Chapter 36

Hermione turned slowly in the Room of Requirement, making sure it was set up how Harry wanted. Harry had been taking the DA meetings more seriously with every week — now the room had an elevated stage for Harry to do demonstrations on, mannequins, a firing range with target boards, an obstacle course, even a cupboard with Boggarts inside.

She'd got there early, because she knew who would turn up first. Harry had told her how much he needed the political and social influence of Susan Bones, and while Hermione was far from thrilled, she could understood.

Competing with a rich and powerful stacked redhead wasn't her dream, but she'd meant what she'd told her Harry. His happiness was a quantifiable aim she worked for — and his safety was, too. If Harry had the Ministry in his back pocket, there was far less chance she'd lose him to this war.

The door opened. Susan popped her head through, her eyes lighting up as she saw Hermione.

Hermione couldn't help but smile. Susan was a kind soul — it was a shame that kind soul was in a busty body with vibrant red hair and hypnotizing green eyes.

"Hermione!" Susan bounced up to her and hugged her tightly. "I'm so glad you're okay." She sniffled. "I didn't get a chance to welcome you back, it's been so crazy."

"It's fine, I heard you had your own ordeal. How are you feeling?"

"Oh, pssh." Susan waved her away. "Nothing compared to what you went through, I'm sure. Harry got to me before anything really bad could happen."

"Me too." Hermione smiled at the thought of him, of his heroic rescue. She'd never forget it. "We're lucky girls, right?"

Susan nodded. "Thank Merlin for him. How's he doing? Shaken up?"

Hermione snorted. "As if. You know Harry, he's a duck in water with everything."

Susan giggled. "I guess you're right. Never slows down." Her smile flickered. "I…didn't know at the time, not until later. But Han…she told me that V-Voldemort tried to make Harry choose between us, to rescue only one of us."

Hermione pasted a smile on. Harry had chosen Hermione, of course he had, but a little subterfuge wouldn't go amiss. "I'm…I'm glad he chose you. He must think a lot of you."

Susan made a strange noise in the back of her throat, her eyes not meeting Hermione's. "I…yeah."

Uh-oh.

"He rescued us all, of course. Everyone he could, at least." Hermione gave her an out.

"No, yeah, I'm grateful." Susan took hold of her hair, rubbing it. "It's just like, why, you know?"

"Why?" Hermione frowned.

"Why didn't he choose you? His best friend forever, since first year. Everyone knows its Harry and Hermione and Ron, always." Susan gave her a subdued smile. "I'm being silly, I know, but…well, he's your bestie, I get it, but sometimes I think he's two different people."

"I don't think it was like—" Hermione was interrupted by the door opening. Seamus bounced into the room, hands cocked into finger guns. "Pew-pew, pew-pew! Harry's more handsome sidekick is here and ready to learn even more about kicking Death Eater ass."

Dean followed, rolling his eyes. "Takes down one Death Eater and thinks he's Merlin."

Susan gave her a fleeting smile and moved away. Hermione opened and closed her mouth.

Had she just made things worse? She crossed her arms and hugged herself. Of all the girls in the castle, who knew that Susan Bones would have the most undroppable set of panties?

Worst of all, Susan was right. Harry was two different people, in a way.

Harry and Tom.

And that's why they needed Susan.

She needed Susan's light and good heart to make sure he was more Harry than Tom.

Hermione stared at the redhead as the DA members streamed in, the cogs whirring in her head. Susan wasn't falling for her heroic Harry, which meant Hermione might have to borrow a bit of Voldemort's manipulations.

Susan had denied the carrot…so now she got the stick.

###

Seamus grinned as he held court in the Room of Requirement, ahead of the DA meeting. While they waited for Harry, all the boys and girls crowded round the elevated stage he sat on, Harry's stage, as he and the lads dished out the story of how they rescued Hermione. Hermione sat beside him, snickering at each of his tales.

Seamus told a story, rather, not the story — that was always the trick.

"And then I snapped my wand down and BAM! His arm lit up in a fiery blaze, a fire bigger than when me ma found my dirty magazines." Seamus cracked. "The Death Eater dropped his wand just before he could curse Harry."

