Chapter 50

Daphne gurgled incoherently, tears sliding down the familiar tracks on her cheeks. Her red puffy eyes glared at him, but she couldn't scream or shout, not with her buttplug stuffed into her mouth. Her hands were Sticking Charm-stuck behind her back, leaving her helpless, her blouse ripped and bra yanked down.

Harry smirked down at her, enjoying the giddiness that always came with the start of a new year at Hogwarts. Admittedly, they weren't catching much of the celebratory atmosphere from the second-floor girl's bathroom, but Harry was having fun anyway.

"Your skin is so soft." Harry murmured as he kept slapping his cock against her face. He wasn't gentle, thwacking his giant cock against her distended drooling lips, her humiliated cheeks.

"Gurff!" Daphne choked around the cold metal of the plug that had just been in her ass. Her big blue eyes kept watering, but she kept them firmly open — trying to use her long eyelashes to stop the trail of warm precum dripping from her forehead.

There was a knock at the bathroom door. "Harry?"

"Fuck." He muttered, scowling. He zipped himself up, kicked open the cubicle door and stalked out. "Who is it?"

"Mmmf!" Daphne moaned from the floor, her knees wide, her blouse ripped, her skirt around her waist, her face glistening with precum trails, like she'd been painted with a brush without color. "Donsh leaf meesh!" She slobbered around the plug.

Harry pulled open the bathroom door, using his body to block the view. Outside, Colin Creevey fidgeted nervously.

"What is it?" He said shortly.

"Uh, Harry, you know this is the girl's bathroom, right—"

"I'm using it for privacy, Colin." Harry frowned.

"I thought I heard voices—"

"It's just me." He said loudly. "What do you want?"

"Uh, Dumbledore, I mean, the Headmaster, he wants to see you."

"Why?"

"H-he didn't say." The boy flushed. "I think it's important, though."

Harry stared at him for a long moment. He was hard and horny and eager to return to humiliating his future wife. He was going to coat her face or maybe bend her over the toilet while he rutted her.

But if the Headmaster had called…

He sighed. "Fine. I'll be right there."

"I-I'll wait, I should escort you—"

"I don't need an escort, Colin." Harry frowned. "Go back to the Common Room, I'll make my own way there shortly."

"But—"

Harry closed the door. Colin would talk forever, given the chance.

Daphne stared up at him mournfully — she was angry, embarrassed, but her thighs had the same wet tracks her cheeks did.

He waved his wand to free her hands and withdrew her plug. "I've got to go."

The beautiful blonde was silent — clearly too ashamed to beg for more of his attention, her eyes unable to meet his.

He put his thumb between her lips. "Don't worry." Harry promised silkily. "I'll come by tonight."

"What makes you think I want that?" Daphne muttered.

He almost laughed — her nipples were hard, she was panting, her juices trickling from her squirming thighs. Even kneeling on the toilet floor, Daphne was still trying to be proud.

He took her hair in hand and tugged her hard, making her squeal and topple on to her hands and knees.

He crouched low and yanked her high. She shivered at his warm breath in her high.

"Just for that, I'll make you beg for it tonight."

"I won't!" Daphne grimaced. But she arched for his attention, her curvaceous booty raised so her skirt fell away from it.

"We'll see."

And then he was gone, thinking of Snape and Voldemort and grisly murders, anything to stop him from walking into Dumbledore's office with a hard-on.

By the time he'd reached the familiar gargoyle statue, he'd composed himself. The statue shifted without a password.

Inside the office, the Headmaster was sitting serenely in his chair, but Rufus Scrimgeour was pacing up and down impatiently.

"Lord Potter!" The grey-streaked man cried — smiling didn't suit his scraggy face. He was carrying a walking cane, but he wasn't using it.

"Call me Harry, please." They shook hands. "Congratulations, Minister. I'm sorry I didn't get a chance to pay my respects, what with everything."

"You fought off those scum bags, that's all I need." The man's keen yellowish eyes never upturned, even when he smiled. A politician's smile. "That's why I'm here, really."

"Oh?"

"To thank you and Albus both for defending Diagon Alley." He held his chest and grimaced. "Wish I could have done more myself, but I'm not as sharp a wand as I used to be."

"Rufus was quite a duellist, in his heyday." Albus offered, sipping his tea. There was an odd atmosphere in the room, a terseness.

"More anger than power." Scrimgeour waved him away. "But anger goes a long way, even without the Dark Arts."

"Not so helpful as Minister, I imagine." Harry said, crossing his arms. What was this? Like any politician, Scrimgeour wanted something — and he was annoyed that he'd been pulled away from Daphne's vice-tight throat for political games.

The old lion had a raspy laugh, like a ten-a-day smoker. "I'm afraid not. But that's why I'm here. I don't mind admitting it. I'd like us to stand together, to cover up each other's weaknesses."

Harry glanced at Albus, whose face revealed nothing.

"Unity is a powerful thing." Harry offered.

The Headmaster cleared his throat, but when the other two men glanced at him, he only put a lemon drop on his tongue.

Rufus sighed like a long-suffering wife. "Albus disagrees."

"Albus does not." The Headmaster frowned. "I merely see a vast chasm between unity and public relation exercises."

Scrimgeour ground his walking cane into the carpeted rug. "Perhaps Harry realizes what you don't — a strong morale makes for a strong defense."

