Chapter 30

Time to wake up, sweetheart." Helena felt a gentle kiss against her lips. She groaned as the curtains were pulled open, warm light pouring into the room.

Narcissa smiled at her. Her bed dipped as Narcissa knelt on it, smiling at her, perfectly manicured hand reaching out to caress her cheek.

Helena let herself melt into her mother's comfort, stretching luxuriously.

"I've never slept better." She admitted.

"I replaced all the beds with new mattresses, since Harry likes to try all the bedrooms. Silk sheets make all the difference too."

Helena sat up, letting Narcissa stroke her hair away from her eyes. It was nice…Sofia had raised her, loved her, but she'd never been the affectionate kind. Narcissa never wanted to not touch her. She was dressed to kill, as always — a pink negligee, platinum hair in perfect waves, lipstick fresh.

"Did I sleep too long?" Helena yawned, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

"Oh, no," Narcissa giggled. "I just like to make myself presentable as soon as I wake up. It's important to look good, in case Harry pops in, don't you think? He does drop in at odd times of day." She said fondly.

Narcissa looked more than presentable — she looked like a sex kitten. Helena had seen magazine covers with less effort put in.

"Come," Narcissa patted her cheek. "Let's get you something to eat and then we need to start our day, quick."

"Have we got something planned?" Helena frowned.

"First, we need to get dressed. I need to show you how Harry expects us to dress for him."

Helena felt a knot of worry in the pit of her stomach. She hadn't considered that — of course Harry would need her beauty to be amplified, at all times. She looked down at herself in dismay — she was wearing just a white tee, down to her thighs. It was a gift from Narcissa, the night before — one of Harry's discarded tees, never washed.

"Then a tour of the manor. This will be your home, too, remember? Then we might have some girls' baking time, how about that?"

Helena must have shown something on her face, because Narcissa laughed.

"You don't like baking?"

Helena shrugged. "I've just never done it. We didn't really have the money or the ingredients for like…yeah."

Narcissa's eyes softened. "That's okay. It wasn't my hobby, either, but then I made something for Harry and he was so happy. He ate every bite. And I loved how it felt, to provide for my wizard."

Helena shivered at the thought as she wriggled out of bed. "I guess…I guess that would be nice." She said. "He doesn't eat enough. On our first date, he just talked the whole time."

"That's why we need to provide for him. He's got too much to think about, as it is." Narcissa said firmly. She pulled Helena's teeshirt off her body, ignoring her squeal.

"Mother!"

"That's a good perky chest. Harry likes those, I know."

Helena eeped, holding her arm across her chest.

"Don't worry. They'll get bigger. Harry'll make sure of it." Narcissa ran her hands down from her chest to her waist. "Nice slim waist. You're so pretty, sweetheart."

"Thank you?" Helena bit her lip.

"Your hips will need to get wider, I think. You'll need to provide him lots of children, you know."

Helena blushed. "Is that what he…you know?"

"Oh, yes." Narcissa nodded. "He needs lots of good fertile babymaking witches so he can breed us, to make his House strong."

Helena squirmed her thighs together. "Mother, please."

"Sorry, sweetie." She didn't seem sorry at all. Helena didn't bother protesting as she was forcibly turned around, as Narcissa inspected her bottom. Helena squeaked as she was spanked suddenly.

"Lovely little bottom, very bouncy." Narcissa narrated. "Firm, good tone. Harry'll make it bigger, I suspect. He likes us to have some cushion, I think."

"But I'm okay, right?" Helena tried to peer over her back. "He'll love me?"

"Oh, my princess." Narcissa swept her up in her arms and squeezed her tight. "He does love you, as do I. Don't worry, you're perfect. He's so happy with his Malfoy girls."

Helena let out a long breath. "Good." She looked her mum up and down. "I wish I looked like you. More like you, I mean." They shared similar features, the hair, the eyes — but Narcissa was stacked, full-figured. Womanly. She'd have no issue carrying Harry's child.

"You will, in time." Narcissa promised.

"I don't want Harry to have to wait."

Narcissa perused her for a long moment. "Come on, let's skip breakfast and I'll show you how to dress for Harry."

Helena grinned, feeling her mouth dry out a little. Harry went crazy for mum — she'd seen it first hand. If she could get a little of Narcissa's sex appeal, she could entice Harry all the same.

Narcissa tugged her to her boudoir — not the room that Harry had deflowered her in, but a lilac-shaded room, tastefully decorated, though it consisted of more dressing cabinets than anything else.