The group tittered in appreciation. Parvati rested her arm on his shoulder. "You do like your fire." She said admiringly.

"Set fire to my bag three times in first year." Dean grumbled.

"What happened next?" Michael Corner leaned forward.

Seamus nodded at Dean, who took over. "And then Neville, he throws the Devil's Snare at this Death Eater."

The group oohed.

"And Nev's like, die, bitch—"

"Nev said that?" Lavender frowned.

"Nev said that." Dean nodded. "And this Death Eater wrestles the plant away and he's like, boy, you ain't gonna kill me with green fingers. And guess what Neville said?"

"I'm not sure this is entirely accurate—" Neville muttered, red-faced.

"He said 'Forget about green-fingers, how about a green-hand?'. Neville makes a fist — and get this, the Devil's Snare forms into the shape of a fist and it punches the Death Eater in the face?"

Seamus snapped his fingers to add emphasis to Dean's tale. "It's called floral magic synchronization. It's NEWT level stuff."

Luna Lovegood gaped in amazement. Neville stammered. "Not strictly true."

Seamus raised an eye at him when his pudgy friend caught his gaze. "But I did kick some butt." Neville allowed.

The group cheered.

"What then?" Anthony Goldstein asked. "What did Ernie do?"

"I'd rather not say." Ernie swallowed, unwilling to admit his cast of the Killing Curse.

The group groaned. "Come on, Ernie."

"I'll tell you, lads and lassies." Seamus cleared his throat. "Ernie cast this massive boom that knocked three of them down. And he goes," Seamus affected a deep voice. "'You killed my father, now I shall rid your children of their's.'"

"Whoa!" Alicia clapped in appreciation.

"Badass." Colin Creevey was making notes.

"Don't forget about Ron." Ginny piped up, smiling proudly.

"Yeah, what did Ron do?" Lee Jordan asked. "Did he really sing the Hogwarts song to Death Eaters?"

Seamus grinned at his ginger friend, whose face had turned the same shade as his hair. "He really did. Ron's got a beautiful voice — not quite the same pitch that we hear in the shower, though."

"Odd, that." Dean snorted.

In the center, Hermione giggled, smiling at each of them fondly, kicking her legs from where she sat on the stage. She had a new light to her — a spark in her step, a glow to her face.

Seamus was pretty sure who it came from. And the culprit walked through the door, whistling to himself.

Seamus smirked as Cho Chang casually undid a button on her blouse. Ginny pulled her long socks further up her thigh. Katie fluffed her hair.

Harry must have some Irish blood, Seamus mused. He definitely had the luck of the Irish.

But as Parvati casually leaned against his side, Seamus was pretty sure that there was plenty of good fortune to be found in riding Harry's coat-tails.

Harry seemed cheery as he kicked the meeting off — not so much the stern dictator he could often be. Seamus tried to hover next to Parvati as Harry assigned dueling partners.

Come on, man, be a bro. Seamus tried to wiggle his eyebrows.

"Seamus, duel Parvati." Harry said, his face blank. Seamus couldn't tell if he was innocent or not, but either way, he wasn't complaining. Essentially since Harry, bless his cotton socks, had them practicing elemental interactions.

Harry clapped his hands. "Using fire to melt ice into water. Using electricity to spark water into danger. Using wind to whip up your electrified wool and send it at your opponent. The elements are the very building blocks of spell chains." The green-eyed boy rolled his eyes as Dean whizzed by on a slide of frozen water — Dean had taken to the elemental spells faster than most.

Seamus grinned. He loved practicing elemental interactions — mostly because of the overpowered variant on Aguamenti that Harry made them use as a starting point, which always ended up with the girls in sheer wet blouses.

Parvati was soaked in no time at all. Seamus tried to look as innocent as Harry did all the time, even when he was correcting Cho's wand grip for the umpteenth time.

"Pay attention, guys." Harry droned as he used Cho as an example, adjusting her hands on her wand while the girl blushed. "A good wand grip is two thirds down the shaft. Too low and your wand is gonna get summoned out your hand. Too high and your accuracy is going to suffer — you won't be able to shift from target to target."

Dean shuffled over. "Is he doing this on purpose?"