"I do." Harry crossed his arms and leaned against the Headmaster's bookcase of knick-knacks. This had to be played carefully, no matter how much he wanted to return to Daphne and her perfect bubble-butt. "But I also know a strong defense makes for a strong defense."

The Minister rubbed the obsidian stone at the top of his cane. He seemed like he was perpetually on the edge of irritation. "I've headed up the Auror Office for a long while, Potter—Harry, I mean. I know the value of strong enforcement."

"Your Aurors are a fine unit, I know. I fought with them at Greengrass Manor." Harry complimented. "But we'll need more than boots on the ground. We need to start playing dirty."

"Dirty?" The Minister blinked at him, his strange yellowish eyes magnified by the wire-rimmed spectacles he wore. His glasses were so thin and sharp, Harry imagined they were reshaped barb wire holding the lion back. "We've let the Aurors use the Unforgivables without any punishment or even paperwork."

"A good start." Harry nodded. "Now let's put a bounty on Death Eaters, so Voldemort's new recruits know that they can't walk the streets safely, just like we can't."

Scrimgeour stiffened. Dumbledore coughed out a Lemon Drop onto a small saucer. Fawkes flew by and picked the yellow sweet up by the beak and swallowed it himself.

The Minister crossed his arms. "That…that would look like desperation, like the Ministry can't protect the people. It would look like we're trying to fund a vigilante group."

"The Ministry can't protect the people." Harry said simply. He was done mincing words.

"Now, see here, we've got the best wizards and witches in the country working for us. The last administration let the country down, but we're making Britain strong, we're making Britain stable—"

Harry blew out a long breath, shaking his head. "With respect, you're so far from that. The Ministry got raided with ease. Diagon Alley got infiltrated — we got away with a bloodbath, but we could have had a massacre."

"That was before me—"

"People are hiding in their homes." Harry interrupted.

He thought through the financial report Narcissa had given him before he'd returned to Hogwarts, though it had been difficult to pay attention when she sat on his lap — especially since she'd taken to wearing ass-swallowing tiny thongs that didn't even hide her peeking pink puckered asshole, desperate for him to sodomise her.

"Retails halved, applications for foreign travel are way up, house prices are down, Gringotts is panicking and raising rates on loans, mortgage, ward renewal, insurance."

Scrimgeour scowled. "Yes, because the people need something to believe in, like us, standing together. The Ministry, Hogwarts, Harry Potter."

Dumbledore placed his teacup down with deliberate loudness. He seemed sour, and not from the Lemon Drop. "I must admit, my boy, I too don't favor this bounty idea. It will create a larger divide in our society, as well as putting innocent lives in risk from more public fights."

"Wake up, both of you." Harry snapped. "We're at war. Hunt them down now or face them on a battlefield."

"There are many steps a man can take before he ends up on a battlefield, and he can turn back at any time." Dumbledore said evenly.

"I'll think about it." Scrimgeour interrupted. He straightened his tie. "But for now, I'd like to station Aurors here at Hogwarts."

"No." Dumbledore said firmly. "It is out of the question. This is a place of learning, Rufus."

Scrimgeour placed both hands on his cane, like it was a pedestal. "The parents are afraid, Albus. Students died at Hogsmeade. Students died in Diagon Alley."

"My point, indeed. Hogwarts remains as the last safe bastion of Britain—"

"My point, indeed. This is the last symbol of safety, so we need to protect it."

Dumbledore steepled his hands, any trace of joviality gone. "Hogwarts would be the last place of attack for the Dark Lord."

"Yes!" Scrimgeour cried. "After he's attacked the Ministry and Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley, Hogwarts is the remaining last place of attack. Don't you see? Hogwarts. Is. Next."

"Nonsense. Tom would not attack without certainty of victory — and with me and Harry here, he is far from that, I assure you."

Scrimgeour sneered. "He doesn't need to conquer the castle, Albus. One child dies, one more, how many more students get pulled out of school?"

"I didn't realize you were so concerned about education, I'm glad—"

"Oh, don't give me that." Rufus growled. "The Ministry is the biggest recruiter once your precious students leaves, Albus — and if Hogwarts can't produce wizards and witches, then what good is it? The rats flee the sinking ship, the Ministry can't recruit them, the society falls, the Aurors fail, the country falls."

"Kind of you to compare my children to rats, Rufus—"

"Can we stop playing games? You know what I meant."

Dumbledore took a deep breath. "Rufus, I assure you, with whatever power I still hold and whatever reputation supports it — as long as I am here, Hogwarts is safe."

Harry watched with wide eyes as the two men sparred. Dumbledore was still affecting a serene air, but his magic was vibrating. Scrimgeour didn't even pretend to be calm, scowling, gripping his cane hard.

"I can still exact Educational Decrees to make this happen. I'm asking as a courtesy." The Minister threatened.

Dumbledore stood up slowly, his aura growing. "You do not want to test me, Rufus. I saw you as a boy. I saw you learn to Apparate. I saw your first exam."

"You still see all of us as your boys and girls, that's your problem, Albus. I don't even need to use Fudge's stupid Decrees, I can go to the Wizengamot—"

"Do not threaten me with the Wizengamot, Rufus, I gave that body whatever power it now holds."

"Gentlemen," Harry interrupted. "Let's take it down a notch, shall we? We're all on the same side."

"Are we?" Rufus muttered. "Because I'm trying to protect the country."

"I'm protecting the students who will revive this country, long after you and I are gone, Rufus." Dumbledore said calmly.

The two men simmered. The Headmaster took a lemon drop and sucked on it.