"I sleep with Harry, when he's here, of course." Narcissa announced. "But this is where I store all the clothes I buy for him." She creaked open a dresser and Helena's jaw dropped.

Dresses, blouses, skirts and uniforms — a Hogwarts schoolgirl uniform, a nurse's uniform, a teacher's. It was a huge collection of tight, skimpy, colorful clothing.

"Whoops, not starting there." Narcissa blushed. She pulled open some drawers. "Here we are. First step, stockings."

"Stockings?"

"Harry loves them. They shape our legs, they draw attention to the skin above, they're soft, and he can rip them up when he's feeling a little that way." Narcissa wagged her finger. "You should wear stockings or tights most of time, except when you want to mix it up."

She lay out a whole bunch on the bed. "Thigh-highs are the classic and Harry will give you a good hard fucking in them. Fishnets are to be avoided, unless he tells you to go get dressed for him while he's eating dinner, or he tells you to put on a fresh paint of lipstick."

"What does that mean?"

"That means that he wants you to look like a slut." Narcissa winced, ears burning. "Really slutty. Knockturn Alley style. Oh, you don't know of it—"

"I can guess." Helena said dryly, picking up the fishnets on the bed. She'd thought, given what Harry made her and Narcissa do to each other, that all embarrassment would be gone.

Now it was embarrassment mixed with humiliation, tinged with sexual tension, that elephant in the room that they both knew, that Harry would have them do it again and more, together, to each other.

"That means he wants fishnets, deep red lipstick, a lot of eyeshadow, mascara, the whole works. And panties that you don't want to keep." The Malfoy matriarch cleared her throat. "Not even Reparo will fix them."

"I see." Helena's legs felt shaky.

"Sheer is best and you're really going to want the patterns along the hem. See the floral lace? It's the little things. Harry sees everything, which means we need to think of everything."

On the bed, Helena brushed her fingers across a small strip of diaphanous material, hemmed in the same floral patterns. "What's this?"

"That's a garter belt, like you wore on your first time."

Helena frowned. "Oh, it looks different. It was useful to keep my stockings up, I guess."

Narcissa shook her head. "That's not the point. It's for framing our femininity, see? It creates a nice box around it, draws the eye. Works for the behind, too."

"When do I wear those?"

"A lot." Narcissa considered. "And make sure you wear your panties on the outside of the belt — you don't want Harry to be struggling to access you. I've made that mistake before."

Helena took a deep breath. There was a lot to think about. Harry was worth it, a thousand times over.

Following her mother's lead, she slipped her long bare legs into a pair of black sheer stockings, enjoying the feeling of the silk. She rolled them up her thighs, watching how Narcissa did it.

"They make you feel sexy, right?" Narcissa said encouragingly.

"More than a little." Helena bit her lip. She felt hot already.

"I don't think I need to explain bras and panties." Narcissa hummed. "Push-ups, always good. No complicated hooks. Front unhooks are fine, good, even. For panties, you're not going to want g-strings. If Harry wanted a whore, he'd get a whore."

Helena giggled. Harry was a cad, bless him. "He wants a princess he can treat like a whore."

Narcissa winked at her. "That's us, but we don't tell him that. Harry knows he can do whatever he likes to us." She shivered. "So, thongs, lots of them. And panties. Cute, sexy, sultry, lacy, flowery, satin. Even boy shorts."

"Got it." Helena made a mental note.

"Heels, lots of heels. Stilettos, blocks, light on the wedges. And if you can't walk in them, you'll need to learn fast. Otherwise, you're going barefoot. Fancy lingerie needs heels, casual is barefoot."

"I can walk in them. Sort of." Helena grimaced. She'd stolen some of the other girls' heels in Durmstrang just to practice, once or twice.

"Here, try all this on."

Helena dressed slowly. Red panties — and she had to hide from her mother's knowing gaze when they darkened with a wet patch.

"If we're lucky, Harry will come for lunch." Narcissa murmured. "It's erotic, isn't it, dressing up for him?"

She nodded breathlessly.

A red bra, pushing her breasts up firmly. Narcissa circled a pearl necklace around her neck and kissed her cheek.

"I always wanted a daughter I could give this to." Narcissa said softly.

Helena clutched it tightly.

"There we are. All done." Narcissa said with satisfaction, viewing them both in her full length mirror.

Helena watched their reflections in the mirror, their mirror-selves purring and preening like sex kittens. Narcissa was wearing an identical outfit. Two Malfoys, dressed in red satin underwear and heels, black stockings, with a white pearl necklace around their long necks.

They looked owned. They looked ready. They looked like kept women.

