y-You can't be serious!"

"Why not?" Harry's tone was maddeningly casual. "You're beautiful, obviously. Anyone with eyes can see that. And I've had my eyes on you for a while now. Come on, with an arse like that, there's no way you haven't caught me staring at least once. But most importantly, you've proven you've got enough spine to tell the Malfoys to fuck off even when it costs you everything. That's worth something in my eyes."

He said it all so matter-of-factly, like he was listing the qualities of a broom he was considering purchasing.

And she wasn't sure if that wasn't his exact approach here as well.

"You're insane," she whispered.

"I'm practical." Harry corrected. "Let's see. You need protection from Malfoy and others. You need resources. Pretty sure it must've been a struggle living on your own after everything. You need a place in a world that's just cast you out. I can provide all of that. In return, I want you. I want your unconditional loyalty. Seems pretty straightforward to me."

Pansy's mind was racing. This was indeed no noble rescue. This wasn't even just cold political calculation. Potter was looking at her like she was something he wanted to possess, and he wasn't even bothering to hide it.

"You're talking about—" she couldn't quite make herself finish the sentence.

"I'm talking about wanting you in every way," Harry said bluntly. "As an ally. As a source of information. As someone in my inner circle. And yes, in my bed, if we're being honest about intentions here. I don't see the point in pretending otherwise."

The sheer audacity of it left Pansy speechless for a moment. She'd expected manipulation, certainly. Expected him to want something from her. But this level of directness, this casual acknowledgment of wanting her physically as well as strategically—it was completely outside her experience.

"You don't even know me," she managed.

"I know enough. I know you're ambitious—you'd have to be to have survived this long in the Slytherin social hierarchy. I know you're willing to take risks when you see an opportunity. I know you're not squeamish about morally gray areas, given your background." His eyes met hers, calm and self-assured. "And I know you're in a position where you need what I can offer more than you need to worry about conventional morality or propriety."

It was true. All of it was true, and they both knew it. Pansy wanted to be offended, wanted to slap him and storm out. But she was also pragmatic enough to recognize her situation.

"This is blackmail," she said, but her voice lacked real conviction.

"This is an offer," Harry corrected. "A very generous one, considering your alternatives. I'm not forcing anything, Parkinson. You're free to walk away right now. Take your chances on your own. See how far you get."

"What if I refuse?"

Harry's expression didn't change. "Then I leave you here with Malfoy. Wake him up, let him finish what he started. You can try your luck surviving Hogwarts on your own with the Malfoy heir out for your blood and no one to watch your back. Maybe you'll manage it. Maybe you won't."

He moved toward the door, and Pansy felt a spike of panic.

"Here's how I see it playing out," Harry continued. "You can go back to trying to survive alone—and you might survive, probably. You're resourceful enough. But it'll be hard. Lonely. Dangerous. Malfoy will make sure of that. Every day will be a fight just to maintain your dignity and safety."

He paused, looking back at her with those calculating green eyes.

"Or you can accept what I'm offering. Protection. Resources. A place with people who'll actually have your back when things get ugly. Power, eventually, when I have it to share. And yes, a place at my side in more ways than one. All it costs is your loyalty and your trust. Seems like a fair trade to me."

"Fair." Pansy's laugh was bitter. "You want me to belong to you. You want me to be your whore."

"No need to be so crass. I want you, yes. But I want you to choose to belong to me," Harry corrected. "There's a difference. You've spent your whole life being told who you belonged to. Your father. The Malfoys. Your mother's ambitions. I'm offering you a choice. You can choose me. Choose the protection and opportunity I'm offering. Or you can choose to keep struggling on your own."

"That's not really a choice."

"It's more of a choice than Malfoy was offering you." Harry gestured at Draco's unconscious form. "He wanted you to be his bitch. To grovel and submit and accept whatever abuse he felt like doling out. I'm offering you partnership. Admittedly on my terms, but partnership nonetheless. I protect my people, Parkinson. I reward loyalty. And I make sure that anyone who comes after them regrets it."

He wasn't wrong about the comparison. Everything Harry was saying was manipulative and self-serving, but it was still better than what Draco had been threatening her with.

"You really want this," Pansy said slowly, studying his face. "You actually want me."

"Yes." No hesitation. "I want you. For all the reasons I've outlined. You're useful, you're beautiful, and you've just proven you're brave enough to be interesting. Why wouldn't I want that?"

The honesty was almost more disturbing than if he'd tried to dress it up in prettier words. At least she knew exactly where she stood.

"And if I agree?" Her voice was steadier now. "What exactly would that mean?"

"It means you're under my protection starting now. Anyone who comes after you answers to me. It means you share information when I ask for it—nothing that would endanger your life, but enough to be useful. It means you trust my judgment and follow my lead when it matters." Harry's smile was sharp. "And it means that you'll become my lover as well. Fully on mutually agreeable terms."

Pansy's mind was spinning. This was insane. Agreeing to this would be trading one form of control for another. But at least Potter was being honest about what he wanted. At least he was offering her something tangible in return. At least he wouldn't abuse her. It wasn't much, but it was more than anything else she could hope to get.

And honestly? The thought of belonging to someone who actually wanted her—not just as a political pawn or a status symbol, but as herself—wasn't entirely unappealing. Even if his methods were manipulative as hell.

"I need time to think about this."

"No, you don't." Harry's voice was firm, and he took her by surprise. "You need to make a choice right now, before Malfoy wakes up. Because if you're not with me when he does, you're on your own. And we both know how that ends."

Damn him. Damn his calculating green eyes that saw right through her. He was right, and she didn't like it at all.

Her options were basically nonexistent. On one side, a lonely, terrifying road of fending for herself against the full might and fury of the Malfoy family, a fight she knew, deep down, she would eventually lose. On the other... Potter.

Her mind began to whirl, moving past the initial shock as she began to think critically. This wasn't a surrender. It couldn't be. It had to be a tactical retreat. He had laid his cards on the table, and while most of them were high, he'd revealed one crucial thing.

I've had my eyes on you for a while now. Come on, with an arse like that...

He was attracted to her. He wanted her. Not just as an asset, but physically. The thought, which had initially been shocking, made her think.

Men, even powerful ones like Potter definitely was, were idiots when it came to sex and desire. It made them careless. It created blind spots. He thought he was being brutally honest and direct, but he'd unknowingly just handed her a key. He thought he was acquiring a loyal subordinate and a warm body for his bed. He didn't know any better.

She was a snake from the viper's pit, not some foolhardy lion.

She could play the part. She could be obedient, loyal, and committed to him. She would warm his bed, pleasure him to the best of her abilities, and whisper in his ear, establishing herself with him.

She would learn his weaknesses, his desires, and his fears. She would make herself indispensable, not just useful. She would leverage his attraction, turning his desire for her into a shield and then, perhaps, into a leash.

He was offering her protection, but if she played this right, she could gain something far more valuable: influence over the one person who had the potential to shape their entire world. This wasn't about belonging to him. This was about making him believe she did, while she carved out her own power from within his.

And if the power he wielded was anything to go by, she would never lack in satisfaction if she was with him. Pleasure was a certainty if her hunch about him was correct. Magic would ensure as much.

Now that she thought clearly, she realized she could have everything to gain from this arrangement. The choice became blindingly clear. It wasn't a choice between freedom and submission. It was a choice between a slow, certain demise and a dangerous, glittering opportunity.

And Pansy Parkinson had never been one to shy away from a risk.

She lifted her chin, her dark eyes meeting his. The fear was still there, but it was now overcome with a steely resolve.

"Alright, Potter," she said, her voice surprisingly steady. "You have a deal. You hold your end of the bargain, keep me safe and satisfied, and you will have my loyalty and whatever else you want from me."

A slow smirk spread across Harry's face, a predator's smile that held no real warmth. It was a look of pure satisfaction and triumph. "I thought you might see it my way."

And then he moved. Before she could so much as blink, he closed the remaining distance between them in two long strides. She startled, and her back hit the cold glass of the compartment window with a soft thud. He didn't touch her, not yet, but he was so close she could feel the heat radiating from his body, trapping her completely.

His scent was fresh, uniquely masculine and wild, and it filled her senses. Her breath hitched in her throat and her eyes widened as she stared up at him.

His gaze dropped to her mouth, then to the faint, purpling bruise on her cheek.

"First rule," he said, his voice a low murmur that made her shudder. "I don't like my things damaged."

Things…

He looked her directly in the eyes, and the sheer intensity of his stare pinned her in place.

"You're mine now, Pansy. And I take care of what's mine."

He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a husky whisper that brushed against her ear, sending a cascade of shivers down her spine.

"You will never want for anything again. As long as you remember who you belong to."

His words were possessive, objectifying, everything she should have hated. But coming after Draco's crude threats, they felt less like an insult and more like a promise. A dark, binding promise. Her body reacted before her mind could properly process it. A strange warmth bloomed in her chest, spreading through her limbs.

He raised a hand, and she flinched instinctively. He paused for a fraction of a second before continuing, slower this time, silently telling her he meant no harm. His fingers were long and calloused, yet they were impossibly gentle as his thumb came to rest on her lower lip, right over the small, stinging cut from Draco's ring.

She held her breath, her heart hammering against her ribs. His thumb brushed over the broken skin, once, twice. It should have hurt, but it didn't. Instead, a strange, tingling sensation emanated from his touch, seeping into her skin.

She watched, mesmerized, as a faint golden light flickered at the tip of his finger. The sting vanished. The tenderness receded. When he finally drew his thumb away, she unconsciously ran her tongue over the spot. It was smooth. Healed.

He had healed her, wandlessly and without a single word. The displays of casual, powerful magic were more intimidating than any threat he could have uttered.

His eyes had darkened, the emerald turning into a stormy forest green. He kept his hand cupped around her jaw, his thumb now stroking softly along her cheekbone.

"Like my touch?" he whispered, his voice a silken rasp that made her knees feel weak.

She couldn't find her voice. All her clever plans, all her schemes of manipulation, seemed to evaporate in the face of this overwhelming physical presence. Her mind was screaming at her to be careful, to stay in control, to remember the plans she'd made not even two minutes ago, but her body was a traitor, melting under his gentle caress. She could only manage a small, jerky nod, a shuddering breath escaping her lips as she did.

A satisfied hum rumbled in his chest. "Good."

His attention moved to the bruise on her cheek. His fingers traced its outline, and again, that cool, tingling sensation of magic washed over her skin. It felt like cool water on a sunburn, soothing the ache and chasing away the discoloration. He took his time, his fingers making slow, sensual circles, and with every pass, the tenderness faded until it was gone completely.

The contrast was dizzying. The cool, healing magic on her face and the hot, coiling fire low in her belly. She shivered again, a full-body tremor this time, and to her absolute shock and mortification, she felt a dampness bloom between her legs. Her toes curled, and she clenched her pelvis, desperately trying to maintain any semblance of control.

Her body was responding to him, eagerly and unquestionably. This wasn't part of the plan! She was supposed to be the one using seduction as a tool, not the one being so easily seduced by a simple touch and a display of power. She felt a flush of heat crawl up her neck, hoping the dim light would hide her blush.

His gaze dropped to her lips again, and his head tilted, slowly closing the last inch of space between them. His breath was hot against her skin, smelling faintly of mint, and she shivered.

This was it. This was the sealing of their bargain, the first payment on her debt. She squeezed her eyes shut, her hands clenching into fists at her sides as she braced herself for his kiss, for the claiming, and as much as she wanted to deny it, she knew, deep down, that in that moment, she truly wanted it more than anything.

And then... nothing.

The warmth was gone. The pressure at her back vanished. A cool draft of air hit her, and her eyes snapped open in surprise.

Harry had taken a step back. He stood near the middle of the compartment, that infuriating, knowing smirk plastered back on his face, showing that he knew exactly what he'd just done to her. He had brought her to the edge, made her want it, and then knowingly pulled away. He was playing with her!

"You should get some rest," he said, his tone utterly casual, as if they'd just been discussing the weather. "It's been a long day for you."

Pansy could only stare at him, a glare forming in her eyes. The arousal curdled into a mix of frustration and anger. He was a bastard. An arrogant, manipulative bastard. And he was in complete control. He looked the very picture of innocence, but his eyes danced with triumphant amusement as he glanced down to the spot between her legs and then back at her face.

The bastard knew!

His gaze flickered over to the corner where Draco still lay in an undignified heap. "Don't worry about him," Harry said, his voice losing its playful edge and becoming cold and dismissive. "I'll take out the trash."

He made a small, almost imperceptible gesture with his hand. Malfoy's body lifted from the floor, floating silently in the air beside him, held aloft by the same wandless magic that seemed to come to him effortlessly. Harry turned and began to walk towards the compartment door, Malfoy's unconscious form trailing behind him.