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose. He could have spent this hour making Daphne's asscheeks clap. "How about this? No Aurors in Hogwarts, but the Headmaster will do a handshake and photo in front of the castle."

"I do not think that will—"

"Aurors need to be here—"

"Let me finish!" Harry said loudly. "You will both announce a new Ministry-Hogwarts cooperation where select Aurors will be given training by the Headmaster himself. The Ministry can announce they have wards that Hogwarts has consulted on." He raised a brow. "This way, the public can see you're working together."

"What Aurors?" Rufus grumbled. "Your little pet group of allies?"

"This is about the optics, Minister." Harry reminded. "Unity."

The Headmaster eyed him skeptically. "I…I don't like to engage in fickle public relations, nor do I wish to lie, but for the sake of keeping Aurors off school grounds, it is…acceptable."

Scrimgeour was silent. "Will we actually get Hogwarts wards in the Ministry?"

"Rufus, I did not and could not make these wards." Dumbledore explained. "This is Merlin's work, or the Founders. They were here long before me and they will be here long after."

"Nobody has to know that." Harry interjected. "All they'll see is that the Ministry has new and improved Hogwarts-approved wards."

"That would look good." Scrimgeour admitted. "Very well, gentlemen." He clutched his cane. "I…well, apologies if it became a little heated. I'm glad we're working together, in all this."

"As am I." Harry said.

"Indeed." Dumbledore said quietly. "We'll need to compromise and stand together to fight back against Tom's hatred."

"Then I'll leave you in peace. I know the start of a new term is a busy time. Good day, Albus. Harry, let's do dinner sometime." Scrimgeour grabbed his cane and stepped out of the office.

The Headmaster and Harry waited a long minute before they were certain he was gone.

"Merlin." Harry collapsed into the chair.

"Indeed." Dumbledore rubbed his forehead. "I should thank you, I suppose. Even a photoshoot is preferable to having Aurors lining Hogwarts, like the Dementors did a couple of years ago."

Harry nodded, fighting the urge to throw his feet up on the desk. "You can do it. Old dog and new tricks, and all that." He winced. "That wasn't meant to be a jab."

Dumbledore looked at him, amused. "Quite alright, my boy. I surpassed old a long time ago, I think."

"You're still as powerful as ever, don't worry."

"All I do is worry, nowadays." The old man grimaced. "A bounty, Harry, really?"

He shrugged. "You start high and negotiate down."

"What is down from bounty hunting, dare I ask?"

"Death Eaters disappearing without the financial reward?" Harry said hopefully.

"Speaking of disappearing Death Eaters, I see young Mister Malfoy hasn't returned to school this term."

Harry held his hands up. "Nothing I've done, pinky promise."

Dumbledore looked at him doubtfully, but Fawkes chirped happily. Harry glanced at the proud phoenix — did the Headmaster use him as a lie detector?

"I believe you." The Headmaster confirmed. "And Miss Tracey Davis? She too hasn't returned."

Harry shrugged. "Extended holiday, back in a few weeks, from what I understand. It's not me, honestly." Or whenever Daphne's scary family was done 're-educating' her.

The Headmaster shot him a glance.

"She's not dead, importantly." Harry added.

Dumbledore sighed. "I suppose I should be grateful for small liberties."

"I thought you'd ask more questions."

"I would, if I didn't require your assistance."

Harry grinned. "What do you need? Wait, don't tell me. A small loan? House Potter has very generous interest rates."

"I'm sure—"

"Or love life advice? Who is she? You didn't buy her socks, did you?"

"Who wouldn't like a nice pair of warm socks?" Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "However, as distasteful as it is, I require your fame."

"Oh, Professor," Harry sighed in mock disappointment. "You want something autographed?"

"Not quite. Dolores, as poor an educator as she was, was still teaching Defense lessons. I need to replace her."

"You've found someone?"

"Professor Snape has kindly agreed to deputise—"

"I bet he was thrilled."

"But I'll need a Potions teacher. Luckily, I know the perfect individual. A Potions Master by the name of Horace Slughorn."

Harry flinched as the memories hit him. Slughorn had been Tom's mentor in a way, the pompous man being easily manipulated by Tom's charm. It had been Slughorn who'd given Tom more knowledge of the horcruxes.

"You know him?" Dumbledore said interestedly.

"Huh?" Harry shook himself. "N-no. How would I? I might I have seen his name in the school somewhere."

"He did use to teach here." The Headmaster confirmed. "He even taught the Dark Lord for a time. Your mother, too. He's truly gifted at Potions but his interest lies more in fluttering his wings as a social butterfly."

"I see where this is going."

"Horace has been missing for sometime. He was afraid the Dark Lord would kill or recruit him."

"You think Voldemort got him?"

The Headmaster fiddled with his glasses. "I do not. Horace has many friends and is very gifted at Transfiguration. His, well," The Headmaster's face slipped into something which almost looked like a smirk, which Harry had never seen on him. "His unique vintage of courage will have kept him safe. Thankfully, I have a lead on his location."

Harry settled down into his armchair. "You want me to butter his bread?"

Dumbledore cleared his throat, pulling at the collar of his colorful robes. "I, well, it is regrettable, and it is not a reflection of his character, but—"

Harry goggled. "Spit it out, Professor."

The Headmaster sighed and took his spectacles off to clean them, unable to meet his gaze. "Horace is not a bad man, by any count. But he does have a unwise fondness for the fairer sex, and for those who, ah, still bathe in the fountain of youth."