Submissive witches of a powerful wizard.

Helena had always been proud of her long graceful neck. She felt both warm and disappointed to learn Narcissa shared it, had given it to her.

"Is…is that all we're wearing?" Helena asked. She'd thought there'd be a robe or a cover up or something.

"It's all we need." Narcissa's arm slid up around her waist to hug her, smiling at her in the mirror, chin resting on her shoulder. "The house is kept warm. Sometimes I'll throw on a little slip or a robe, to mix it up. Sometimes a full dress, a blouse and a tight skirt, even."

"O-okay." Helena stammered.

"Come now." Narcissa led her down the stairs. The manor was palatial, marble adorned with plush cream rugs, walls lined in green and gold. Gold filigree everywhere, lining the trim of the skirting boards, the ceiling, the light ornaments.

"I've been redoing the house every week, trying to figure out what Harry likes best, so I can take that style to Potter Manor."

"Harry has his own house?"

"Of course! I'm renovating it. Well, it's a construction site at the moment. I'm spending a fortune trying to get it ready for him. It has to be perfect before he moves in there, with lots of space for all his women. Here's the living room, of course."

Helena peered in at the room. A chaise longue in the center of the room, cream and velvet padded. It was so centrally focused that Helena couldn't help picture herself draped over it, while Harry took her from behind.

She flushed, tearing her gaze away. A grand piano in the corner, light streaming through diaphanous lace curtains. A fireplace, upon which mantelpiece sat family photos of the Malfoys — Lucius and Draco.

"Distasteful, I know." Narcissa harrumphed. "But as long as I'm taking visitors, I still need to keep up appearances. "Come," She tugged her by the hand, showing the bathrooms, utility closets, a dining room and an odd undecorated room with just a bed. Finally, they reached a huge open-plan kitchen. Warm sunlight cast the French country kitchen in a beautiful glow, the cupboards and drawers a worn cream patina.

Large French windows showed the grounds and the fountain of spouting roses outside. Floating pots and pans, bowls of fresh fruit, interspersed with what looked like the upturned contents of a sweet shop. Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, Acid Pops, Exploding Bonbons, Cauldron Cakes, Fizzing Whizzbees, even Chocolate Frogs.

"Harry is all grown up, but he still has a sweet tooth." Narcissa said fondly.

"This is a beautiful kitchen."

"My pride and joy." She admitted. "I keep changing it. It was white marble and teal cabinets as I thought Harry would like the Mediterranean feel, but he really enjoys a more rustic cosy home."

Set aside from the kitchen island, there was an odd addition; a worn and cushioned red armchair, the seat sunken in. And in front of it, a velvet cushion on the floor.

"That's Harry's chair, where he likes to watch me cook for him." Narcissa blushed, obviously deciding not to mention the cushion on the floor. She pulled open a fridge. "Butterbeer, ciders. Sometimes he likes just a lemonade." She stroked her chin in thought. "Oh! Firewhiskey in the cupboard. Wine in the rack in the pantry, too."

"What's all the food in there?" Helena peered over her Narcissa's shoulder.

"Just his favorites. Some roast chicken, pasta, sandwiches I can toast for him, beef casserole, shepherd's pie—"

"All of that? There's so much!"

Narcissa blushed, scratching her ear. "Well, I don't want him to think I don't care. I use preservation charms so nothing goes to waste, but I try to cook fresh if he has time. Sometimes he just wants a quick, well…" She trailed off, skin flushed, hand to her chest.

"A quick fuck?" Helena finished, smirking. "Is that what that weird bedroom is next to the kitchen?"

"If he doesn't want to go upstairs." Her nipples had hardened, visible through her lacy bra.

"What about in the kitchen? Does he take you here?" Helena breathed out.

Narcissa ran one foot up her leg absently. "He bends me over the island. Sometimes he eats off my back while he fucks me."

"And then he sits back in his armchair and you—"

"I kneel on my cushion to clean him." Narcissa nibbled on her lip.

"Your…sucking cushion."

"He doesn't want my knees to hurt."

"Harry's so sweet." Helena sighed in admiration. "How do you stop yourself…I mean, how do you get through the day without daydreaming and without…?"

"Touching myself?" Narcissa blushed. "Throughout the day, I will give in. I allow myself little rewards for when I've done something. Answered his mail, worked on his home, baked something for him."

Helena felt like she was sweating. "Do you think we could have one of those times now?" She said quietly.