He slid the door open but paused in the doorway, looking back at her over his shoulder. The smirk was gone, replaced by a look of cool possession, a final, meaningful glance that sent another shiver through her.

"You should look forward to the school year, Pansy," he said softly. "It's going to be quite different from what you might have expected."

With that, he stepped out into the corridor, pulling the door shut behind him.

For a long moment, Pansy didn't move. She stood frozen, her back still pressed against the window, and her mind a chaotic whirlwind of emotions. The lingering tingle of his magic on her, the feeling of his touch, the sting of his dismissal, and the terrifying reality of the deal she had just made—all crashed over her at once.

Finally, she released the breath she didn't even realize she'd been holding. Her legs gave out, and she dropped onto the velvet seat with a distinct thud. She stared at the closed door, at the swaying curtain, and at the empty space where the Boy-Who-Lived had just turned her entire world on its head.

She had wanted to manipulate him, to use his desire against him. But he had not given her even an opportunity or moment to believe she had a chance. As if he'd read her thoughts, he'd driven home the point that she was a novice playing checkers against a grandmaster of a game she didn't even understand.

She leaned her head back against the seat, closing her eyes.

What in Salazar's name had she just gotten herself into?

To be continued…

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Chapter Text

The Hogwarts Express pulled into Hogsmeade Station with its usual screech of brakes and hiss of steam. Harry stepped off onto the platform with Ron and Hermione flanking him, the cool evening air a welcome change from the stuffy compartment they'd occupied for most of the journey.

"Firs' years! Firs' years over here!" Hagrid's booming voice carried over the general din of students disembarking and gathering their belongings.

Harry glanced toward the half-giant and caught sight of someone else entirely. Cho Chang was making her way through the crowd with her friends, her dark ponytail swaying with each step. Their eyes met across the platform and her cheeks flushed pink as a slow smile spread across her face. Harry returned it with a slight smirk, letting his gaze linger just long enough to make his interest clear before she looked away, biting her lip.

Marietta whispered something in her ear and Cho swatted at her friend's arm, laughing.

"You coming, mate?" Ron's voice broke through his thoughts.

Harry turned to find both Ron and Hermione staring at him with varying expressions. Ron looked confused while Hermione's lips were pressed into a thin line.

"Yeah, let's go."

They made their way toward the horseless carriages that would take them up to the castle. Harry climbed in after Ron and Hermione, settling onto the worn leather seats. The carriage lurched forward and began its steady climb up the winding path.

Through the window, Harry caught another glimpse of someone. Pansy was walking toward a carriage by herself, her expression carefully neutral. But when her eyes found his through the carriage window, something flickered there. Recognition. Understanding. And beneath it all, a wariness that made Harry's lips curve into a satisfied smile.

She looked away quickly, her hand moving unconsciously to touch her lower lip where Draco's ring had split it open just hours before. Harry had healed it, of course, but the memory clearly remained fresh.

"Who are you looking at?" Hermione's sharp voice cut through his thoughts.

Harry turned to find her watching him with narrowed eyes. "Just taking in the sights."

"Right." She didn't sound convinced.

The carriage rolled to a stop after a while in front of the castle's massive oak doors. Students poured out of the various carriages and made their way inside, the excited chatter echoing off the stone walls. Harry followed the crowd into the Entrance Hall and through to the Great Hall where the four house tables stretched out beneath the enchanted ceiling.

The ceiling showed a perfect replica of the darkening sky outside, stars beginning to emerge as twilight deepened into night. Candles floated overhead, casting warm golden light across the assembled students.

Harry slid onto the bench at the Gryffindor table between Ron and Neville, with Hermione settling across from them next to Ginny. Further down the table, he could see Fred and George already engaged in some heated discussion with Lee Jordan, probably plotting their next scheme.

His eyes drifted across the Hall to the Ravenclaw table where Cho sat with her friends. She was listening to something Marietta was saying but her attention kept wandering, her gaze flickering toward the Gryffindor table. When she caught Harry watching, she quickly looked down at her plate, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

Harry smirked and his gaze shifted to the Slytherin table. Pansy sat near the end of the table, deliberately positioned as far from Malfoy as physically possible without actually leaving her house section entirely. The ponce was holding court with his usual cronies, his pale face still looking a bit peaked from being knocked unconscious earlier.

Good.

His eyes met Pansy's across the Hall. He could tell how much effort it was taking for her to maintain a carefully blank expression but even then, something passed between them, an acknowledgment of the deal they'd struck. She was his now, whether she fully understood what that meant or not. The slight, shaky nod she gave him confirmed it.

"What's got you so interested in the Slytherin table?" Ginny's voice was light but probing.

Harry turned to find her watching him with an amused glint in her eyes. She knew something was going on, or at least suspected it. Ginny was far too perceptive for her own good sometimes.

"Just making sure everyone's where they should be," Harry replied smoothly.

"I'm sure." Ginny's smirk said she didn't believe him for a second, but she wasn't going to push it. Not here, not now.

The double doors to the Hall opened and Professor McGonagall led the first years inside. They huddled together in a nervous cluster, their faces pale and eyes wide as they took in the magnificence of the Great Hall. The Sorting Hat sat on its stool at the front of the Hall, waiting to fulfill its annual duty.

Harry tuned out most of the Sorting ceremony. He'd seen it plenty of times already and the novelty had worn off. New Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs were cheered, new Ravenclaws and Slytherins were met with polite applause from the other houses, and the whole process dragged on as it always did.

Finally, the last first year was sorted into Hufflepuff and McGonagall carried the stool and hat away. Dumbledore rose from his seat at the center of the staff table, his arms spread wide in welcome.

"Welcome!" His voice carried easily through the Hall, amplified by magic. "Welcome to another year at Hogwarts! I have a few start of term notices to announce, but first, let us feast!"

He clapped his hands and food appeared on the golden plates before them. Roast chicken, beef, pork chops, lamb, potatoes in every preparation imaginable, vegetables, Yorkshire puddings, and more covered every available inch of the tables.

Ron immediately loaded his plate with an impressive amount of food while Hermione selected more modest portions. Harry took a bit of everything, his appetite returning now that the tension of the day had passed.

"This is brilliant," Ron mumbled around a mouthful of roast beef. "Missed this over the summer."

"Your mum's cooking is excellent," Harry pointed out.

"Yeah, but there's something about the Hogwarts feasts." Ron gestured vaguely with his fork. "It's different."

Conversation flowed around them as students caught up with friends they hadn't seen over the summer break. Harry participated when appropriate but his attention kept wandering to other parts of the Hall. To Cho, who was laughing at something her friend said. To Pansy, who was pushing food around her plate without really eating. To Ginny, who kept shooting him knowing looks that suggested she was putting pieces together he knew she would.

Nosy little thing.

When the main course vanished and desserts replaced them, Dumbledore rose once more. The Hall gradually fell silent as students turned their attention to the Headmaster.

"Now that we are all fed and watered," Dumbledore began, his eyes twinkling behind his half-moon spectacles, "I have several announcements to make. Mr. Filch, our caretaker, has asked me to remind you that the list of forbidden items has been updated and now includes Screaming Yo-yos and Fanged Frisbees. The full list may be consulted in Mr. Filch's office."

A few students groaned while Fred and George exchanged evil grins.

"I would also like to introduce two new members of staff. First, Professor Moody, who will be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts."

A scarred, grizzled man stood from his seat at the staff table. His magical eye whirred and rotated in its socket, taking in the entire Hall at once. The applause was scattered and uncertain. Mad-Eye Moody looked exactly like his reputation suggested, dangerous and half-mad.

"And Professor Rubeus Hagrid, who has graciously agreed to take on the position of Care of Magical Creatures teacher in addition to his duties as gamekeeper."

The applause was much more enthusiastic this time, especially from the Gryffindor table. Hagrid's face turned red as he stood and gave an awkward little wave before sitting back down.

Harry drummed his fingers on the table, his gaze curious. Things were indeed different from how they'd unfolded previously.

"Now," Dumbledore continued, his expression growing more serious, "I have something rather extraordinary to announce. Hogwarts has been chosen to host a very exciting event that will be taking place throughout this school year. An event that has not been held for over two hundred years."

The Hall was completely silent now, every student hanging on Dumbledore's words.

"I am delighted to inform you that the Triwizard Tournament will be taking place at Hogwarts this year."

For a moment, there was absolute silence as the words sank in. Then the Hall erupted.

Fred and George leapt to their feet, whooping and pounding the table. Students at every house table were talking excitedly, the volume rising to near-deafening levels. Even the normally composed Ravenclaws were chattering animatedly.

"Brilliant!" Ron shouted over the noise. "The Triwizard Tournament! Imagine getting picked as champion!"

"It's incredibly dangerous," Hermione said, frowning. "People have died competing."

"That's part of the excitement though, isn't it?" Ron countered.

The Triwizard Tournament. Three schools, three champions, three dangerous tasks. And there would be significant rewards for the winner beyond just glory.

Dumbledore raised his hands and gradually the noise subsided enough for him to continue.

"For those unfamiliar with the tournament, it is a competition between three schools: Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang. Each school will be represented by a single champion who will compete in three magical tasks. These tasks are designed to test the champions' magical prowess, daring, and powers of deduction. The champion who accumulates the most points across the three tasks will win the Triwizard Cup and eternal glory."

More excited whispers rippled through the Hall.

"The delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving in the final week of October," Dumbledore went on. "The tournament itself will officially begin on Halloween, when the Goblet of Fire makes its selection of the three champions. An impartial judge whose decision is final and binding."

"This is going to be incredible," Ron breathed.

"However," Dumbledore's tone grew supportive, "I must inform you that due to the tournament, several of our usual activities will be suspended for the year. Most notably, the Inter-House Quidditch Cup will not take place."

The announcement hit like a Bludger to the chest. The Hall erupted again, but this time with dismay rather than excitement. The Gryffindor table in particular seemed to deflate, with several members of the house team looking absolutely gutted.

"No Quidditch?" Ron looked horrified. "But I was going to try out for Keeper this year!"

Further down the table, Angelina Johnson's face had gone pale. "This is a disaster."

"What? Why?" Ginny asked as Harry turned to look at his teammate properly.

Angelina was in her sixth year, a Chaser on the Gryffindor team and one of the best they had. She'd been instrumental in their victories over the past few years.

"Because I'm supposed to be captain this year," Angelina said, her voice tight with frustration. "McGonagall told me before the summer. And now there's no team to captain."

Fred reached over and patted her shoulder. "Could be worse, Angie."

"How could it possibly be worse?"

"Well," George said thoughtfully, "the castle could be on fire."

"Not helpful, Fred."

"I'm George."

"Whatever."

Harry could understand her plight. A year without Quidditch would indeed be strange, and to be denied the honor of captaining your house team must be gutting.

"Maybe they'll let us have practice matches," Katie Bell suggested from further down the table. She was another Chaser, smaller than Angelina but incredibly fast. "Just for fun."

"It's not the same," Angelina muttered.

"No," Harry agreed. "But it's better than nothing."

Katie turned her attention to him, her brown eyes meeting his. "You'll still fly with us though, right? Even if it's just messing around?"

Harry let his gaze linger on her for a moment longer than strictly necessary.

"Of course," he said, his voice dropping slightly. "Always better to stay in practice. Wouldn't want to get rusty."

A faint blush colored Katie's cheeks at the look he was giving her but she held his gaze. "Good. We'll hold you to that."

"I'm counting on it."

The exchange was subtle enough that most people wouldn't have noticed anything unusual. But Ginny noticed. Her smirk widened as she watched the interaction, clearly finding the whole thing amusing. When Harry glanced her way, she raised her goblet in a small, private toast that made him want to laugh.

Hermione, on the other hand, was frowning. It was a small frown, barely there, but Harry caught it anyway. She was watching Katie with an expression he couldn't quite decipher before she looked down at her plate and stabbed a piece of chicken with more force than necessary.

Interesting.

Dumbledore continued making announcements, something about the house cup and behavior expectations, but Harry had stopped paying attention. His mind was already working through various possibilities, calculating angles and opportunities.

The Triwizard Tournament would draw attention away from everything else happening at Hogwarts. That could be useful. And if he happened to get his name in that Goblet, he knew he'd be selected. Being a champion with the backing of the school would be quite an experience this time.

Finally, dessert vanished from the tables and Dumbledore dismissed them all to their dormitories. The benches scraped against stone as hundreds of students rose and began filing out of the Great Hall.

Harry walked with Ron and Hermione, Neville and Ginny joining them as they headed toward the Entrance Hall. The crowd was thick, students moving in clusters and still chattering excitedly about the tournament.

As they reached the corridor leading to the Grand Staircase, Harry heard a familiar voice that made him slow his pace.