The silence was long. "Professor, please don't tell me you're inviting a paedophile into the school."

Harry giggled inside his mind. After Voldie in a turban, a fraud, a werewolf and a Death Eater, where does a paedo even rank?

"Not at all!" Dumbledore protested. "He's not like that. Horace is just unwilling to recognize his own age. He likes to favor those young women gifted with beauty."

Harry looked at him doubtfully.

The Headmaster grimaced. "He's never had a formal complaint or any accusations. I thought perhaps, and I am ashamed to ask, that you might ask one of your friends to accompany you. Of course, she doesn't need to do anything!" He added hurriedly.

"Say no more." Harry's smile twitched. "If Slughorn likes chasing skirt, I'll give a trail of miniskirt breadcrumbs that lead him all the way to Hogwarts."

Dumbledore's eyes lifted to the ceiling, as if he could escape this universe. "Your easy grasp of a florid phrase is as admirable as ever, my boy."

"I'll take care of it all." Harry clicked his fingers. "Operation old dog, new chicks."

The Headmaster groaned loudly. "Sometimes I wish our relationship hadn't become quite so familiar, Harry."

Harry snorted as he stood and headed for the door. "As long as you're not asking me to find you some pretty witches yourself, I think we're okay."

"Perish the thought."

Fawkes chirped, beating his wings from his perch. It sounded like a laugh.

"Don't you start." Dumbledore grumbled.

Harry laughed as he descended down the steps. "Don't worry, Fawkes. I'll find you pretty chicks too."

Fawkes sang happily.

###

Pansy Parkinson's enchanted letter opener fell from her trembling hands. It stabbed like a dagger into the Common Room carpet, but it couldn't have been as sharp as the pain in her gut.

The words on the letter didn't change no matter how many times she read it.

The little dragon has flown the coop. Adjust accordingly.

Draco had run away. He wasn't coming back to Hogwarts. Whatever stupidity he'd done, whatever that silly bitch Tracey had convinced him to do, it had backfired.

It was over.

It was all over.

Pansy held her ribs, the short sharp breaths wheezing out of her.

The hammer above her had threatened to fall from the moment Narcissa had been revealed as Potter's mistress.

But when the hammer blow came, it felt like a sword that gutted her insides.

It didn't crack her heart, because she'd never cared for Draco. But it destroyed her future, which was worse.

The power base her family had relied on. The betrothal which would have ensured the Parkinson's power and status for generations to come.

The arranged marriage would have made her someone. Lady Malfoy, the queen of all she lay eyes on.

Now, she was weak.

Her face showed nothing. She wouldn't let it. In Slytherin, weak prey got picked apart.

Just make it to your bedroom. Don 't cry.

She stood on shaky feet. But before she could make to the stairs, Daphne stood.

Pansy's sharp manicured nails dug into her palm. Daphne was a shark who'd sensed blood — the beautiful blonde was already smirking.

"Aw, Pansy? Are you okay?" She said with faux-concern. "Do you want a shoulder to cry on? Actually, you'd rather have a robes to cling on to, right? Now Draco's run away, I mean."

"Fuck off, Greengrass." Pansy sneered. "Where's your pet half-blood Davis? Did she run off?" She gasped. "You're going to have rub your cunt on your bedknob now."

The Common Room snickered quietly — nobody wanted to laugh publicly at Daphne, but argumentative entertainment in Slytherin was appreciated and common.

Daphne crossed her arms and tutted in disappointment. "Pansy, darling, you can't be that mean now. When you were betrothed to your runaway bride Draco, yes." She giggled, twisting her hair around her finger. "The Prince of Slytherin."

The title got a round of laughs in the Common Room — Draco Malfoy could be freely laughed at now.

Pansy glared at every one of them. "Draco will return once the mudbloods are purged from Hogwarts. And unlike you, my family won't have to beg for scraps at Potter's table."

Daphne tittered. "Scraps?" She toyed with the emerald pendant that glowed from her cleavage. She tossed her hair back and revealed her gleaming diamond earrings. But she didn't stop there — she grabbed her wand.

Pansy stilled, her own wand sliding from her sleeve into her palm.

But Daphne just used a Cutting Charm to slice down the top of her robes, making her cleavage deeper. The boys whooped as they saw her intricate bra, enhancing her creamy breasts.

"Whoops." Daphne bit her lip. "I guess I'll just have to order another set of incredibly expensive tailored Acromantula silk robes." She shrugged. "Can you afford it now?"

Pansy scoffed. "I'm glad for you that kissing Potter's ass is financially rewarding—"

Her words were drowned out by juvenile cheers when Daphne's robes slid down from her shoulders, hanging barely on her arms, her full bosom pushed up by her bra. "Maybe I'll order another set of custom lingerie, it feels so good against my skin." Greengrass examined her fingernails. Her blue eyes flicked up.

"Oh, what's that skin cream you like so much? Blended Honeywater and Abraxan hair from Austria?" Daphne shrugged. "I'll order ten bottles."

Pansy glared. She knew what the girl was doing. Everyone knew that the Parkinson family, though pureblood, wasn't the richest.

"Greengrass, you'll get all the cream when your daddy marries you to some old sweaty fuck, because nobody on the right side will marry you now. I hear Lord Denwood is looking for his third wife after the tragic loss of the last Lady." Pansy suggested. "I heard her ribcage collapsed — maybe he fell asleep on her. Look forward to that."