Narcissa smiled at her gently, her heels clapping against the heated stone floors as she came closer. Helena gasped out as her mother's fingers trailed down her stomach teasingly and then dipped down into her panties. "Don't worry. Harry left explicit orders." Narcissa whispered. "Mother will take care of you."

###

"Mmmph," Fleur said blearily into her pillow. It was dark. Something shifted on her bed.

She blinked, memory coming back to her.

Harry had canceled his dinner plans with Marie and so instead, trying not to feel triumphant, Fleur had invited her best friend for a wine-and-chill night in her room at Beauxbatons. They'd drunk a little too much and even though Marie was no more receptive of her advances, her beautiful brunette friend still cuddled up to her as they fell asleep.

The bed creaked as weight shifted on it. The rustling of robes, the fluffing of pillows, the sound of padded footsteps; unmistakable noises to her suddenly alert brain.

Where was Marie going?

Fleur's eyes snapped open as soon as the door was shut. She wasn't meeting with Harry, was she? That bitch!

"Tempus." Fleur muttered. It was two in the morning!

She hesitated. Marie was probably just going back to her room — maybe she couldn't sleep in Fleur's.

But…what if?

Fleur slipped out of bed. Marie had left her heels there. Her panties and socks too. Clearly the girl was planning on coming back…

Fleur took a deep breath, nostrils flaring. She felt tense. She was being silly, she told herself. Her friend probably nipped to her room to get something.

But what if she wasn't?

I'll just escort her back to her room, just in case. Fleur decided, neglecting to clothe herself anymore than the thin negligee that caressed her figure. Marie's room wasn't far and nobody was up at this hour.

Only, as Fleur followed her friend, she didn't stop at her room. Marie was wearing only her Beauxbatons uniform — barefoot and clearly eager to get to her destination.

Her curiosity piqued, Fleur crept behind her, conjuring up wild reasons as to what she was doing, each one more elaborate and fanciful than the last. Was this to meet Harry or was it some sort of money-making side hustle? Marie didn't have Fleur's wealth, of course, but Fleur had never thought her poor.

She pursued her all the way through the castle, attempting to be stealthy, traversing through corridors both familiar and new. It was extremely late at night and the only light was the moonlight coursing through the windows, the moonlight that danced with the shadows the darkness cast. Recognizable corridors looked altogether different in the night-time, warm friendly places suddenly becoming all the more sinister and menacing.

She finally led Fleur, who was already regretting her decision to follow her, to a part of Beauxbatons she hadn't known existed. Abandoned it felt, not only by the students and teachers but by all feeling, light and warmth. She shivered, one eye on her friend in front of her but the other looking, frightened, at the eerie shadows crawled the walls and ceilings.

It wasn't the beautiful chateau that it was in the daytime, that was for certain.

Fleur was all too aware of the thin material she wore as she shuddered, cold in the draft that swept through the passageways. Just as the part-Veela was about to turn back and try and find her way back from the maze she had been led into, Marie stopped suddenly, abruptly. A warm smile appeared on her face as she looked at the door she stood at, before she entered it slowly, as if savouring the moment. Fleur rushed forward, feeling slightly guilty for being so nosy and yet breathless from excitement.

Desperate to see what Marie was doing, who she was meeting up with, she edged the door open slightly, the smallest crack, just enough. She could hear voices and she knelt closer, silvery blonde hair falling across her face.

"You're late." A drawling masculine voice said silkily. Fleur's eyes widened, nostrils flaring and mouth dropping open in disbelief. It was Harry! She almost choked at the very thought, angry spikes of jealousy coursing through her veins, blood heating in resentment. Through the crack in the door she could see a bed but nothing else.

"I know." Marie answered apologetically. "I'm sorry, mon amour. Fleur wouldn't go to sleep." Fleur's mind raged. Her best friend was desperate to abandon her, just to get some dick!

"That's okay, my love. I missed you, that's all." Out of sight, they shared a loud kiss.

"And I you, mon amour. Fleur doesn't understand what we have, nobody does." She said. "She thinks it's just sex."

"To a Veela, everything is sex." Harry said snidely. "I hope she finds the love we have, someday."

Fleur ground her teeth, feeling her eyes tighten. How could they mock her like this?

"Although, speaking of sex…I know what you want to do." Harry added, his tone amused.

Marie choked a little. "Am I so predictable? So eager?"

"Hurry up already." Harry teased.

Marie sank to her knees, between Harry's legs.

Harry's naked legs. And, rising from between them under Marie's delicate hands, his cock, that icon of her nightly dreams. It was long, angry, red and swollen. A monster.