"...can't believe the audacity of that blood traitor," Draco Malfoy was saying, his drawling voice carrying over the general noise. "Throwing away everything for what? Some misguided sense of morality?"

Harry glanced back and spotted Malfoy surrounded by his usual group. Crabbe and Goyle flanked him like matching bookends, their expressions vacant as always. Theodore Nott stood slightly apart, his arms crossed and face unreadable. Blaise Zabini completed the group, looking bored with the entire conversation.

"She made her choice," Zabini said with a shrug. "Stupid choice, but hers to make."

"A choice that cost her everything," Nott added quietly. "Her family, her status, her future."

"Exactly," Malfoy sneered. "And she'll regret it. Mark my words, before the year is out, Parkinson will be crawling back, begging for forgiveness. If I didn't know any better, I would've bet she was just another mudblood."

Ahead of them, moving quickly through the crowd, Harry could see Pansy. Her shoulders were rigid, her head held high, but there was something vulnerable in the way she moved.

Malfoy's gaze followed her retreating form, his eyes narrowed with vindictive satisfaction.

Something cold and sharp settled in Harry's chest. He'd made a deal with Pansy, had claimed her as his own. And that meant Malfoy talking about her like that was unacceptable.

Harry stopped walking. Ron nearly bumped into him.

"Harry? What's wrong?"

Harry didn't answer. He turned and walked back toward Malfoy's group, his stride purposeful. Students parted around him, sensing something was about to happen.

"Malfoy."

The blond Slytherin turned, his sneer already in place. It faltered slightly when he saw Harry approaching, but he recovered quickly.

"Potter. Still as pathetic as ever."

"I came to give you some advice."

Malfoy's eyebrows rose. "Oh? And what would that be?"

"Watch your mouth."

The corridor had gone quiet, students stopping to watch the confrontation. Harry was vaguely aware of his friends behind him, of other Gryffindors and students from various houses gathering to see what would happen.

Malfoy laughed, the sound harsh and mocking. "Excuse me? You're telling me to watch my mouth? That's rich, coming from you."

"I'm serious, Malfoy." Harry's voice remained level, almost conversational. "You might want to reconsider how you talk or what words you choose to use."

"And why would I do that?" Malfoy took a step forward, his confidence bolstered by having his friends around him. "What, are you the defender of mudbloods now? Your mother and Granger over there rouse some sort of white knight in you?"

"You really don't know when to shut up, do you?" Harry's lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile. "It's almost impressive, how consistently stupid you can be."

Crabbe and Goyle made confused grunting sounds but neither seemed to understand they should probably be offended on Malfoy's behalf. Nott's eyes narrowed while Zabini looked suddenly interested, his boredom evaporating.

"How dare you," Malfoy hissed. "You have no idea who you're dealing with, Potter. My father—"

The corridor went absolutely silent as Malfoy suddenly cut himself off.

Harry laughed. It started as a chuckle and built into genuine laughter that echoed off the stone walls. Students exchanged confused glances, unsure what was so funny.

"Your father?" Harry repeated, still laughing. "Your father will hear about this? Really, Malfoy? That's what you're going with?"

Malfoy's face had gone pale, then flushed red with anger and something else. Humiliation, maybe. Or fear.

"How exactly is your dear daddy going to hear about anything?" Harry continued, his voice cutting through the silence like a knife. "Last I checked, he was too busy being dead to care about your petty school drama."

Gasps rippled through the assembled students. Several people looked shocked at the bluntness of Harry's words. Malfoy looked like he'd been slapped.

"You don't get to talk about my father," Malfoy's voice shook with rage.

"Why not? He was a Death Eater. Everyone knows it. He followed a maniac who made purebloods like your father grovel on their knees and suck him off. Your father pledged his loyalty to that, served that, and died for that." Harry's smile was sharp and cruel. "Seems like something worth talking about, don't you think?"

"You filthy half blood," Malfoy spat.

"There it is," Harry said pleasantly. "The blood purity rhetoric. Tell me, does it help? Clinging to these old prejudices like they mean something? Does it make you feel better about the fact that your father died following a madman?"

Malfoy's hand flew to his wand, his fingers wrapping around it with shaking fury.

Harry's wand was out before anyone could blink, the tip pressed firmly under Malfoy's chin, forcing his head back. The movement had been so fast that even the students who'd been watching closely had barely seen it happen.

Malfoy froze, his grey eyes wide as they focused on the wand digging into the soft flesh beneath his jaw. His own wand was only halfway out of his robes, his draw interrupted by Harry's superior speed.

"I wouldn't," Harry said softly, his voice carrying a dangerous edge that made several nearby students take a step back. "I really, really wouldn't."

The corridor was deathly silent. Even Crabbe and Goyle had enough sense to not move, their small eyes fixed on the wand at their leader's throat.

"Things are going to be different this year onward, Malfoy," Harry continued, his voice conversational despite the threat implicit in his stance. "You don't have Daddy's protection anymore. You don't have his filthy mug backing every stupid thing you do. You don't have his influence keeping you safe from consequences."

Malfoy swallowed hard, the movement visible against Harry's wand tip.

"So here's what's going to happen. You're going to stop running your mouth. You're going to stop thinking you can act like you own this school. And you're going to remember that you're not special anymore. You're just another student with a dead Death Eater for a father and a rapidly shrinking inheritance."

"Potter." Nott's voice was carefully neutral. "Maybe you should lower your wand."

Harry's eyes flicked to Nott without moving his wand. "Should I? Your friend here just reached for his wand first. I'm simply ensuring he understands the error of that decision."

"We don't want trouble," Zabini said, his hands raised slightly in a placating gesture.

"Then you should probably convince your friend to stop causing it," Harry replied. His attention returned to Malfoy. "Because if he keeps pushing, if he keeps thinking he can act like his father's legacy means something, well. It wouldn't do for another Malfoy to do something foolish and meet a similar fate, would it?"

The threat was absolutely blatant. There was no mistaking Harry's meaning. Several students gasped at the audacity of it.

Malfoy's face had gone from red to white, his entire body rigid with a combination of fear and rage. His mouth opened and closed but no sound came out.

"I'm glad we understand each other," Harry said pleasantly. He lowered his wand, stepping back and tucking it away in one smooth motion. His gaze swept over Crabbe, Goyle, Nott, and Zabini. "That goes for all of you, by the way. Tread lightly. This isn't last year. Things have changed."

His smile was feral, predatory, and completely devoid of humor. It was the smile of someone who knew he held all the power and wasn't afraid to use it.

None of the Slytherins spoke. Even Zabini, usually so quick with a cutting remark, remained silent.

Harry turned and walked back toward his friends, the crowd parting around him like water. Students stared at him with expressions ranging from shock to awe to something that might have been fear.

Ron's mouth was hanging open. Neville looked like he wasn't sure what he'd just witnessed. Dean and Seamus were whispering urgently to each other.

But it was the expressions on the girls' faces that caught Harry's attention.

Hermione was staring at him with wide eyes, her lips slightly parted and her cheeks flushed. There was something in her gaze that Harry couldn't quite identify, something between shock and something else entirely.

Katie's eyes were bright, almost glittering as she watched him. Her expression held open admiration mixed with something warmer that made Harry's lips curve into a satisfied smile.

And Ginny. Ginny's brown eyes were practically glowing with an emotion Harry recognized immediately because he'd seen it often enough. It was hunger. Desire. The look of someone who'd just seen power demonstrated and wanted a piece of it for themselves.

"What the hell was that about?" Ron finally found his voice as they started walking again.

"Nipping idiocy in the bud," Harry said simply. "Malfoy needed to understand that things are different now. He can't keep acting like his father's influence will protect him or get him out of trouble."

"But threatening him like that," Hermione said, her voice a bit breathless. "Harry, that was incredibly dangerous."

"Was it?" Harry glanced at her. "He reached for his wand first. I just responded faster."

"You threatened his life," Neville pointed out quietly.

"I made an observation about the dangers of following in foolish footsteps," Harry corrected. "If Malfoy took that as a threat, well. That says more about his guilty conscience than my intentions."

Ron let out a slightly hysterical laugh. "Bloody hell, mate. That was brilliant."

"That was reckless," Hermione countered, but her voice lacked conviction.

"Maybe," Harry allowed. "But necessary. Malfoy needed to understand where he stands now. Better to make it clear early than let him think he can carry on like before."

They reached the Grand Staircase and began climbing. Students who'd witnessed the confrontation were already spreading the word, whispers following them up the stairs. By tomorrow, the entire school would know that Harry Potter had publicly humiliated and threatened Draco Malfoy.

Good. Let them talk.

At the entrance to Gryffindor Tower, Harry gave the password to the Fat Lady and led the way into the common room. The space was warm and inviting, the fire crackling in the grate and comfortable chairs scattered around the room.

"I'm going to bed," Harry announced. "Long day."

"But it's barely past nine," Ron protested.

"I'm tired." Harry headed toward the stairs to the boys' dormitories. "See you all tomorrow."

He could feel their eyes on him as he climbed the spiral staircase, could hear the immediate eruption of conversation the moment he was out of sight. They'd be discussing what happened with Malfoy, trying to figure out what it meant, what had changed about Harry over the summer.

Let them wonder.

The fourth year boys' dormitory was empty when Harry entered. His trunk sat at the foot of his four-poster bed, his belongings already unpacked by the house elves. He changed into sleep clothes, brushed his teeth, and climbed into bed.

However, sleep didn't come easily. Even when his dormmates came and drifted off, he remained awake.

He lay on his back, staring up at the dark canopy of his bed. His curtains were drawn back, allowing the moonlight streaming through the window to cast silver patterns across the floor.

His mind was too active, running through the events of the day. The encounter with Cho on the train, sweet and promising. The confrontation with Draco, satisfying in a visceral way. The deal he'd struck with Pansy, which had yielded exactly the results he'd wanted.

Ginny was already his. Hermione was circling closer, her reactions tonight suggesting she was more aware of him than she'd been before. Cho was interested, her blushing and lingering glances making that obvious. Pansy was claimed, whether she fully accepted it yet or not. And now Katie, showing interest that Harry fully intended to encourage.

Things were progressing nicely. Better than he'd hoped, really.

His thoughts drifted to another prize he had his eyes on. Narcissa Malfoy. The cold, elegant Lady Malfoy who'd looked down her nose at everyone for years. The thought of taking her, of reducing her to his plaything, of making the proud pureblood witch submit completely made something dark and satisfied curl in Harry's chest.

He'd love to knock her off her fucking perch, make her his whore, have her on her knees begging for him. The image was intoxicating. Narcissa, stripped of her dignity and pride, existing only for his pleasure.

One galleon per session seemed fitting. Let her understand exactly how far she'd fallen.

Movement at the door snapped Harry from his thoughts.

His eyes focused on the entrance to the dormitory. Someone was opening the door, the hinges creaking softly. Harry's brows furrowed as he stared curiously.

A figure slipped inside, silhouetted against the faint light from the stairwell before the door closed softly. Harry could make out a feminine shape, smaller and slighter than a male student would be.

What the hell?

The intruder paused just inside the room, seemingly waiting for their eyes to adjust to the darkness. Harry could hear soft breathing, nervous and quick. The figure looked around the dormitory, checking each bed.

Harry recognized her then. The wavy brown hair was unmistakable even in the low light.

Hermione.

She moved further into the room, her steps tentative and careful. She was trying to be quiet, clearly not wanting to wake anyone. Harry watched through barely slitted eyes, feigning sleep while tracking her movement.

She approached his bed slowly, her breathing getting more uneven with each step. By the time she reached his bedside, Harry could hear the rapid pace of her breath, the soft gasps she was trying to suppress.

What was she planning?

Hermione stood beside his bed for a long moment, just breathing. Harry kept his eyes closed, his own breathing deep and even to maintain the illusion of sleep.

He heard the rustle of fabric, soft and distinct in the quiet room. Then Hermione's voice, barely a whisper.

"This is so wrong. What am I even doing? This is crazy. I'm crazy for even thinking about this."

Harry's brows furrowed slightly. What was she talking about?

More rustling of clothes. Then a soft scraping sound against wood. Something being picked up from his bedside table.

His wand.

Hermione had taken his wand from the nightstand.

Harry's first instinct was to sit up immediately, to confront her and demand to know what she thought she was doing taking his wand. But curiosity held him back. What possible reason could she have for taking it? What was she planning?

He forced himself to remain still, to keep breathing evenly despite the questions racing through his mind.

Hermione's breathing became more labored, each inhale and exhale louder than the last. Small sounds escaped her, gasps and soft noises that sounded almost like whimpers. Then she spoke again, her voice breathy and strained.

"Harry."

The way she said his name made Harry's groin tighten. It wasn't a normal tone. It was heated, desperate, almost pleading.

What the hell was she doing?