Daphne was unbothered. "You really want to talk marriage? Who's going to want Draco's leftovers?"

The Common Room laughed. Pansy blinked quickly, to stop the tears from coming. She wasn't used to this humiliation. Nobody talked to her like this.

"Who's going to want to be tied to House Potter when the Dark Lord rules the country?" Pansy countered.

The Room fell silent — it wasn't done to speak publicly of Lord Voldemort, even if he had his supporters.

Daphne's lips curled. "Haven't you read the papers? Harry fights him off everytime. With Dumbledore by his side?" She whistled. "With the Ministry crumbling, maybe Lord Potter will create a monarchy after he's won. King Potter will probably need a Queen." She fluttered her eyelashes.

Pansy chortled. "You really want to fantasize about being on your hands and knees for Gryffindor's golden boy?"

Daphne shrugged. "Better than fumbling the biggest goldmine in the country like you did. Remember last time we argued like this?"

Pansy didn't — she and Daphne had frequent jabbing conversations. It was how their status was defined. "I don't think about you, you irrelevant whore."

Daphne's smile widened. "Does anyone else here remember?"

The Common Room mumbled assent. Astoria clapped enthusiastically.

"I'll remind you." Daphne said graciously. "I told Pansy that she was a disgusting simpering little whore for Malfoy."

The Room roared with laughter.

"That when she was married, all her pretty black hair will be tugged away while he gives her another stick in her ass." Daphne turned for the applause, always the performer.

"Easy to talk so brave when he's gone—"

"And you, Pansy, told me that it'd be worth being on your hands and knees, because you'd be able to look down at the big fucking diamond on your finger." Daphne clapped herself.

The boys cheered.

"Ain't no shame in that." Goyle shouted.

"It's true." Daphne nodded. "Wizards play for power. Witches play for family and fortune." Her face turned cruel. "And Pansy just lost her fortune."

"You don't know shit, Greengrass—"

"Tick, tock. All the good guys will be choosing wives soon." The blonde beauty pointed at the vintage grandfather clock in the Common Room. "Maybe you can be like the current Lady Malfoy, since you always wanted to be her — work the night-shift on your back."

The Common Room whooped.

"You can be my Mistress, Pansy!" Terence Higgs declared.

Pansy had to leave — she was shaking, her face red. "I'll see how smug you are when you're alternating Crucio's and cocks in the Dark Lord's dungeon, Greengrass." She hissed.

Daphne didn't need the last word — she'd already won. Pansy shouldered past her and up the stairs, her shoulders crumpled, tears stinging her eyes. The Common Room clapped her exit.

Pansy slammed her bedroom door, hitting it with as many locking charms as she knew.

"Fucking bitch!" She snarled, grabbing a bottle of perfume and throwing it at the mirror.

"Really, dear!" The mirror complained as the bottle cracked, liquid pouring down the glass.

Pansy simmered. She couldn't even afford to buy that perfume again. It was a gift from Draco, something she'd begged for.

It had been a fine line, extracting wealth from him without attracting his lecherous attention.

"No longer." She murmured.

She muttered some charms. Her clothes fell to the floor and in the mirror, the Pansy changed. The glamors dropped away.

The nose lengthened and slimmed, from pug to pureblood. The eyes became larger, from narrow to doe. Thin lips became full, rosy.

A black fringe that reached for her unique gray eyes, rimmed with black eyeliner and lengthened with mascara. Porcelain skin that revealed moving tattoos. A cursive script that swam down her shoulder — WHATEVER IT TAKES.

Little quotes, etchings from her favorite books or from nothing at all. "There is something at work in my soul, which I do not understand."

"Love is a hole in the heart."

More tattoos. A black heart with an arrow through it. A wand with a glowing Killing Curse at its tip. A girl with red satanic horns. An acromantula skittered over her leg.

Her breasts grew larger, full handfuls. Her shape widened, hips and thighs. A woman revealed.

Slowly, she became the woman she wanted to be, the one she hid from Draco, making herself the plain pureblood that he wouldn't be interested in, removing everything that made herself interesting.

Pansy examined herself.

"You are beautiful." She told herself. It wasn't as obvious as that bitch Greengrass, perhaps, not the aristocratic English rose. But she was striking, the sort of girl who modelled in niche alternative magazines.

Her beauty could help her, if there was a boy out there who liked her gothic visage.

She'd need to find a way out. Her family had been too dark, too eager to bring themselves in line with the Malfoys.

Father had a tattoo that he couldn't remove, and that tattoo had tainted her own prospects. Pansy could only marry within the Dark Lord's followers — at this rate, she'd end up staring at the ceiling while Crabbe or Goyle rutted at her like dribbling trolls. Merlin, she'd be lucky if it was just one of the two.

"It wasn't meant to be like this." She muttered.

She had to do something.

But what?

###

Harry sipped on his drink, grimacing at the sweet taste.

"It's called a Woo Woo." Amelia had said as she handed it to him. She'd leaned closer. "It's very popular in this time."

Peach and cranberry and vodka wasn't his thing, but she hadn't been wrong. The brightly colored drink was popular at the party they were at in Longbottom Manor.

Amelia had finally agreed to introduce him to pureblood society, for some reason. She didn't anything for free — the catch was coming.

Lord Edward Harry Foxham, a expat noble over from France. He'd had to bust out his French to prove himself, but people had soon lost interest.