She heard, rather than saw, Harry's contented sigh, heard the distinct slurping nose as Marie took him in her mouth, without even an order, without a question, without foreplay.

"Good girl."

Marie gagged in response, again and again.

Fleur watched in astonishment as Harry's cock disappeared in Marie's mouth, her eager friend swallowing every inch desperately, her gags and glurks loud and obscene. She saw Harry's hand reach out to stroke her hair, saw him push her friend's head down firmly.

What power did he have, to make her friend so weak, so submissive? She knew Harry was a catch, but still! Marie didn't even pretend to put up a fight!

"That's right, sweetheart. Doesn't it taste good? What do you say?"

Marie attempted to say 'merci' over a mouthful of cock.

"You're welcome. Enough now." Harry stood and finally she saw him completely. His pale handsome face, confident and smirking, tussled hair draping down his forehead, fetching features illuminated perfectly by the light shining from his wand. Her heart missed a beat.

He pulled Marie up and pulled her out of sight. Fleur heard the clear sound of a bed creaking as added weight was put upon it, closing her eyes in envy as she heard the two kiss passionately.

"Let's get you out of those robes." Harry said. Fleur was having trouble thinking properly but one single thought rose dominantly over all the others; she had to get out of here. Guilt rose unbidden in her, feeling slightly dirty for interrupting a moment between the two.

As much as she hated to admit it, Harry was not her man, was not her lover, and this was not her place.

As soon as the decision was made, she made to get up, but instead found herself entranced by the events that played themselves out before her. The door swung open a crack more in the breeze, and Fleur could see.

Strong arms slipped Marie's robes off her, an amused smile on his face. "I'm not here for long." Harry said apologetically.

"A moment in your sunlight is worth a thousand nights." Marie answered breathlessly.

They kissed.

"On your front for me." Harry ordered. Where did this boy get his confidence, Fleur wondered.

Marie moved around Harry to bend over a bed. Fleur's breath caught in her throat as she gazed upon him completely, eyes traversing his body as quickly as the blush covered hers. He was as gorgeous as she remembered, surpassing her numerous fantasies, her gaze fixated on his glistening erect cock as he stroked. Fleur was wet, she knew, and mentally cursed her decision not to put on any more clothes or underwear, her large breasts and stiff nipples showing prominently through her lacy almost see-through negligee.

Marie screamed as he entered her roughly, her toes curling. Harry was in no mood to play. He spanked Fleur's best friend roughly, pulling apart her cheeks and ramming into her.

Fleur would have called it amateur hour — if it wasn't for the fact that Marie was crying with pleasure.

As the two lovers forewent foreplay, many minutes passed by, the passion inside the room increased, the grunts and moans got louder, the air became hot and heavy, and yet Fleur could not tear her eyes away from the entrancing vision of sex, masturbating intensely, one hand rubbing her breasts almost frantically, the other hands fingers pumping inside herself rapidly, sopping wet. She could not tell whether the erotic smell that permeated the air was because of her own actions or the couples, nor did she care. Her mind was fully focused on relieving herself.

She was breathing heavily, the scene unfolding before her arousing her like never before. Fleur couldn't see Marie's face, so in her mind's eye, she imagined that she was the one that Harry was thrusting into so vigorously, she was the one with the stunning behind that Harry had just pulled out of, she was the one Harry had just turned around and had huge ropes of semen blasted onto her.

Fleur's quiet moans had so far gone unnoticed, masked by the pleasurable screams Marie sounded when she had yet another orgasm, disguised by the loud grunts and groans Harry cried out. She fell silent as the room fell silent, internally yelling in desperation that her fingers had not managed to get her off, her jealousy for the girl at paramount levels. The Beauxbatons student reminded herself again that she needed to get away lest she be caught, and was reminded once again that she was in some forsaken part of the chateau, lost and unbelievably hot.

In front of her, Harry was sharing post-coital kisses and loving whispers with Marie. Fleur cast her eyes around the dark corridor that she knelt in, fingers still pushing her negligee up and firmly within the hot, wet and ridiculously tight vice that was her pussy. She reluctantly removed her fingers, hating the empty feeling that arose suddenly when she did so. Rising from the freezing cold wooden floor, Fleur attempted to ignore the ache in her knees, wishing wholeheartedly that she could quench her other more prominent ache.

She looked through the crack in the door once more, and saw a fully dressed Harry embracing the smaller girl, Fleur's resentment of the girl only increasing as she nuzzled her head into the crook of his neck, melting into him.