Harry cracked his eyes open the barest fraction, just enough to see through his lashes without obviously opening them. What he saw made his eyes widen in genuine shock.

Hermione had positioned herself near the window, the moonlight falling directly across her body in a shaft of silvery light. One of her legs was propped up on the edge of Harry's bed, her skirt hiked up around her thighs. And his wand, his wand, was in her hand, the tip disappearing beneath the hem of her skirt.

Her head was thrown back, her face turned toward the ceiling. Her mouth was open, soft pants and gasps escaping her lips. Her free hand braced against the windowsill, gripping it hard enough that her knuckles showed white even in the dim light.

She was using his wand. On herself. While standing next to his bed.

"Oh god, Harry," she whimpered, her voice barely audible. Her hips moved slightly, rolling in small circles. "This is so wrong. So wrong, but I can't stop thinking about it. Can't stop thinking about you."

Harry stared, completely taken aback. He couldn't have imagined this sight even in his wildest dreams. Hermione Granger, his bookish, rule-following best friend, was standing beside his bed using his wand to pleasure herself while gasping his name.

Her breathing grew more ragged, her movements becoming less controlled. She bit down hard on her lower lip, clearly trying to keep quiet, to not wake the other boys sleeping around them. Small moans escaped despite her efforts, muffled but distinct.

"Harry. Oh god, Harry."

His name on her lips, spoken like that, sent heat pooling in Harry's stomach.

Hermione's movements became more urgent, her hand working faster beneath her skirt. The moonlight caught on her face, highlighting the flush across her cheeks, the way her teeth dug into her lip, the flutter of her eyelashes.

"Please," she whispered, so quietly Harry almost didn't hear it. "Please, Harry."

Her whole body tensed, going rigid as she pressed harder against the windowsill. Her mouth opened in a silent cry, her head falling back further as she shuddered. The hand holding Harry's wand trembled and her leg nearly gave out, forcing her to catch herself against the wall.

For several long moments, she just stood there, breathing hard and trembling. Then slowly, she straightened. She pulled his wand out from under her skirt, her movements shaky and uncoordinated.

Harry watched as she carefully wiped the wand clean on the inside of her skirt, her face burning with what was clearly mortification now that the heat of the moment had passed. She placed it back on his nightstand exactly where it had been, her fingers lingering on it for just a moment.

"I'm completely mental," she whispered to herself. "Absolutely insane. What is wrong with me?"

She turned and looked at Harry's supposedly sleeping form. Her expression was a complicated mix of desire, shame, and something almost like longing. She stared at him for what felt like an eternity before finally turning away.

Hermione crept back toward the door, moving even more carefully than she had on the way in. She slipped out into the stairwell and the door closed behind her with a soft click.

Harry lay in his bed, his eyes now fully open, staring at the spot where she'd stood.

Had that just happened?

Hermione. Hermione had just used his wand to masturbate while moaning his name. Hermione, who lectured him about breaking rules and following proper procedures. Hermione, who blushed if someone made a mildly inappropriate joke.

That Hermione had just done that.

Harry's mind was running a million miles a minute. This changed things. This changed a lot of things. He'd noticed her paying more attention to him lately, had seen the way she looked at him sometimes, obviously the work of Ginny, but this? This was something else entirely.

Hermione wanted him. She wanted him right now, wanted him badly enough to sneak into the boys' dormitory in the middle of the night and do that next to his supposedly sleeping form.

He'd been planning to seduce her slowly, to tease her with Ginny's help, and to draw her in gradually over time. But if she was already this far gone, if she was already fantasizing about him to this degree, then his plans could accelerate significantly.

Harry reached over and picked up his wand from the nightstand. It looked perfectly ordinary, no different than it had before. But knowing what Hermione had just done with it, knowing where it had been and what she'd been thinking while using it, made something dark and possessive stir in his chest.

She'd chosen his wand specifically. Not her own, which would have been safer and more logical. His. She'd wanted something of his, some connection to him, even if he wasn't actually awake and participating.

The level of desire that suggested was intoxicating.

Harry turned the wand over in his hands, his mind already spinning with possibilities. Hermione had revealed a vulnerability tonight, had shown him exactly how much power he already had over her thoughts and fantasies. That was leverage. That was opportunity.

And Harry Potter never wasted an opportunity.

He set the wand back on the nightstand and settled back into his pillows, a slow smile spreading across his face. Tomorrow, he'd have to be careful around Hermione. She'd be mortified if she suspected he'd been awake, if she had any idea he'd witnessed what she'd done.

But the knowledge was his now. The understanding of her desire, her need, her willingness to break rules and abandon propriety for him. That knowledge would shape everything going forward.

Hermione Granger wanted him. And by the time Harry was done, she wouldn't just want him.

She'd need him.

The smile on Harry's face widened as he closed his eyes, finally allowing sleep to claim him. Tomorrow would bring new opportunities, new challenges, new pieces to move across the board he was creating.

And he couldn't wait to see how it all unfolded.

To be continued...

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Chapter Text

Harry woke up the next morning to Ron's snoring and early sunlight filtering through the dormitory windows. He stretched, feeling perfectly rested. He recalled the confrontation with Malfoy the previous evening and a smirk emerged on his face. The ponce better understand the pecking order now, although he didn't have much hopes for him. The fucker was nothing but an idiot who didn't know when to back off.

Dean and Seamus were already up, arguing about something Quidditch related as they dressed. Neville was carefully tending to a plant on his bedside table, murmuring encouragement to it in that gentle way of his.

"Morning," Harry said as he swung out of bed.

"Morning," Neville replied without looking up. "Sleep well?"

"Well enough."

Ron finally stirred, groaning as he sat up and rubbed his eyes. "What time is it?"

"Time to get ready for breakfast," Dean called over his shoulder. "Unless you want to miss it."

That got Ron moving. The prospect of missing a meal was enough motivation to get his ass out of bed with remarkable speed.

Harry dressed quickly, pulling on his school robes and running a hand through his perpetually messy hair. Not that it made much difference. His hair did what it wanted regardless of his efforts.

The common room was already filling with students when they descended. Harry spotted Hermione sitting in one of the armchairs near the fire, her bag already packed with books and her hair pulled back into a ponytail. She'd changed a lot as she'd grown up, blossoming into a truly desirable woman.

He had a small smile on his face as he and Ron approached her, and as she looked up, her expression brightening slightly.

She was trying hard, Harry observed with mirth, to put forward a composed, normal look, but he had not missed the way her eyes had lingered on him for a second longer or the sudden flush that had invaded her cheeks, no doubt reminded of what she'd done the previous night.

Dirty, dirty girl.

"Good morning," she said simply. "Ready for the first day?"

"As ready as I'll ever be," Ron muttered with a stifled yawn. "What've we got today anyway?"

"Double Potions with the Slytherins, then Herbology, and History of Magic after lunch," Hermione recited without needing to check her schedule.

"Brilliant," Ron said flatly. "Start the year off with Snape in a foul mood."

They made their way down to the Great Hall together. The castle was alive with activity, students hurrying to breakfast or finishing last minute summer assignments in the corridors. The noise level was higher than usual, conversations buzzing with excitement about the Triwizard Tournament announcement.

But there was another topic that seemed to be on everyone's lips as they entered the Great Hall. Harry caught fragments of conversation as they passed.

"Did you hear what Potter did to Malfoy?"

"Had his wand right at his throat, I saw it myself."

"Threatened to kill him, from what I heard."

Harry ignored the whispers and headed for the Gryffindor table. The enchanted ceiling showed a crisp blue sky with wispy clouds drifting lazily overhead. Owls swooped through the air above them, delivering the morning post.

He slid onto the bench and immediately began loading his plate. Eggs, bacon, sausages, toast. Simple but filling.

Hermione sat across from him, her portions considerably smaller and more health conscious. Ron plopped down beside Harry and immediately started shoveling food onto his plate with the enthusiasm of someone who'd been starved for weeks rather than hours. Harry chuckled as he glanced at him.

He caught movement to his right and he glanced over to see Ginny approaching the table. She looked fresh and bright eyed despite the early hour, her red hair falling loose around her shoulders. She slid onto the bench next to Hermione, her brown eyes meeting Harry's with a knowing glint.

"Morning," she said cheerfully.

"Morning," Harry replied, letting his gaze linger on her just a fraction longer than necessary.

Ginny's lips curved into a small, sultry smile reserved only for him before she turned her attention to her breakfast.

"So," Hermione said after a moment, her voice carefully neutral. "I imagine the whole school will be talking about last night."

"Probably," Harry agreed with a shrug, swallowing a mouthful of eggs.

"You don't seem concerned."

"Should I be?"

"You threatened another student, Harry. In front of witnesses."

Harry shrugged. "He reached for his wand first. I responded. If anyone has a problem with that, they can take it up with me directly."

Hermione's lips pressed into a thin line but she didn't argue further. Instead, her attention shifted to her breakfast, though Harry noticed the way her eyes kept darting back to him. He could recognize that look easily enough. For all her verbal disapproval, her true thoughts showed something else entirely, just like the previous evening after that altercation.

Maybe that's what triggered her rather… audacious display. She simply couldn't control herself.

Last night had been a surprise. But a very good surprise. He had no idea Hermione had that in herself, that she would be so eager and responsive, and the memory of her gasping his name was one Harry planned to revisit frequently.

His attention drifted across the Hall to the Ravenclaw table. Cho was there, laughing at something her friend Marietta was saying. As if sensing his gaze, she looked up and their eyes met. Her cheeks immediately flushed pink and she quickly looked away, but not before Harry caught the small smile playing at her lips.

He smirked and shifted his focus to the Slytherin table. Pansy sat alone near the far end, as far from Malfoy's usual spot as she could manage while still technically being at her house table. Just like last night she was pushing food around her plate without actually eating, her expression carefully blank.

Malfoy himself was holding court with his usual group, though Harry noticed the way his movements were stiffer than normal. The prat kept glancing toward the Gryffindor table, his expression a mixture of anger and what Harry easily recognized as fear.

Good. Let him stew.

"Harry." Hermione's voice was sharp.

He turned back to find her watching him with narrowed eyes. "Yes?"

"What are you looking at?"

"Nothing in particular." Harry picked up his goblet and took a drink. "Just observing."

"Observing what?"

"People. Reactions. The usual."

Hermione didn't look convinced but she let it drop. Instead, she launched into an explanation of the Potions assignment Ron had neglected, her voice taking on that lecturing tone she got when discussing academics.

Harry tuned most of it out, his attention drifting once more. This time his gaze found Katie Bell further down the Gryffindor table. She was talking animatedly with Angelina and Alicia Spinnet, but when she caught him looking, she paused mid-sentence. Her brown eyes held his for a long moment before she smiled and turned back to her conversation.

But Harry noticed the way her cheeks had colored slightly, and the way her fingers played with a strand of her dark hair. Typical.

"Honestly, Harry, you're being very strange this morning," Hermione said, drawing his attention back.

"Am I?" He asked, turning to regard her.

Hermione was quite pretty when she wasn't frowning at him over homework. Her brown eyes were bright and intelligent, her skin smooth despite the dusting of freckles across her nose. And her lips, currently pressed together in mild annoyance, were actually quite appealing.

"You're staring," she said, her voice suddenly quieter.

"Sorry," Harry said, though he didn't sound particularly sorry. "Just noticed your hair looks different today."

Hermione's hand flew to her ponytail self-consciously. "It's the same as always."

"Is it?" Harry tilted his head slightly, studying her. "Looks nicer."

Hermione's cheeks flushed pink and she looked down at her plate, suddenly very interested in her toast.

Ron, oblivious as always, was still shoveling food into his mouth at an alarming rate.

Ginny, however, had noticed. Her eyes sparkled with barely suppressed amusement as she watched the exchange. When Harry glanced her way, she gave him a wink that he answered with the slightest of smirks.

The rest of breakfast passed in relative silence. Hermione remained flustered, sneaking glances at Harry when she thought he wasn't looking. Ron continued eating like it was his last meal. And Ginny kept up that knowing smirk. She was enjoying watching him work his subtle magic on Hermione.

When they finally headed down to the dungeons for Potions, the corridors were crowded with students. Harry walked beside Hermione, close enough that their arms occasionally brushed. Each time it happened, Hermione tensed slightly but didn't pull away.

"Nervous about Potions?" Harry asked quietly.

"Why would I be nervous? I always do well in Potions."

"True. Snape doesn't seem to appreciate that though."

Hermione sighed. "No, he doesn't. But that's hardly new."

They reached the dungeon classroom and filed inside with the other students. The room was dim and cold as always, the stone walls lined with shelves full of ingredients in various states of preservation. The classroom smelled the same as usual.

Harry chose a seat near the back, and Hermione automatically took the seat beside him. Ron slumped into the seat on Harry's other side, already looking half asleep.