For now, Harry was enjoying the party, taking in the pretty sights, looking for targets for his first Whorecrux.

Amelia was busy networking — getting a lot of looks in the huge dance room, dressed to kill in a sparkling bust-baring tight red slitted ball gown. She looked like a cartoon character Dudley had used to watch before locking his door firmly.

Harry sipped his drink. His eyes kept drifting to a different redhead — his mother.

Lily and her friend Alice Longbottom were seated on what people kept calling the pregnant sofa, in the corner of the room, dabbing at their brow and calling over every waiter to examine the platters.

The two pregnant women were joined by Mary McDonald, a petite black-haired Scotswoman whose role seemed to be comic relief for Lily and Alice.

"You can stop loitering, you know." Mary noticed him. "I am single, you don't need to ask."

"Mary!" Lily giggled.

"Sorry, I was just going to say to Lady Potter, congratulations on the job. You got it, right?" Harry fumbled.

Lily blinked at him. "Hey, I know you—stranger from the lift. I fixed your hair."

"Of course you did." Alice sniffed. "Stop touching strangers, Lily."

"Yeah, you're married now." Mary cracked.

"I was just helping him with his interview." His mother defended. "Although I did get the job you were going for, yes, sorry." She winced. "You might be able to reapply soon though — I don't know how long I'll be able to stay, what with all the craziness going around." She said, referring to the Dark Lord's increasing raids.

"And the baby." Alice added.

"And the baby." Lily sighed. "God forbid I forget."

"Merlin forbid." Alice corrected. "You're a lady of a noble house now, you have to act like it, as my new mother in law keeps reminding me."

"Run away. They're crazy." Mary mouthed at him.

Lily elbowed her. "Stop! She's not wrong. We're the crazy pregnant sofa, you can go, we won't be offended."

"Not at all. I want to stay." Harry assured them. "Nothing more beautiful than a woman carrying a child. You two are glowing."

Alice giggled, her face flushed. "You're sweet, but it's just sweat. It's hot in here."

Harry waved his hand to cast some charms to cool them down. The ladies sighed in synchronized unison.

Mary looked at him calculatingly, straightening her quirky patchwork plaid skirt.

Lily raised a brow. "Three individual localized cooling charms without a wand?"

"Someone's out to impress." Alice interjected.

"Be careful, uh—"

"Lord Edward Harry Foxham, but I usually go by Harry." Harry bowed.

"What a mouthful." Mary snickered.

"Rich and powerful is a dangerous combination for a wizard." Lily added, amused. "You'd be getting plenty of female attention, if they weren't all distracted by glaring at Amelia Bones."

"I'm married and I'm still mad — how does she look that good in that dress?" Alice complained.

"She's so different recently." Lily shook her head. "She'd have never worn anything that bold before."

"It's good for her." Alice argued. "Witches need some attention from wizards."

"She looks like trouble to me." Harry added.

"Aww, are you scared of a single witch?" Mary smirked.

"Why do you think I'm hanging out at the pregnant sofa?" Harry quipped, looking fearfully out at the crowded dance room.

Alice tittered, tugging at her brunette hair that curtained her cute round face. "You're silly if you think pregnant women aren't more dangerous."

Frank Longbottom rushed to the drinks table beside them, a table long and bowing under the weight of punch bowls, glassware and bottles. "Yes, mother!" He cried over his shoulder. "I'm getting the punch right now. And Lady Inglewood has her tea already."

"Don't forget the biscuits." Augusta shouted from somewhere, her inimitable raspy growl.

"Or your wife?" Alice muttered from the sofa. "He was meant to get me a drink twenty minutes ago."

"Here, allow me." Harry brought her a glass of orange juice.

"Thank you." She beamed, downing half of it. "Merlin, I wish I could drink some alcohol."

Lily elbowed her. "Even if we could, it'd only make us fatter." Harry's mother looked at friend enviously. "Mind you, all your baby weight seems to go straight to your chest and behind."

"They should call me big-bottom, not Longbottom." Alice shrieked with laughter at her own joke.

Mary rolled her eyes at Harry. "She still hasn't got used to her new title."

"I don't feel like Lady Longbottom." Alice complained.

"Or act like it." Lily smirked.

"Frank, you were meant to put the good plates out, not these!" Augusta cried out.

"Yes, mother, sorry!" Frank replied.

Alice pursed her lips. "Especially when there's a far more important Lady Longbottom still around." She muttered.

"Alice!" Lily chided.

"Sorry." Alice sighed. She looked up at Harry hopefully. "Dance with me?"

"Oh, I don't know if your husband would approve—"

"My husband doesn't pay attention to anything that isn't his mother, don't worry." She stood up, struggling, her baby bump prominent.

Harry held out his hand to help more, but ended up being tugged to the dance floor. Lily wasn't wrong about her friend — Alice's pregnancy had given her a full figure for a petite woman, her large tits threatening to spill from the deep v-neck of her pink gauzy dress.

"Thanks for the dance. All glammed up with no dance partner had me feeling down." She bemoaned.

"You do look stunning."

He wasn't lying — her chestnut brown hair had been styled and hung in waves around her face, her bright amber eyes lined with sparkling magical ombré eyeliner that swam in all shades of blue, like a colorful water wave applied above her eye.

Alice didn't answer, but Harry suddenly had to pay attention himself. Even highly pregnant, Alice was a wildcat on the dancefloor.