Her arousal blanketed her mind, preventing her from thinking with any great clarity or sense. Disregarding the two lovers in front of her, who were murmuring loving words as if they were re-enacting a romance novel, Fleur sneaked quietly away from the door and around the corner. She breathed a sigh of relief, before peeking her head out and watching closely.

She was rewarded for her patience a few minutes later, when a wildly grinning Harry left the room, hair ruffled and sweaty. Now, Fleur thought as the pleasant haze that enveloped her dissipated at a snail's pace, all she had to do was follow him back to a part of Beauxbatons she actually recognised.

Quietly, she trailed after him, mind's eye still occupied on the stimulating images that had just been provided for her, fantasies running wild, body reacting accordingly.

After a restless few minutes, they finally arrived in recognizable territory; the hallway outside the library. As Harry strode ahead purposefully, Fleur let herself drift back, waiting until the sound of his footsteps had faded away before sighing, and letting her emotions wash over her.

Questions laid siege on her mind, bombarding her with questions of what and why, hailing down upon her with queries of who and how. Why was Marie so obedient? How did she and Harry arrange to meet? Why hadn't she told Fleur?

She laid back against the cold stone wall, tired. She didn't know what the time was, and couldn't check because she didn't have her wand, as she had left it on the bedside table. Indecision flooded her; she couldn't go back to her bedroom, because Marie would go back there — the other girl had left her heels and underwear there. Fleur wouldn't be able to frig herself off like she so desperately wanted to.

Clearing her mind, she focused on her priorities. Number one, getting release, number two, sleep.

Her heart was still throbbing wildly and her stomach felt sickeningly close to her mouth. Fleur felt unimaginably hot, and it was highly disturbing to her image-conscious mind that she could almost feel the sweat secreting out of her pores and dripping down her skin…creating a soft sheen…

Oh, she was so fucking hot. Fleur ground her legs together in futile, not sure whether she wanted to be rid of her arousal or to quench it. Dressed in only a short and thin negligee, she would be in deep trouble if anyone was to find her. The Triwizard competitor, one of Madame Maxime's most favored…to be caught like this would mean unending humiliation.

The very thought of getting caught made her pulse quicken and her cheeks blush, turned on by just the concept of public indecency. Fleur cursed under her breath as she felt her thighs slicken, pussy already wet.

It was all Harry Potter's fault, she decided as she resisted once more to dip her hand down low. He had been flirting with her in the nightclub, as he rightly should when she'd already blown him once, eyes all over her, making her think he was interested in her. Then, he takes Marie home instead, fucked her instead.

Fleur was furious, but it was all topped with undeniable arousal and desire for the young man. Merlin, watching him fuck her had been so ridiculously erotic, so carnal, so…animalistic. Fleur moaned, fingers rubbing against herself slowly, remembering the scene in vivid detail. It would serve as her fuel for masturbation for months, she reflected.

He'd been so unabashedly rough, not treating her like a lover like all, gentle caresses turning rough in the blink of an eye. Fleur entered a single finger. Harry had pounded into her as if he were a religious fanatic, thumping into the girl as if convinced the act would exorcise demons from her. What's more, Fleur thought as she slipped in a second finger, Marie hadn't minded one bit; crying out Harry's name passionately even while her flesh was kneaded and abused. She'd thought she would have found it disgusting, wrong, demeaning…instead, it just made her hot.

Her other hand came up to slip off a strap of her negligee, the garment partially falling down, allowing her hand access to massage her breasts. She tried to imitate the way she'd seen Harry do it, pinching her nipple roughly. A guttural moan announced her success, yet she still felt empty. Hollow.

Knowing now that she wouldn't be able to make it to her quarters, Fleur slid to the ground, flinching as her bare bottom met the cold floor, frenzied fingers fucking her sex with no shame, experienced hands working her breasts. Her eyes closed tightly, they saw naught but pure filth, wanton scenes stimulating and invigorating her every sense. The scent of her sex saturated the air, and she took a deep breath, desperate for fresh air. She heard her moans, too out of it to understand whether she was actually moaning or just remembering it. She heard loud slaps and wet squelches as her fingers thrust faster and faster. She imagined Harry's grunts and groans as he pumped into his girl.

Over everything though, she heard Marie's voice. "Fleur?"

###

Harry groaned as he woke up alone. After his late night antics with Marie, he'd Floo'd back to Hogwarts and stumbled home to Gryffindor tower, to the warmth of Hermione's bed.

Hermione had grumbled sleepily as he entered, but she was too tired to argue. He cuddled her tight and slipped into a well deserved rest.

He didn't expect to wake up cold, though. He sniffed himself.