The Slytherins filed in moments later. Malfoy entered surrounded by his usual group, his pale face set in a scowl. When his eyes landed on Harry, something flickered across his expression before he quickly looked away and headed for a seat on the opposite side of the room.

Pansy entered last, her posture rigid as she made her way to an empty seat near the front. The students watched her pass with various expressions ranging from disdain to curiosity. She kept her eyes forward, refusing to acknowledge any of them.

Snape swept into the classroom moments later, his black robes billowing behind him like the wings of some giant bat. He moved to stand behind his desk, his dark eyes surveying the class with his usual expression of barely concealed contempt.

"The start of a new year," he said, his voice soft and dangerous. "A time when I am forced once again to attempt to drill basic potion making skills into your thick skulls. Most of you will fail. Some of you will produce barely adequate results. And a precious few might actually demonstrate competence."

His gaze swept over the class, lingering on Harry for a moment longer than necessary. His eyes were calculating, but all he received in return was a stoic look.

"Today we will be brewing the Draught of Peace," Snape continued. "A potion that calms anxiety and soothes agitation. The instructions are on the board. You have until the end of class. Begin."

The classroom erupted into controlled chaos as students began gathering ingredients. Harry stood and made his way to the supply cupboard, acutely aware of Hermione following close behind.

"We'll need valerian root and syrup of hellebore," she murmured, reaching past him for a jar on the higher shelf.

The movement brought her close, close enough that Harry could smell the faint scent of parchment and vanilla that seemed to cling to her. He turned slightly, seemingly to reach for another ingredient, but the shift brought them even closer together, their chests touching and their faces mere inches apart.

Hermione froze, her hand still outstretched toward the shelf. Harry could see the rapid flutter of her pulse at her throat and her parted lips beckoned him closer.

"Careful," he said softly. "Don't want to drop anything."

"I... yes. Right." Hermione grabbed the jar and quickly stepped back, her cheeks flushed.

Harry smiled to himself as he collected the rest of their ingredients and returned to their table. Ron had already started measuring out powdered moonstone with his characteristic lack of precision.

"You're supposed to use exactly three grams," Hermione said automatically, sliding back into her seat.

"I am using three grams."

"That's at least four."

"It's fine."

Harry tuned out their bickering once again and began preparing his own ingredients. Potion making had always come easier to him than people realized. Snape's open hostility made it difficult to demonstrate that competence, but Harry found he enjoyed the precise, methodical nature of it.

He began adding ingredients to his cauldron in the proper order, his movements efficient. Beside him, Hermione worked with her usual intense focus, her brow furrowed in concentration as she stirred her potion exactly seven times clockwise.

Harry chose to give her more attention than his own potion. The way she bit her lower lip when concentrating. The way her fingers moved with care and precision. The way a strand of hair had escaped her ponytail and now hung beside her face.

Smiling to himself, he reached over and gently tucked the errant strand behind her ear.

Hermione startled, nearly dropping her stirring rod. "Harry, what are you doing?"

"Your hair was in the way. Dangerous to have loose hair near potion fumes."

"I... thank you." Her voice came out barely above a whisper.

Their eyes met and held for a long moment. Harry let his gaze drop briefly to her lips before returning to her eyes. Hermione's breath caught audibly.

"Potter!"

Harry turned to find Snape standing beside their table, his expression thunderous.

"I was not aware that grooming oneself was part of the potion making process," Snape said silkily. "Perhaps you'd like to share with the class what you were doing instead of focusing on your work?"

"Just making sure Hermione didn't accidentally contaminate her potion, sir."

"How thoughtful. Twenty points from Gryffindor for your concern."

"That's not fair!" Hermione protested. "He was just helping!"

"Make that thirty points, Miss Granger, for your impertinence." Snape's lips curved into a cruel smile. "I suggest you both focus on your potions before I'm forced to give detention as well."

He swept away, leaving Hermione looking mutinous and Harry entirely unbothered by the loss of points.

"That was unfair," she muttered.

"When is Snape ever fair?"

"Still. You were trying to help and he just..." She trailed off, shaking her head.

Harry chuckled and returned his attention to his potion, which had turned the proper silver shade. He let it simmer for the required time while keeping half his attention on Hermione beside him. She was still flustered, her movements slightly less precise than usual.

The rest of the double period passed slowly. Snape prowled between the tables like a hunting predator, criticizing work and deducting points with abandon. Gryffindor bore the brunt of it as usual, though even some of the Slytherins weren't safe from his scathing commentary.

When the bell finally rang, students began bottling their potions for evaluation. Harry filled a vial with his perfectly acceptable potion and placed it on Snape's desk. Hermione's was equally good, possibly better. Ron's looked slightly lumpy but probably wouldn't kill anyone.

"Pathetic, Potter," Snape said without even looking at Harry's sample. "As always, you demonstrate the bare minimum of competence."

Harry didn't even deem Snape worthy enough to deserve a response. He simply gathered his things and headed for the door. Hermione and Ron followed, both looking relieved to escape the dungeon's oppressive atmosphere.

"That man is insufferable," Hermione declared once they were safely in the corridor.

"Tell us something we don't know," Ron said.

They had a free period before Herbology, so they headed up to the library to work on the essay Snape had assigned. The library was relatively empty this early in the term, most students preferring to enjoy their free time outside rather than buried in books.

Madam Pince watched them with her usual suspicious glare as they selected a table near the back. Harry pulled out his Potions textbook and parchment, though he found it hard to concentrate on the assigned reading about the properties of moonstone. He'd much rather brew than read.

Hermione chose to sit beside him rather than across the table, which struck Harry as interesting. She spread out her own materials and immediately began writing her essay with her characteristic efficiency.

Harry shifted slightly in his seat, letting his knee brush against hers under the table. Hermione's quill stuttered across the parchment, leaving a small ink blot. She didn't move away though.

"Do you have the section on valerian root?" Harry asked quietly.

"Page forty-three," Hermione replied without looking up.

Harry leaned closer, apparently to read from her textbook since his was open to a different page. The movement brought their shoulders together, the warmth of her body pressing against his side.

Hermione's breathing had gone shallow. Her quill remained frozen above her parchment.

"Thanks," Harry murmured, his lips close to her ear.

He could see the goosebumps rise on her skin, could see the way her fingers tightened around her quill. But she still didn't pull away. He smirked.

Ron, oblivious as always, was already struggling with his essay. "How do you spell 'hellebore'?"

"H-E-L-L-E-B-O-R-E," Hermione said automatically, though her voice sounded slightly strained.

The rest of their free period continued in that vein. Harry worked on his essay, all while maintaining that subtle physical contact with Hermione. A brush of fingers when reaching for the same book. His hand resting on the back of her chair. His shoulder pressed against hers as they shared the textbook.

Each touch was innocent enough on its own. But together they formed a pattern that Hermione couldn't possibly be missing. And judging by the flush that had spread from her cheeks down her neck, by the way she kept biting her lower lip, by the way her breathing remained unsteady, she was very aware of what was happening.

When it was time for Herbology, they gathered their things and headed outside. The September air was warm and pleasant, a light breeze carrying the scent of the Forbidden Forest and the grounds.

Greenhouse Three was already filling with students when they arrived. Professor Sprout greeted them cheerfully, her round face beaming as she ushered them inside. The greenhouse was humid and earthy, packed with various magical plants in different stages of growth.

"Today we'll be working with Bouncing Bulbs," Professor Sprout announced. "They're quite temperamental, so do be careful. Work in pairs, please."

Harry automatically moved to stand beside Hermione. Ron paired off with Neville, which left Hermione and Harry sharing a workstation.

"Have you worked with Bouncing Bulbs before?" Harry asked as Professor Sprout demonstrated the proper technique for handling them. "I remember you visiting the greenhouses a few times last year."

"Only in theory," Hermione admitted. "They're supposed to be quite tricky."

"We'll manage."

Professor Sprout distributed the bulbs and they set to work. The bulbs were exactly as advertised, bouncing around their pots annoyingly. Harry had to catch theirs twice before it could bounce away entirely.

"Careful!" Hermione reached out to steady his hands as he attempted to repot the bulb.

Her fingers wrapped around his wrists, warm and soft. Harry glanced at her, noting the concentration on her face and the way her teeth worried at her lower lip.

"Got it," he said gently.

Hermione didn't immediately let go. Her fingers remained wrapped around his wrists for a moment longer than strictly necessary before she seemed to realize what she was doing and quickly pulled back.

"Sorry, I just... you almost dropped it."

"No need to apologize. I appreciated the help," he smiled.

They worked together in comfortable silence, managing to successfully repot their Bouncing Bulb without major incident. Around them, other students were having varying degrees of success. Neville and Ron's bulb had bounced clear across the greenhouse and nearly took out a Venomous Tentacula. Seamus had somehow set his on fire, which shouldn't have been possible but this was Seamus.

When class finally ended, they were all covered in a fine layer of dragon manure compost. Hermione wrinkled her nose as she brushed futilely at her greenhouse robes.

"I'll never get used to that smell."

"Could be worse," Harry pointed out. "Remember when we had to juice Bubotuber pus?"

"Please don't remind me."

They put their greenhouse robes away and headed back up to the castle for lunch. The Great Hall was already packed with students, the noise level considerably higher than at breakfast. Harry led the way to the Gryffindor table and claimed seats near the middle.

Food appeared on the golden plates and Harry helped himself to roast chicken and potatoes. Hermione selected a more modest portion of salad and vegetables. Ron, as usual, loaded his plate with everything within reach.

"How'd you manage to get so dirty in Herbology?" Ginny's voice came from behind them.

Harry turned to find her sliding onto the bench beside Hermione, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she took in their disheveled appearance.

"Bouncing Bulbs," Hermione explained. "They live up to their name."

"Sounds eventful."

Ginny's gaze met Harry's across the table and he caught the heat there, the knowing look that they always shared between them. He knew she wanted him. Probably tonight.

"Very," Harry agreed, letting his eyes linger on her just long enough to make his meaning clear.

Ginny's cheeks flushed slightly but her smile remained confident. She turned her attention to her lunch, though Harry noticed the way she kept glancing at him when she thought no one else was looking.

Further down the table, Harry spotted Katie laughing at something Angelina was saying. As if sensing his attention, Katie looked up and their eyes met. She smiled brightly before turning back to her conversation.

"You're staring around again," Hermione observed quietly.

"Just observing social dynamics," Harry replied smoothly.

"Is that what we're calling it now?"

There was something sharp in her tone, something that made Harry turn his full attention to her. Hermione was watching him with an expression he couldn't quite read. Her brown eyes were narrowed slightly, her lips pressed together.

"Something wrong?" he asked.

"No. Why would anything be wrong?"

"You seem annoyed."

"I'm not annoyed."

"If you say so."

Hermione stabbed a piece of lettuce with unnecessary force. "I just think it's interesting how you're suddenly so interested in observing people."

"Is it?"

"Yes. Very interesting."

Ginny was watching their exchange with barely concealed amusement, her eyes dancing with mirth. When Harry caught her gaze, she mouthed something that looked suspiciously like "good luck" before returning to her meal.

The rest of lunch passed in relative peace, though Hermione remained in an odd mood. She wasn't quite angry, but she definitely wasn't her usual cheerful self either. Harry filed that away for later consideration.

After lunch they had History of Magic with Professor Binns. The ghost professor droned on about the Goblin Rebellions in his usual monotone voice, and within minutes half the class was struggling to stay awake.

Harry sat in the back row with Ron and Hermione. Ron was already nodding off, his head dipping forward before he'd jerk awake again. Hermione was taking notes with her characteristic diligence, though even she looked like she was fighting to keep her eyes open.

Harry leaned over, his breath ghosting across Hermione's ear. "This is torture."

She jumped slightly, her quill skittering across her parchment. "You startled me."

"Sorry. But you have to admit, this is unbearably boring."

"It's educational."

"It's a cure for insomnia."

A small smile tugged at Hermione's lips despite herself. "Well, yes, there's that too."

Harry shifted closer, letting his arm rest along the back of her chair. Hermione's posture stiffened slightly but she didn't tell him to move.

"Your notes are very thorough," Harry observed, glancing down at her parchment.

"Someone has to pay attention."

"True. What would we do without you?"

"Fail spectacularly, probably."

"Probably," Harry agreed, his voice warm with amusement.

Hermione glanced at him from the corner of her eye. Their faces were close, close enough that Harry could see the individual flecks of gold in her brown eyes, could count the freckles scattered across her nose.

"Harry," she said softly.

"Mm?"

"What are you doing?"

"Trying to stay awake during Binns' lecture. What are you doing?"

"I'm... I don't know."