She was an experienced dancer, unafraid of being close. He was okay himself — most duellists practiced dance, at some point, purely for the footwork, but Alice knew the rhythm innately.

Harry just tried to keep up as she turned, twisted and gyrated against him. Thankfully, the crowd was large, the vast room too small for the huge number of party that the Longbottom's had invited, so Alice's inappropriately close dancing wasn't observed by many.

The slit in her dress rode high as her bare leg stepped between his. Her wide ass, outlined in her dress, pressed against his crotch when she twisted to the beat, pulling his arm around her front and throwing her hair back.

But when she pressed herself to her front and drew one knee up around his hip for him to grab, Harry groaned as his hard cock was pressed firmly against her groin.

"How shameful of a gentleman." Alice giggled as she felt his erection against her. She didn't pull away though, swaying back and forth with the music.

"I'm sorry — you're too beautiful." Harry answered, not entirely sure how to play his cards.

Alice fluttered her eyelashes, arms around his neck. "That's the one benefit of being with child. My body's so different, so womanly." She gnawed on her lips as she ground herself against him. "My breasts are so full with milk, too."

Harry grimaced as his cock throbbed, eager for more friction."Y-your husband's a lucky man."

Alice huffed. "He doesn't know what to do with a woman." She looked up at him mournfully. "A woman needs attention, don't you think?" She murmured.

"It's a shame a woman like you can't get—"

"Can I cut in?" A sharp voice interrupted. It was Amelia, her arms crossed, her brow raised.

"I…yes, Amelia, of course. We were just dancing…" Alice squeaked, red-faced. She disappeared through the crowd.

"Enjoying yourself?" Amelia asked as she pressed herself against him, her vibrant green eyes just inches from him.

His cock jutted firmly into her stomach.

"Yes."

"I can see that." Amelia's lips twitched. "So shameless, Harry. She's pregnant and isn't young Neville one of your best friends?"

"I wouldn't say best friends." Harry said sheepishly.

"I can't put anything past you, Harry." She said seductively, leaning closer to nibble at his ear lobe. "That's why I like you." Her gloved hand dropped between their close bodies, onto his cock. "You'll do anything." Her warm breath in his ear made him shiver. "To get the job done."

Harry growled, his hand dangerously close to her ass. "Careful, 'Melia, or I'll take you right on this dance floor. Ol' Granny Augusta will have to get a cleaning crew."

Amelia's tits were tight against his chest, her foot freed of her heel and sliding against his leg. "Would you like that, Harry? To take me home?"

"You know I would."

"How would you take me? Would you fold me in two?" She said silkily. "Or from behind? Or should I ride you so you can suckle on my breasts at the same time?"

Harry groaned loudly — her dress would be ripped off so easily. He could take her right now — fuck it, he'd just Obliviate everyone.

"But even in this dress," Amelia pushed him back and ran her hands over her curves, over her wide hips. "I'm still not the redhead you're looking at."

Harry glanced back, where Lily was sitting somewhere through the mass of bodies. "It's not like that."

"It could be, though."

"What?" He frowned at her. "I don't want—"

"There's no boundary we can't cross, once we've cheated time and death, Harry." She said quietly, her eyes bright and fanatic. "Don't you see that?"

"I've told you, it's not like—"

"But once she gives birth to you, there's a ticking clock, Harry." Amelia grabbed at his shirt. "She's going to die."

Harry swallowed, uncomfortable. The truth he'd been ignoring — that Lily would die at the hands of Voldemort and he couldn't stop it, or it would change everything.

"I can't save her."

"Why not?" Amelia challenged. "If you're in this with me, you could. We're creating a new timeline, aren't we? The future doesn't matter."

"But…it'll change so much."

She shook her head, her nose rubbing against his, an almost kiss. "You want to prove you're in this with me, together? Save your mother."

Amelia withdrew, adjusting her dress as if she was tugging it higher, only even more of her large milky tits were revealed. A little more and he'd see nipple.

"Then, you can fuck me, day and night." She promised. "You can have me in every way, forever. You can make me as pregnant as Alice." She looked thoughtful. "It'll be better for my career — nobody trusts a politician without a family."

"Amelia…" Harry said, pained. She was too much and asking for too much.

"What?" She blew him a kiss through smoky red lips. "That's a fair deal, don't you think?" She said, mischievously. "Save a mother, make a mother."

###

Voldemort trailed his fingers across the fine white limestone of the pyramid. Egypt was unbearably hot, but it was the throbbing aura of magic which warmed his insides.

This was a ley line, not unlike the one under the Ministry. A natural river of magic most powerful — something he'd need if he was going to travel in time.

"P-please—" The man behind him croaked. He was pinned to the wall and run through with a spear thousands of years old.

"Silence."

"I-I can h-help you, please—"

"Your use is served."

The pyramid was heavily trapped, but Voldemort had hired some local labour to help him investigate the tombs. Even the locals had wanted to turn back early, but the Imperius had changed their minds.

It had taken time and patience, but one of the chambers was open. Inside, there was no gold. It was a single hourglass, as large as a man, the glass caked with dust.

He charmed it clear.

Sand trickled into the glass from a faucet above. Every fifteen minutes, the hourglass filled, and the whole thing flipped over.

Voldemort stared once more at the hieroglyphics. He didn't know them well, but he knew this image.

Shezmu, the ancient Egpytian god of perfume and wine.

But the Egyptians associated red wine with blood in religious ceremony.

The Dark Lord knew what the hourglass wanted.

This was going to take time and research.