Probably not a good idea to smell of another girl while in bed with your best friend, Harry.

Was she mad again?

"Tempus." He muttered. Still early. Only six in the morning. Where was she?

He groaned, pulling himself from the bed and padding downstairs. The founders had enchanted the staircase to stop boys trying to enter, not to exit — something he'd learned from Hermione's personally annotated version of Hogwarts: A History, a book he was amused to find under her pillow.

In the common room, somebody had been up early. The fireplace roared hot, flames dancing along the logs, the burning walnut logs making the room smell rich. The windows had steamed up with the cold winter fog, misted glass emblazoned with the intricate golden insignia, Gryffindor badge centered red and proud.

And in the armchair by the fireplace, the most desired spot, sat Hermione. Fully dressed, reading her book, she looked up as he came down. Only it wasn't his Hermione — she wore a full face of makeup, lips shaded a delicate pinky-red, eyes shadowed sultry, eyelashes long.

"Good morning," She said primly.

Harry hesitated — he wasn't quite sure what to make of her. What mood was she in? He suddenly felt like a hungover husband waking up to see his angry wife — except he'd spent the early hours inside another woman and not five pints deep.

"Morning, Mione."

"Where were you last night?"

He hesitated. "Out."

"With another girl?"

"Yes."

She just raised a delicate eyebrow. He loved her dark bushy eyebrows.

"Why?"

"Why, what?"

"What does she do for you that I don't?" Hermione's lips were apart, like a breathy pout. If she was his already, he'd take hold of her hair and force his dick in her mouth.

"Nothing, Mione, it's just I need to…"

"You need to stick your dick in something, is that it?" She snorted. "Is that what all boys want? Just a wet warm hole, and they don't care what its attached to."

"It's not like that, sweetheart, I love you—"

"You were so amazing, what you did what Umbridge I spent all day yesterday thinking about the Defense teachers and adventures we've been through together. Rescuing Sirius, fighting off Draco and his morons, getting you through the Tournament. I wore the lingerie you bought me. I wore the uniform you got me. Professor McGonagall asked me if I was feeling okay because I didn't put my hand up once. Professor Flitwick let me go from class and told me to see Madam Pomfrey because I was so distracted."

"Mione…"

"And I'm thinking about how I let my Harry know how much he means to me. How much it's meant to me to have a friend, a real friend, to discover the wizarding world together, to hold my hand, just two pseudo-Muggles living this magical dream."

Harry swallowed. Hermione was on a roll — and Tom's decades of experience wasn't going to help him navigate his way out of this one.

"So I go back to my room and I see Lavender's messy bed." She rolled her eyes. Her finger was running along her knee distractedly — golden ivory nylons. "All her trashy women's magazines. Tools of the patriarchy, really, trying to keep women to impossible standards of beauty and home care, all under the guise of self-empowerment."

"I totally agree." Harry attempted.

Her unamused look told him he failed. "But the cover got me — top ten ways to blow your man's mind. I'm reading it, and I know one of the ten is going to be oral sex, blowjobs, typical. But this writer, she doesn't say blowjob. She says that, when your man deserves a special treat, you need to use this method from pornography. Cock worship."

Harry almost choked. "I'm sorry?"

Hermione looked up at him defiantly, unamused. "So I think to myself, my Harry isn't going to act the playboy if he has what he needs 'at home', with me. When he comes to bed, I'll lather his - his penis - with my tongue. I'll do what the magazine says. I'll slowly wash it, I'll use my hands, I'll," Her lips twisted in mild disgust. "I'll put my tongue on your testicles, I'll suck, I'll worship."

"Oh, Mione, I'm so—"

"Shut up." She glared. "I — me, of all people, Harry! I was going to be the woman I hate most, for you! But you couldn't go one night without sticking your dick in some slut—"

"I didn't know, Hermione, I'll make it up—"

"So this morning," she continued as if she hadn't heard him. "I thought that Harry doesn't get to dress me like a doll. He doesn't get to play me like a violin. He doesn't get peacemaking, desperate-to-please, has no friends, always available, homework-helping Hermione!" She glared at him with her dark chocolate eyes.

Harry's stomach felt empty and endless, like a well with no bottom.

"This is what you don't get, Harry." Hermione smiled in satisfaction. "Remember in the DA, you taught me how to use a localized low powered Severing Charm? Diffindo." She murmured. Her wand glowed pink and she ran it gently across her chest.

Her red cotton sweater and blouse beneath fell in strips around her, revealing her pink nipples and perky chest, her glorious breasts that he clutched at night. She'd moisturized, her skin a warm glowing sheen from the fireplace.