There was something vulnerable in her expression, something uncertain that Harry found oddly appealing. Hermione, who was always so confident and self-assured, looked genuinely confused.

"Then maybe don't overthink it," Harry suggested quietly.

Professor Binns droned on, oblivious to the students who'd completely tuned him out. Ron had given up any pretense of staying awake and was now snoring softly. Around them, other students were in various states of consciousness.

Harry kept his arm along the back of Hermione's chair, his fingers occasionally brushing against her shoulder. Each time he did, she tensed slightly before gradually relaxing again. It was like watching someone slowly getting used to cold water, the initial shock giving way to gradual acceptance.

When class finally ended, students filed out with obvious relief. Ron woke with a start, looking around in confusion.

"Is it over?"

"Yes, Ron," Hermione said with exasperation. "You slept through the entire class."

"Did I miss anything important?"

"Probably not, given that it was History of Magic."

They had the rest of the afternoon free, so they headed back to Gryffindor Tower. The common room was moderately full, students scattered throughout working on assignments or just relaxing.

Harry spotted an empty sofa near one of the windows and claimed it. Hermione hesitated for a moment before sitting beside him, close enough that their legs touched. Ron plopped into an adjacent armchair and immediately pulled out his Potions essay.

"I still don't understand what Snape wants for this essay," he complained.

"He wants you to explain the properties of the ingredients and how they interact," Hermione explained patiently.

"Yeah, but how much detail?"

"At least two feet of parchment."

Ron groaned. "That's going to take forever."

While Hermione walked Ron through his essay, Harry let his gaze wander around the common room. He spotted Ginny curled up in an armchair near the fire, a book open in her lap. She wasn't actually reading though. Her eyes kept drifting to where Harry sat, a small smile playing at her lips.

Harry caught her eye and raised an eyebrow in silent question. Ginny's smile widened slightly and she gave an almost imperceptible nod before returning her attention to her book.

Tonight then.

The thought sent a pleasant warmth through him. Ginny was delightfully enthusiastic and entirely shameless once you got her alone. Last month had proven that quite thoroughly.

Movement near the portrait hole caught his attention. Katie had just entered, along with Angelina and Alicia. They were laughing about something, their voices carrying across the common room.

Katie spotted him and her laughter trailed off slightly. She said something to her friends, who glanced over at him before exchanging knowing looks. Then Katie made her way across the common room, weaving between the furniture with ease.

"Hey Harry," she said when she reached the sofa. "Mind if I sit?"

Ron and Hermione both looked up, Ron confused and Hermione's expression hardening slightly.

"Go ahead," Harry said, shifting slightly to make room.

Katie sat on the arm of the sofa, close enough that Harry could smell her perfume. Something light and floral.

"I wanted to ask you about what you said," Katie began. "About still flying even without Quidditch."

"What about it?"

"Well, I was thinking we could organize some sessions. Just casual flying, nothing official. Keep our skills sharp."

"Sounds reasonable."

"Great!" Katie's smile was bright and genuine. "Maybe we could start this weekend? Weather's supposed to be nice."

"I'll be there."

"Perfect. I'll let Angelina and Alicia know." Katie stood, her hand briefly touching Harry's shoulder. "See you later, Harry."

She headed back to her friends, who immediately leaned in as she began telling them something in an animated whisper. All three girls glanced back at him and Katie's cheeks flushed pink.

"That was interesting," Hermione said, her voice carefully neutral.

"Was it?"

"You're encouraging her."

"Encouraging her to keep flying? Seems like a good idea."

"That's not what I meant."

Harry turned to look at Hermione properly. "Then what did you mean?"

"Nothing. Never mind."

But it clearly wasn't nothing. Hermione had returned to helping Ron with his essay, but her movements were stiff and her voice had lost its usual patience.

Harry watched her for a moment, noting the tension in her shoulders and the way she kept biting her lower lip. Interesting. Very interesting indeed.

The rest of the afternoon passed quietly. Harry worked on various assignments while keeping half his attention on the people around him. Ron struggled through his Potions essay with Hermione's help. Ginny continued pretending to read her book while shooting him looks that promised interesting things later.

As evening approached, students began filtering down to the Great Hall for dinner. Harry gathered his things and stood, stretching slightly.

"Coming?" he asked Hermione and Ron.

They followed him down through the castle. The corridors were busy with students heading in the same direction, conversations echoing off the stone walls. Harry caught sight of several people watching him as they passed, whispers following in their wake.

Still talking about the Malfoy incident, probably. Good. Let them talk.

The Great Hall was already filling when they arrived. Harry led the way to the Gryffindor table and found seats near the middle again. Food appeared moments later and he began serving himself.

Across the Hall at the Slytherin table, he caught sight of Pansy. She was still sitting alone, though several other students kept glancing her way.

One of the students gazing calculatingly at her was a fellow Slytherin.

Daphne Greengrass was known for being intelligent and calculating, a pureblood Slytherin who kept mostly to herself and a small circle of friends. She held herself with a grace that showed her extensive etiquette training, her expression always composed.

Daphne's interest in Pansy went unnoticed by everyone. Everyone but Harry who saw the glance only by chance.

He watched with interest. He'd seen Greengrass with her mother in the Ministry once, and although he didn't know much about her, he could easily tell she had no love lost for either Pansy or the Malfoys.

Even now, she was gazing calculatingly at Pansy, and it didn't look entirely friendly. However, it was interesting that Greengrass was interested in Pansy, given that most of the Slytherins were treating her like she had dragon pox.

"What are you looking at?" Hermione asked.

Harry turned back to find her watching him with that same unreadable expression from earlier.

"Just wondering how interesting things would be this year," he said, turning to regard her.

Hermione averted her gaze quickly, returning to her dinner. Harry gave her a smile as dinner continued. He ate while half listening to Ron complain about Snape's essay requirements. Hermione contributed occasionally, though she still seemed distracted.

When dessert appeared, Harry helped himself to treacle tart. Beside him, Ron was demolishing a piece of chocolate cake with his usual enthusiasm. Hermione absently picked at a small serving of fruit salad.

Harry let his hand rest casually on the bench between them. After a moment, he shifted it slightly so his fingers brushed against Hermione's robes. She tensed but didn't move away.

"You're quiet tonight," Harry observed.

"Just thinking."

"About?"

"Things. Classes. The tournament."

"The tournament doesn't start for weeks."

"I know. But there's a lot to consider. The champions will need to be prepared for anything. The tasks are supposed to be incredibly dangerous."

"They are," Harry agreed. "But that's part of what makes it exciting."

"You can't possibly be thinking of entering."

"Why not?"

"Because it's dangerous, for one thing. And because you attract danger without even looking for it, for another."

"Danger makes life interesting."

Hermione turned to face him fully, her expression serious. "Harry, this isn't a joke. People have died in this tournament."

"I'm aware." Harry met her gaze steadily. "But being cautious doesn't always keep you safe either. Sometimes you have to take risks."

"Not unnecessary ones."

"Who decides what's unnecessary?"

Hermione opened her mouth to respond but then seemed to think better of it. Instead, she turned back to her fruit salad, stabbing a piece of melon with unnecessary force.

Harry smirked and returned to his treacle tart. Around them, conversation flowed as students discussed the tournament, their classes, and various other topics. The enchanted ceiling showed a darkening sky, stars beginning to emerge as evening turned to night.

When dessert finally vanished from the tables, Dumbledore stood to dismiss them. Students began filing out of the Great Hall, heading toward their respective common rooms or other parts of the castle.

Harry walked with his usual group, Ron still complaining about homework and Hermione listening with half her attention. Ginny had fallen into step beside them, her expression neutral but her eyes bright when they met Harry's.

They reached Gryffindor Tower and gave the password. The Fat Lady swung open and they climbed through the portrait hole into the common room.

"I'm going to finish that Potions essay," Ron announced, heading for one of the tables.

"I'll help," Hermione said immediately, following him.

Harry watched them go, noting the stiff set of Hermione's shoulders. Whatever was bothering her clearly hadn't resolved itself. He filed that away for later consideration.

Ginny had settled into one of the armchairs near the fire, her book once again open in her lap. Harry moved to stand beside the chair, leaning down slightly.

"Later," he murmured, too quietly for anyone else to hear.

Ginny's lips curved into a smile. "Mm. Later."

To be continued…

Check out my profile to read more of my work. The username is Vedros on all other sites where I post, so you can find me anywhere else using the same. Thanks for reading!

Chapter Text

Pansy was making her way through the corridor after dinner when a hand wrapped around her arm and yanked her sideways into an empty classroom. She stumbled, catching herself against a desk, and whirled around.

Her eyes widened when she saw Daphne Greengrass closing the door behind them.

"What do you want, Greengrass?" Pansy demanded, straightening her robes with as much dignity as she could muster.

Daphne turned to face her, and Pansy was struck by how composed she looked. Where Pansy felt like she was barely holding herself together, Daphne appeared completely at ease. Her blonde hair was perfectly styled, her robes immaculate, and her expression pleasantly neutral.

'Filthy spawn of a half-breed,' Pansy thought jealously. No one had the right to look that hot, that perfect. And all of that without any effort of their own.

"I wanted to talk to you," Daphne said simply, moving to lean against one of the desks. "Privately."

"About what?" Pansy asked, dragging her mind to the matter at hand. She had a feeling she wouldn't like what was coming her way here.

"About your situation."

Pansy's jaw tightened. "I don't have a situation."

"Don't you?" Daphne's blue eyes were cool and calculating. "You've been disowned by your family, cast out of your social circle, and you're currently being treated like a pariah by most of Slytherin House. That sounds like a situation to me."

"If you came here to gloat, you can save your breath. I've heard it all already from Draco and his cronies."

"I'm not here to gloat." Daphne examined her nails with apparent disinterest. "I'm here because I think we might be able to help each other."

Pansy barked out a harsh laugh. "Help each other? You've never spoken two words to me unless absolutely necessary. You've made it abundantly clear over the years that you think I'm beneath you."

"True," Daphne agreed without a hint of shame. "I always found your behavior rather distasteful. The way you fawned over Malfoy, the casual cruelty toward other students, the blind adherence to pureblood supremacy rhetoric. It was all very tiresome."

"Then why are you here?"

"Because people change. Or at least, their circumstances do." Daphne's gaze sharpened. "You're no longer the spoiled bitch you've been until now. Now, you're vulnerable. Alone. Without protection or resources."

"I'm managing," Pansy gritted out.

"Are you?" Daphne pushed off from the desk and took a few steps closer. "How long do you think that will last? Malfoy's already turned the house against you. It's only a matter of time before things escalate beyond verbal harassment."

Pansy said nothing. The words hit too close to home, touching on fears she'd been trying to suppress since yesterday.

"I'm offering you an alliance," Daphne continued without missing a beat, her voice smooth and reasonable. "I can provide you with protection within Slytherin. Make sure the harassment doesn't go too far. Perhaps even help restore some of your standing."

"In exchange for what?" Pansy hated the hint of hope in her voice, and she hated even more the smile that emerged on the bitch's face. Of course she didn't miss it. She rarely ever did.

"Information. Connection. Your cooperation when I need it." Daphne's smile was pleasant and utterly cold. "You know how these things work, Pansy. Nothing comes without a price."

Pansy studied the other girl, trying to see past the composed exterior to whatever lay beneath. Daphne was known for being clever and calculating, someone who played the long game and always seemed to come out ahead. Getting involved with her would be trading one form of control for another.

And Pansy had quite enough of being controlled, thank you very much.

'Well, not really,' she thought with a hint of thrill as she recalled the train journey back to Hogwarts.

"What kind of cooperation?" she asked, stalling.

"Nothing too difficult. I might need you to share information about certain people or situations. Maybe act as an opening to useful contacts. Help facilitate certain arrangements." Daphne waved a hand dismissively. "Simple things, really. Nothing that would put you at risk."

The proposal sounded familiar. Too familiar. The only difference was that she wouldn't have to sleep with this one.

"You want to use me."

"I want to form a mutually beneficial alliance," Daphne corrected. "You gain protection and support. I gain a useful connection. Everyone wins."

"Except I'd be beholden to you."

"Better me than Malfoy, don't you think?" Daphne's smile didn't reach her eyes. "At least I'm honest about what I want. And I don't make promises I can't keep."

Pansy considered the offer. On the surface it seemed reasonable enough. Daphne was offering exactly what Pansy desperately needed, protection from the escalating hostility in Slytherin House. And the price, while vague, didn't seem excessive.

But there was something in Daphne's eyes, a calculating coldness that made Pansy's instincts scream warnings. This wasn't about helping Pansy. This was about acquiring an asset, someone Daphne could control and manipulate for her own purposes.

And Pansy had just escaped from one controlling situation. She wasn't about to walk into another, no matter how prettily it was packaged. There was also the other party to consider, someone who, despite all her former misgivings, seemed much more appealing to her.