And a lot of blood.

He turned back to the dying man, whose limbs flopped uselessly.

"Actually," Voldemort slithered his tongue across his lips. "You can indeed help me."

###

Harry settled down at his usual seat at the Gryffindor table of the Great Hall. The mood was light, as it always was at the first evening feast of the first day back of the New Year.

Padma gave him a wink from the Ravenclaw table — even though he'd agreed to take lead on her family's plan to mindfuck Lord Chang, it'd take time for them to get an opening to drug him.

He ignored Cho trying to catch his eye, sweeping her hair behind her ear repeatedly.

Katie Bell sat opposite him — he was hoping it was her foot that stroked his leg and not Ron's.

Hermione began cutting his steak briskly.

"…I spent Christmas Day at the hospital." Neville said quietly.

"Oh, were you sick?" Katie asked.

Dean winced.

"I was with my parents. Mum doesn't really know what day or year it is, but she gave me a red gum wrapper, so I think she knew it was Christmas." Neville said brightly.

"I'm sure she did." Seamus patted his shoulder.

Harry almost choked on his steak, unable to look his friend in the eyes.

He hadn't done anything.

He wasn't going to do anything.

"I had a good Christmas." Seamus announced. He looked around carefully.

"She's still doing her makeup." rolled his eyes.

"And Lavender." Ron added.

Seamus leaned in close. "Parvati is coming round to me, I reckon. She sent me a Christmas present. Katie, don't say nuffin'."

"Lips are sealed. I'm one of the guys. What was it?" Katie promised.

"I mean, only a box of Sugar Quills, but still…"

"Oh, Seamus." She said sadly.

"What, it still means something."

They began arguing. Harry kept his head down and ate his steak, trying not to react to Katie's leg against his, or Hermione's hand that had delved into the zip of his jeans.

"Don't look so down, Harry. It's going to be a good year, right?" Neville said encouragingly from his other side.

"The best." Harry tried to give him a grin, but ended up with a grimace. His stomach turned.

The other boy blinked at him. "Some more students have pulled out. They say some of the Slytherin's are getting recruited by the Dark Lord already."

"Yeah?"

"Even this Ravenclaw I sorta knew, Dennis Aldermaston. Didn't come back to school today."

"No?"

"He was nice to me at the library once. They saw he's joined him." Neville said with disbelief. "Sometimes, I feel like I can only trust you, Harry."

The buttery steak tasted like bile in his mouth. "Thanks, mate."

Neville's face tinged pink. "Hey, thanks for the Christmas gift." His voice dropped as he leaned closer. "You know that plant is illegal right? You can't import it."

"That's why I got it for you." Harry said, his voice strained. Hermione's hand was twisting around his cockhead.

"I couldn't believe it when I opened it." Neville said happily. "Y-you know, I never said this to you, and like, it's not a whole thing, but…you're my best friend, Harry."

"Oh." Harry choked on his steak. "I mean, thanks. You too, brother."

Neville punched his arm and returned to his meal, humming cheerfully.

Harry stared at his meal, his appetite gone.

"Do you think you can look at my homework, Hermione?" Ron asked her. "I can't figure out all the labels on my Jupiter star chart."

"Sure, give it me in the Common Room."

Ron grinned. "You're the best, Mione. What would I do without you?"

"You'd be expelled, Ronald."

Ron snickered. "Right?!"

Hermione whispered into Harry's ear as she salted his chips. "Is it true about what Cissy and Helena got for Christmas, Harry?"

Harry stared down at his plate, uncomfortable. His cock was dripping precum onto her left hand.

He'd given Cissy and her daughter their own gleaming gem buttplug, something to cheer up his mistress, a promise of sorts. They'd both been thrilled.

"Do I get one?" Hermione murmured seductively as she jerked him from top to bottom. "I think it's so disgusting, just another example of how men reduce women to objects." She withdrew her hand from his cock and sucked on her fingers. "But it's not fair if they get gifts and I don't." She added.

Harry couldn't say anything. He was a bad friend.

He'd taken Ron's crush and fucked her into the pillows each night, finishing on Mione's disapproving face. Merlin, she might have married Ron if it wasn't for him — now the only ring she had was the one she was asking him to plug.

When the clock struck midnight on New Year's Eve, Ron would have kissed her sweetly. Harry had timed it so he gave her a facial instead, while Hannah and Helena lit the fireworks.

Seamus kept looking at the Great Hall doors for Parvati, but Harry would have her and Padma both. He'd double-stack them, four squirming holes for him to switch between, an Indian sandwich for his cock.

And Neville was fidgeting with the red gum wrapper his brain-addled mother had given him. Could he even stop himself from banging his mate's lonely and horny mother?

"What are you two whispering about?" Katie said suspiciously.

"I was just thanking Harry for my Christmas present, I didn't want to embarrass him." Hermione blushed. "Because he might have spent more on me than anyone else."

"My gift was expensive and rare." Neville boasted. "This plant is only found in Indonesia, I don't know how you got it, Harry."

"Mine was pretty rare too." Ron added. "Thanks, Harry."

"Harry got me a Cleansweep Eleven." Dean cheered. "I thought I might try out for Chaser next year."

"I got an enchanted penknife." Seamus bounced in his seat. "It can like, open any lock. You're the best, mate."

"Harry's like Santa." Dean said thoughtfully.

Harry squirmed in his seat. "Aww, you guys." His chest felt tight with guilt. "What are friends for?"