She dropped her wand and without hesitation, hoisted up her skirt, holding it to her waist. He drank her in — her stocking tops high up her thighs, garter straps running up to a lacy slip around her waist, underneath her skirt.

But no panties. Her cute little slit, her delicate innie, begging to be opened up and ruined.

"Hermione," Harry breathed heavily.

"You don't get this." She thrust her shoulders back, reclining for his gaze. While one hand held her skirt, the other delved down to spread her pink lips. "Not this morning, not tonight." She bit her lip and slid a finger inside herself, her eyes fluttering shut. "Is this what you want, Harry?"

"Fuck, Mione."

"Too bad." Her lips twisted. "Are you going to Hogsmeade today?"

"I promised Katie ages ago, I don't want—"

Hermione harrumphed, abruptly pulling her skirt over herself. A muttered "Reparo!" and her chest was covered once more. "That's the problem, isn't it?" She shook her head. "I can't withhold anything because there's always another girl ready to spread her legs."

"She's not you, Hermione."

"So you'll take me instead?" Hermione crossed her arms, chin jutted.

"I promised her—"

"It's fine." She looked away. "You could take me once in a while, you know."

"I will, next time. I promise." Harry approached slowly, each step on the shaggy carpet feeling like a minefield. "I'll take you somewhere fancy, a proper date."

"I don't need somewhere fancy, Harry." She said softly, meeting his eyes. "I don't have friends. I don't have hobbies. Ron isn't talking to me. I just have you. So I'm here, waiting for you to choose me. Choose me." She repeated, swallowing.

"I will. I am." He promised, kneeling down to take her hands in his own. "Whatever happens today, I'll be here tonight. With you."

"Whatever," she sniffled.

"I'll buy you something nice."

"I don't need it."

"What's going on with Ron? Are you having a fight?"

"It's not a fight." She looked away. "He's just an immature idiot with a toddler's empathy and understanding of the world around—"

"Okay, okay." Harry's hands slipped from her hands to her waist, to around her back, holding her tight as he kissed his way up her stiff body. He squeezed her as tight as he could, peppering her with kisses until she finally relaxed in his arms.

And when she shook in his embrace, he just rubbed her back until she stilled once more. He buried his face in her hair until she'd wiped her face clean.

And then he kissed her, trying to give her all of the love he felt for her, all of the apologies for his sins, all of the gratitude for her support and love. When they broke off, she smiled at him, a wan smile but a smile nonetheless, her hand cupping his cheek.

"I'm not your owl, Harry." She said quietly.

"I know." He kissed her to seal the understanding. "I know."

"Okay. Take me to breakfast?"

"Let's go." But before she could rise, he took her finger, the finger that had been inside her, and swallowed it.

"Harry!"

"Delicious." He smirked.

"You're the worst."

But, as he tugged her to her feet, she was smiling.

A bomb defused.

###

"We are ready, my Lord."

Lord Voldemort surveyed his troops. Their bone white masks covered all but their eyes, but the masks themselves were a thing of beauty. Black patterns curling over the white some large and basic, others intricate and detailed, miniature abstract penmanship. Basic runes to harden the masks, mostly, though Bellatrix's slithering rose patterns were purely for aesthetic.

"You don't seem so sure, Mulciber?" He said silkily.

"I am committed, my Lord, as ever. It is merely that I am…" The man hesitated. "My judgment is not as clear as your own superior mind, my Lord. And so I do not see the immediate benefit of our mission. Surely we could hit the Ministry, instead?"

"If we take Madam Bones, Mulciber, we make her a martyr. Her replacement would win against any candidate we put up. And my strength is still returning, as are our forces. Do you think we can take and hold the Ministry? Not yet." He paused as his faithful Nagini slithered around his legs.

"But take her niece? We will have leverage for anything. Her greatest treasure, is it not?" He hissed. "It will make her bend. It will make her break."

The Dark Lord threw the Daily Prophet onto the floor. On the front cover, Amelia Bones was making a speech, Susan standing demurely behind her, in the background. She slipped some hair behind her ear.

"Get me the girl."

"And me, my Lord?" Bellatrix trembled as she knelt, fingernails scratching the stone. "Something special?"

"Harry Potter." Voldemort smiled. "He does not seem to understand my message. I shall have to make it clearer. I want his Mudblood whore."

"My Lord?"

"The one girl he must have claimed, the one always by his side. Bring me his pet Mudblood, Hermione Granger. Dead or alive."