"I appreciate the offer," Pansy said carefully. "But I'll decline."

Daphne's eyebrows rose slightly, the first crack in her composed facade. "That's not a wise decision."

"Maybe not. But it's my decision to make."

"You do realize what you're turning down? Without protection, you're completely vulnerable. Malfoy will make your life hell."

"Let him try."

"He will do more than try," Daphne warned. "And when he does, when things get truly bad, don't come crawling to me for help. This offer won't be extended twice."

"I'll keep that in mind."

Daphne studied her for a long moment, her blue eyes sharp and assessing. Pansy met that gaze steadily, refusing to show any of the uncertainty churning in her gut.

"You're either very brave or very stupid," Daphne said finally. "I haven't decided which yet."

"Does it matter?"

"I suppose not." Daphne moved toward the door, but she paused with her hand on the handle. "Out of curiosity, what makes you so confident? You have no family backing, no money, and no allies in Slytherin. What exactly do you think is going to protect you?"

Pansy thought of Harry, of the deal they'd struck, of the way he'd looked at her, and how he'd dealt with Malfoy with absolute certainty that he could destroy him if necessary. She thought of the promise implicit in their arrangement, that she was his now and that meant something.

But she said none of that aloud.

"That's my business," she replied instead.

Daphne's eyes narrowed slightly. "Is it now?"

"Yes."

For several seconds, Daphne simply stared at her, clearly trying to puzzle out what she was missing. Pansy kept her expression carefully neutral, revealing nothing.

"Interesting," Daphne said finally. "Very interesting indeed."

She opened the door and stepped into the corridor. The door clicked shut, leaving Pansy alone in the empty classroom.

She sagged against the desk, her carefully maintained composure cracking now that she was alone. That had been more difficult than she'd expected. Daphne's offer had been tempting, appealing to every survival instinct Pansy possessed.

But she had Harry now. Whatever that meant, whatever their arrangement would become, it had to be better than becoming Daphne Greengrass's puppet.

After a few minutes, Pansy straightened and left the classroom. The corridors were mostly empty now, students having returned to their common rooms for the evening. She made her way down to the dungeons, steeling herself for another night in hostile territory.

As she descended the stairs, she caught sight of Daphne ahead of her, walking with her usual graceful composure. The blonde girl glanced back once, her expression thoughtful, before disappearing around a corner.

Pansy knew that Daphne would be watching her now, trying to figure out what she was missing. Trying to understand why Pansy had turned down such an obviously beneficial offer.

Let her wonder.

Pansy had bigger concerns than Daphne Greengrass's curiosity. She had to survive in Slytherin House without giving in to the various people who wanted to use her for their own purposes. She had to navigate her strange new arrangement with Harry Potter without anyone finding out about it.

And she had to figure out what the hell she was doing with her life now that everything she'd known had been torn away.

But there was a small, fragile ember of hope burning in her chest. The knowledge that she wasn't completely alone, that someone powerful was in her corner even if no one else knew it.

It wasn't much. But it was enough.

For now, it was enough.

XXXXX

Meanwhile, Daphne made her way back to the Slytherin common room, her mind working through what had just happened. Pansy's refusal had been unexpected. Foolish, even. The girl had nothing and no one, yet she'd turned down protection and support without hesitation.

That suggested either spectacular stupidity or something Daphne was missing.

Daphne strongly suspected it was the latter.

Pansy had been too confident, too certain, for someone in her position. She'd shown no fear of Malfoy's threats, no desperation at her circumstances. It was as if she knew something Daphne didn't.

But what?

Daphne mentally reviewed what she knew about Pansy's situation. Disowned by her family, cast out by her former social circle, and isolated within Slytherin. On paper, she should be desperate for any alliance offered.

Unless she already had one.

The thought stopped Daphne in her tracks. Could Pansy have found protection elsewhere? But from whom? She had no connections outside Slytherin, no friends in other houses, no family to turn to. Malfoy was her biggest enemy, and even with his father dead, he had enough money at his disposal to make Pansy's life a living hell.

Unless…

Daphne's mind flashed back to the confrontation she'd witnessed the previous night. Potter standing over Malfoy with his wand pressed to the prat's throat. The casual confidence in his threat. The way he'd destroyed Malfoy. And the clear warning in his tone.

Daphne's eyes narrowed as she thought about something that made little sense to her.

Could Potter have taken an interest in Pansy?

It seemed unlikely. The two had never shown any connection before. But then things had changed massively over the summer.

It was entirely possible that there was a connection there after all.

Daphne filed that information away for future consideration. If Pansy had somehow secured Potter's protection, that changed the equation significantly.

Harry Potter was powerful and had perhaps more influence than most adults in the society. Having his backing would definitely explain Pansy's confidence.

If Pansy had an in with Potter… well, that would make her a much more interesting chess piece than Daphne had initially thought.

She continued walking, a small smile playing at her lips. This year was shaping up to be far more interesting than she'd anticipated. The Triwizard Tournament, the shifting power dynamics in Slytherin, and now this intriguing mystery surrounding Pansy Parkinson.

Daphne did so love a good mystery.

And she fully intended to solve this one.

XXXXX

Harry straightened and headed for the stairs to the boys' dormitory. He had essays to work on and plans to consider. The day had been productive in various ways. His interactions with Hermione were progressing nicely, building tension and awareness. Katie had responded to his attention with obvious interest. And Ginny remained as eager as ever.

Things were moving forward exactly as he'd hoped.

The dormitory was empty when he entered. Harry settled at his desk and pulled out his assignments. Snape's Potions essay needed finishing. And Professor Sprout wanted a foot of parchment on the care and keeping of Bouncing Bulbs.

He worked steadily for the next few hours, completing each assignment. Around him, his dormmates gradually filtered in. Dean and Seamus were arguing about something Quidditch related again. Neville was carefully watering the plant on his bedside table. Ron appeared last, looking frustrated and carrying his half-finished Potions essay.

"Hermione kicked me out of the common room," Ron announced, flopping onto his bed. "Said I was being deliberately dense."

"Were you?" Harry asked without looking up from his essay.

"Probably. But still."

The dormitory gradually settled into quiet as everyone prepared for bed. Harry finished his last essay and tucked his completed work away. He changed into sleep clothes and climbed into bed, drawing the curtains around his four poster.

But he didn't go to sleep. Instead, he lay there in the darkness, listening as his dormmates settled down. Ron's snoring started almost immediately. Dean and Seamus' whispered conversation eventually trailed off into silence. Neville's gentle breathing indicated he'd fallen asleep.

Harry waited until he was certain everyone was deeply asleep before carefully climbing out of bed. He pulled on his Invisibility Cloak and slipped silently from the dormitory.

The common room was dark and empty. Only dying embers remained in the fireplace, casting faint orange light across the furniture. Harry moved toward the stairs to the girls' dormitory and began climbing.

The wards that prevented boys from accessing the girls' dormitory stairs were still in place. Harry felt the magic resist him, trying to turn the stairs into a slide. But he'd learned how to navigate around those wards during his previous time through these years. A bit of clever wand work and focused will, and the magic reluctantly allowed him passage.

He reached the appropriate landing and knocked softly on the door. It opened almost immediately and Ginny stood there in her nightgown, her red hair falling loose around her shoulders.

The dormitory was dark, Ginny's roommates all sleeping in their respective beds. Ginny led Harry to her bed and climbed in, pulling him down beside her. She drew the curtains and cast a Silencing Charm.

"Took you long enough," she whispered, her brown eyes gleaming in the dim light filtering through the curtains. Her eyes were dark with lust and hunger.

"Had to wait for Ron to stop snoring like a bloody dragon," Harry muttered, already reaching for her. "Thought he'd never shut up."

Ginny's lips curved into a wicked smile. "Worth the wait, though." She pressed herself against him, the thin fabric of her nightgown sliding up her thighs as she straddled his lap. "I've been wet for you since dinner."

Harry groaned low in his throat and captured her mouth in a kiss that was anything but gentle. This wasn't their first time sneaking into each other's beds, and it showed.

Ginny's tongue slid against his, teasing, demanding, and Harry answered by tilting her head back to deepen the kiss. His hands roamed up her sides, his thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts through the cotton. She arched into the touch, her nipples already hard and pressing against the fabric.

"Off," she breathed against his lips, tugging at his shirt. "I want to feel you."

Harry yanked the fabric over his head and tossed it into the dark. Ginny's hands were immediately on him, her nails scraping lightly down his chest, tracing the faint scars that crisscrossed his skin. She leaned in and dragged her tongue along the line of one, tasting salt and skin, and Harry's cock twitched hard against the confines of his trousers.

He retaliated by catching the hem of her nightgown and dragging it up. Slowly. Teasingly. His fingers skimmed the backs of her knees, the sensitive hollows behind them, then higher, over the curve of her thighs. Ginny lifted her arms and let him peel the garment away, leaving her completely bare.

"Fuck," Harry breathed, his voice rough. "You're so beautiful."

Ginny's laugh was low and throaty. "Flattery will get you everywhere." She rolled her hips again, grinding down against the thick ridge of his cock, and Harry's hands flew to her waist to steady her. The heat of her cunt seeped through his trousers, soaking the fabric where they touched.

"Missed this," she murmured, rocking her ass slowly, teasing him. "Missed feeling you hard for me."

"It's barely been two days," he managed, though his hips were already lifting to meet her movements.

"Too fucking long." She leaned down to bite at his lower lip, tugging it between her teeth. "I've been touching myself thinking about you. Couldn't come properly without your cock."

Harry groaned at the image. His hands slid up her back, his fingers splaying wide, and he dragged them down again to grip her arse. He squeezed, pulling her tighter against him, and Ginny gasped, her rhythm faltering for a moment.

"Show me," he said, his voice low. "Show me how you touched yourself."

Ginny's eyes darkened at the commanding tone. She reached between them, guiding his hand to where she was already slick and swollen. Harry's fingers slid through her folds, finding her clit and circling it slowly, just the way he knew she liked. Ginny's head fell back, a soft moan escaping her.

"Like this?" he asked, pressing harder, feeling her throb against his fingertips.

"Fuck, yes." Her hips jerked forward. "But I need more. Inside me. Please."

Harry didn't need to be asked twice. He slid two fingers into her pussy, curling them upward, and Ginny's inner walls clenched around him immediately. She was so wet that he could hear the soft, obscene sounds every time he thrust his fingers deeper.

"Fuck, you're dripping," he muttered against her throat, kissing and sucking at the sensitive skin there. "So ready for me."

"Always," she gasped, riding his hand now, chasing the pressure. "Always ready for your cock."

He added a third finger, stretching her, and Ginny's breath hitched. Her nails dug into his shoulders as she rocked faster, chasing the orgasm that was approaching at a rapid pace.

Harry watched her face, taking in her half-lidded eyes, her parted lips, and her flushed cheeks. He felt his own arousal spike painfully.

"Come for me," he whispered, his thumb finding her clit again and rubbing tight circles all over it. "Come for me, Gin. You want to come all over my fingers, don't you?"

Ginny shattered almost immediately, her whole body tensing, then convulsing around his hand. She buried her face in his neck to muffle the cry of his name, trembling hard as wave after wave of bliss rolled through her. Harry kept moving his fingers slowly, drawing out her orgasm until she was a whimpering mess.

Shivering, she pushed his hand away, oversensitive.

She collapsed against him, breathing hard, but only for a moment. In no time, she lifted her head, her eyes gleaming with renewed hunger.

"My turn," she said, her voice husky. She slid down his body, her breasts dragging over his stomach, and Harry's cock jerked in anticipation.

Ginny tugged his trousers down just enough to free him. He was already painfully hard, the tip of his cock glistening with precum. She wrapped her hand around him, stroking once, twice, watching his face as she did it.

"Look at you," she murmured. "So hard for me. Leaking already."

Harry grunted, propping himself up on his elbows. "Gin…"

She didn't tease him long. Smirking, she leaned down and licked a slow stripe from base to tip, tasting the salt of him. She swirled her tongue all over the purple head, licking off the precum that oozed out, and slowly took him into her mouth. Her lips stretched around his girth as she slid down, taking in as much as she could.

One of Harry's hands fisted in the sheets and with the other, he guided her. Her mouth was hot, wet, and perfect. She hollowed her cheeks and sucked, her tongue swirling around the head on every upstroke. When she took him deeper, the head bumping the back of her throat, Harry's hips bucked involuntarily.

"Fuck Gin…"

She hummed around his length, the vibration shooting straight to his balls. One hand cupped them gently, rolling them in her palm while the other stroked what her mouth couldn't reach. She worked him with steady, relentless focus, alternating between long, slow pulls and quick, teasing licks.

Harry threaded his fingers through her hair, not pushing, just holding on as pleasure built in tight, hot coils low in his belly.

"You've gotten so good at this," he growled. "Love watching you suck me off."

Ginny pulled back just enough to speak, her lips shiny and swollen. "And I love having you in my mouth. I love feeling you throb against my tongue."

She dove back down, taking him deep again, her lips stretching wide around his thick shaft. Harry groaned as the wet heat of her mouth enveloped him completely, her throat relaxing to swallow him to the hilt. The tip of his cock nudged the soft back of her throat, and she hummed around him, the vibration sending sharp jolts of pleasure straight to his balls.

She worked him with slow, careful strokes, her tongue pressing flat against the underside of his length, tracing every vein, flicking teasingly against the sensitive head each time she pulled back. All the while, she kept stroking in time with her mouth, while the other hand cupped his balls, rolling them gently, tugging just enough to make his hips jerk.

Harry's fingers tangled in her fiery hair as waves of sensation built low in his gut. He tried to warn her, his voice a bit ragged.

"Ginny... I'm close. Fuck."

She didn't pull away. If anything, she sucked harder, her cheeks hollowing as she bobbed faster, her tongue swirling relentlessly. The wet, obscene sounds of her mouth filled the room, slick and filthy, mingling with his choked moans. When she took him deep again and swallowed around him, the tight ripple of her throat pushed him over the edge.

He came with a guttural groan, his hips bucking as he spilled down her throat in hot, thick pulses. Ginny swallowed greedily, milking every drop, her tongue lapping at him until he was twitching. Only then did she pull off slowly, her lips glistening, a thin string of saliva and cum connecting her mouth to his tip before it broke.

She crawled up his body, straddling his hips, and kissed him deeply. Harry tasted himself on her tongue, salty, bitter, and strangely intoxicating. He groaned into her mouth, his hands sliding down to grip her arse, pulling her closer so her wet folds dragged along his softening cock.

They stayed like that for long minutes, bodies pressed together, hearts pounding in tandem. Sweat slicked their skin. Ginny's fingers traced lazy circles over his chest, her nails scraping lightly through the sparse hair there. Her breathing slowly steadied, but her eyes stayed dark with hunger.

"You've gotten so much better at this," Harry rasped, his voice still a bit breathy.

Ginny lifted her head, smirking wickedly. "I think we're just getting started."

His cock gave a weak, interested twitch beneath her at those words. The sight of her, with her cheeks flushed, her lips swollen and red, and her hair wild and tangled, stirred him back to life faster than he would have thought possible.

He rolled them over so that she was pinned beneath him, settling between her spread thighs. His half-hard length pressed against her soaked entrance, already slick with her arousal and his own release.

"Good girl," he murmured, his voice low and rough as he kissed along her collarbone, then lower, sucking a mark into the soft skin above her breast.

Ginny wrapped her legs around his waist, her heels digging into his lower back, pulling him closer. "Only for you," she breathed.

Harry reached between them, guiding his erect cock to her entrance. He rubbed the head through her folds, coating himself in her wetness, teasing her clit with slow, sensual circles until she whimpered and arched beneath him.

"Please, Harry," she begged, her voice trembling. "I need you inside me."

He pushed in slowly, inch by torturous inch, groaning at the tight, wet heat that welcomed him. Her walls fluttered around his shaft, still sensitive from her earlier orgasm. Ginny's nails raked down his back, leaving red trails that stung deliciously. She tilted her hips, taking him deeper, until he was buried to the hilt.

"Fuck," he groaned, his forehead dropping to hers. "You feel so good. So tight."

He started with slow, deep thrusts, savoring the drag of her walls along every ridge of his cock. Each time he bottomed out, Ginny gasped, her breath hitching. Her hands roamed everywhere—over his shoulders, down his back, gripping his arse to urge him harder.

"Harder," she whispered against his ear. "Fuck me hard, Harry. I want to feel you tomorrow."

He obeyed. His pace quickened, hips snapping forward with more force, the bed creaking beneath them. The wet slap of skin on skin filled the room, obscene and intoxicating. Ginny met every thrust, rolling her hips up to take him deeper, her clit grinding against his pubic bone with each stroke.

Suddenly, Harry hooked one of her legs over his shoulder, changing the angle so he could drive even deeper. Ginny cried out, her nails digging into his shoulders as he hit that perfect spot inside her over and over. Her breasts bounced with each powerful thrust, her nipples tight and begging for attention. He leaned down to capture one in his mouth, sucking hard, his teeth grazing just enough to make her arch and moan his name.

"Harry... oh yes, right there... don't stop..."

He didn't. He fucked her relentlessly, chasing the slick, tight heat of her cunt, the way she clenched around him every time he bottomed out. Sweat dripped from his brow onto her chest, mingling with hers. It smelled of sex there—musky, primal, and addictive.

Ginny's hands slid between them, her fingers finding her clit. She rubbed tight, frantic circles, chasing her release while he pounded into her. Her walls began to flutter around him, clamping down hard as she came with a broken cry. Her orgasm ripped through her, her body shaking and her thighs trembling around him as she pulsed and squeezed his cock tightly.

The sight and feel of her coming undone pushed Harry over the edge. He buried himself deep one last time, his hips stuttering as he came with a low, rough groan. Hot spurts of cum filled her, coating her walls in white and once again marking her as his. Her golden mark pulsed as Harry kept thrusting through it, shallow and slow, drawing out every last pulse until they were both trembling.

They collapsed together, breathless, tangled in sweat-damp sheets. Harry's cock softened slowly inside her, but he didn't pull out yet. Ginny's legs stayed wrapped around him, holding him close.

They shifted into a more comfortable position and lay in silence for several minutes, their bodies cooling in the aftermath. Harry's fingers traced idle patterns on Ginny's bare back, his mind already drifting to other matters even as satisfaction hummed through his veins.

"So," Ginny said eventually, breaking the silence. "Looks like your approach changed a bit with Hermione. Something happen?"

Harry smiled at the ceiling. "Let's say things are progressing nicely."

"I noticed. She was flustered all through dinner." Ginny propped herself up on one elbow to look at him, her red hair falling over her shoulder. "You seemed to be quite aggressive with the touching today."

"Building tension. Making her hyper aware of me."

"It's working. She practically jumped every time you got near her." Ginny's smile was wicked. "I particularly enjoyed watching her get all snippy when Katie was flirting with you."

"You noticed that too?"

"Of course I did. She must've been interested from before. But that's another matter. Getting back to Hermione… she was stabbing her salad like it had personally offended her." Ginny laughed softly. "She's getting jealous, which means you're definitely making progress."

"Good," Harry replied. "But she'd need to learn that jealousy has no place in here."

"Oh, I don't think it's that kind of jealousy," Ginny smirked. "She already knows about us, after all. No, I think she's more jealous of the fact that another girl might beat her to it."

"Now that makes more sense," Harry chuckled. "Everything's a competition for her."

"Have you thought about how you're going to seal the deal with her?" Ginny's fingers traced patterns on his chest. "Because Hermione's not going to just fall into bed with you. She'll need more convincing than most."

"I know that. That's why it's taken so much time. She's someone who has to be shown what she wants. The convincing is the real game with her. After that, it's a piece of cake."

"Part of me is pissed that she's like this, you know?" She muttered. "It's like she's a little girl who has no idea about sex and desires. Makes me feel like she might panic and pull away entirely if you push too hard too fast."

"You're not wrong there," Harry agreed, pulling her close. "That's why I'm letting her come to me. Or rather, making it seem like she is."

Ginny's eyes gleamed with understanding as she moved deliciously against him. "Devious. I like it."

"I thought you might."

"You know," Ginny said thoughtfully, "I could help more if you want."

"More than you've done already?" Harry chuckled.

"Well, we could always give her a few more shows," Ginny's smile turned wicked. "Or play on this little jealousy of hers. I could tell her how girls are starting to notice you more. This little jealousy of hers will make her act before she even realizes it."

"Don't think you'd need to do much for that, if I'm being honest," Harry replied. He told her about what she'd done the previous night, and Ginny's eyes widened.

"That little sneaky bitch!" Ginny exclaimed in a hiss. "I never thought she'd have it in her!"

"Why do you think I upped things a bit today? Until now, I always teased her in private. Today was the first time it all happened in public."

"It was actually quite fun watching her squirm." Ginny grinned before she bit her lip, her expression turning thoughtful.

"Go on, say it. I can tell you're thinking something," Harry said calmly.

Ginny looked a bit uncertain for a moment. "It's just… well, I'm a bit surprised you're really going after Hermione."

"Why?"

"Because she's Ron's sort of future interest, isn't she? I always assumed they'd end up together eventually."

Harry thought about the future that would never be, where Ron and Hermione had indeed ended up together. Where Harry had watched them dance around their feelings for years before finally admitting what everyone else could see.

"Maybe in another life," Harry said. "But not this one."

"Fair enough." Ginny settled back against his chest. "Now, what about Katie? She's definitely interested."

"I know. I'll encourage that."

"And Cho Chang too. I saw the way you two were looking at each other on the platform yesterday. And since then as well."

"Cho too."

Ginny laughed delightedly. "You're collecting quite the harem, aren't you?"

"Is that a problem?"

"Not at all. I think it's brilliant actually." Ginny tilted her head to look at him. "As long as you remember that I'm yours."

"I remember."

"Good." She kissed him lightly. "And as long as you keep giving me what I want, you can go after whoever you want. I don't mind sharing."

"You're remarkably understanding about this, our little dynamic notwithstanding."

"You mean our dirty little bond?" Ginny grinned. "Honestly? It's kind of hot, watching you work. The way you manipulate situations, the way you make girls notice you without seeming like you're trying. It's like watching a master at work."

"High praise."

"Don't let it go to your head."

"Too late."

Ginny laughed and kissed him again, this time with more heat. "You're terrible."

"And you love it."

"I really do." She pulled back slightly, her expression turning more serious. "Just promise me one thing."

"What's that?"

"When you do finally get Hermione into bed, you'll tell me all about it."

Harry laughed, genuinely surprised. "You want details?"

"Oh absolutely. I want to know everything." Ginny's smile was pure mischief. "How she sounds, how she responds, whether she's as vocal as I am. All of it. And then, maybe I can teach her a thing or two. With you preferably present. It'd be some experience, teaching her something. Usually, it's the other way around."

"You're twisted."

"I prefer the term 'enthusiastically deviant.'" Ginny kissed him again. "So do we have a deal?"

"Deal."

"Excellent." Ginny settled back against him with a satisfied sigh. "This is going to be such an entertaining year."

They lay there for a while longer, discussing Harry's various interests and strategizing about the best approaches. Ginny proved to be a valuable ally in these matters, offering insights about the other girls that were very much appreciated.

"Hermione needs to feel intellectually valued," Ginny explained at one point. "Compliment her mind as much as her looks. Make her feel like you see her whole self, and not just another pretty girl. Although with her lack of confidence in her looks, which she's an idiot for, you can score some nice brownie points."

"Noted."

"And Katie responds well to confidence. She likes guys who know what they want and aren't afraid to go after it."

"That much has been clear since yesterday now."

"As for Cho, she's a romantic. She'll want the sweet gestures, the meaningful looks. Play up the tender side."

Harry filed all of this away, already incorporating it into his plans. Ginny truly knew her stuff.

Eventually though, Harry knew he needed to return to his own dormitory before anyone woke and noticed his absence.

"I should go," he said reluctantly.

"Mm, probably." Ginny didn't sound any more enthusiastic about it than he felt. "But don't leave me hanging for long, hmm?"

"Eager?"

"Always."

Harry kissed her once more, slow and deep, before reluctantly extracting himself from her embrace. He found his clothes scattered all over the bed in the darkness and pulled them back on while Ginny watched, lying on her back, all naked and provocative.

"Sweet dreams, Harry," she said as he prepared to leave, her legs spread apart and her fingers teasing her folds where he could still see his release dripping slowly. It sent another jolt straight to his cock.

"You fucking tease."

She merely smirked.

Harry pulled his Invisibility Cloak back on and slipped from the bed, making his way out of the dormitory. The common room was still dark and empty as he made his way back to the boys' staircase. Within minutes he was back in his own bed, his dormmates none the wiser.

He lay there in the darkness, replaying the evening in his mind. The physical pleasure had been excellent as always, but the strategic discussion had been equally valuable. Ginny was proving to be far more than just a willing bed partner. She was an ally, a co-conspirator, and someone who understood what he was building and actively wanted to help.

That made her invaluable.

Tomorrow would bring new opportunities. More chances to build tension with Hermione, to encourage Katie and Cho's interests, and to solidify his little pursuit of Pansy. And he also had Ginny actively working to help him, planting seeds and creating opportunities.

Things were progressing beautifully.

To be continued…

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