"Honestly, I can't tell," muttered Seamus, "but I've got a fat semi." The two boys chortled.

At the end of the meeting, as the others trundled out of the room, Seamus casually wandered over to where Parvati and Susan were drying themselves with towels.

"He does look very heroic, these days." Parvati glanced over her shoulder at Harry, who was doing a poor job of looking like 'just friends' with Hermione. "If he grows his hair out a little, he'll look like Bhima."

"Bhima?" Susan asked quizzically.

"Oh, I forget." Parvati smacked her forehead. "Back in India, everyone knows Bhima. From the Mahabharata."

"Oh." Susan snapped her fingers. "I know about the Mahabharata. Auntie tried to read me a translation once, made it about two pages."

Parvati snorted. "Try a retelling, not the original, or you'll lose two years of your life."

"I can read." Seamus injected, giving his best gormless look.

Parvati patted his shoulder. "We'll start you off with something small."

"The Hungry Caterpillar." Susan poked. She paused. "Actually, Alice in Wonderland. Auntie's favorite book, she read it to me every bedtime. I always think you and Dean are like Tweedledee and Tweedledum."

"I know it's an insult but I don't know enough to feel the impact." Seamus flexed a bicep. "So I feel no pain!"

Parvati pinched his arm hard. "Splash my shirt again next week and you'll feel a lot of pain." She grinned.

"Mercy, mercy!" He cried.

She glanced over her shoulder again. "We'd best get going. From the sparks flying over there, I think Hermione's gonna be begging for mercy, soon." She giggled.

Seamus stared with his jaw dropped. Susan's eyes went wide.

"What?" Parvati said defensively. "You and Dean are the only ones who can make dirty jokes?"

###

Fleur hurried through the Beauxbatons corridors. Marie had sent her a message through their enchanted notebook, promising her the meal of her lifetime.

She pushed open the door to her friend's bedroom.

And then she was her. Marie lay back on her bed, her belly swollen and huge, the room thick with the scent of heavy fucking and Harry's signature cum. Fleur swallowed hard as Marie giggled, her fingers parting her pussy as his seed dribbled out.

"This is the deal we made, non?" Marie teased.

Fleur crawled onto the bed in a trance. Fleur's submissive obedience in exchange for the taste of Harry's load.

"But h-he came? When?" Fleur nestled between Marie's open thighs and took a deep breath.

"Just for a quickie. He's in France." Marie grasped Fleur's hair tightly and roughly tugged her forehead, until Fleur's face was smooshed against her wet warm cunt.

Her tongue got to work. It was hot, fresh — she couldn't waste it. The taste of magic so pure.

"In fact," Marie settled back in her bed, her grasp firm, rolling her hips as Fleur slurped. "He's visiting the Veela Court today."

"What?!" Fleur said, but she only managed to splutter as her mouth was filled by the thick stream of Harry's goo. Harry was visiting the Veela while she was stuck here. Fleur had to get there, to showcase herself.

"Yeah." Marie moaned. "Such a good little Veela slut." The brunette girl tightened her thighs around Fleur's head as she tried to retreat, clamping her in place. "Maybe they'll choose a dirty young Veela for his bed in exchange for his political favor in Britain. What do you think, Fleur?"

It should be me! Fleur screamed. She tried to escape but Marie's grip was tight. She tried to say something but she could only choke on the constant river of cum, warping her mind, filling her nose. Pure pleasure dripping down her throat.

"I hope he's got someone with him." Marie wondered out loud. "A friendly Veela to escort him through. I hear that court can get pretty vicious."

###

The old town of Antibes had plenty of beautiful people, Harry mused. Even in winter, pretty couples strolled around the harbor, luxury yachts filling the old port.

On the hill overlooking the boats, Fort Carré sat, an ever-present reminder of the town's history, even as it was filled by new boats and new money.

Many beautiful people, but none quite so beautiful as his date and escort, Apolline Delacour. She was stunning in a white knitted turtleneck jumper dress — half jumper, long collar protecting her swanlike neck from the elements, and half dress, the woolen skirt ending above her thighs, protecting her from nothing.

Certainly not protecting her from stares — her chest stretched the cable-knit patterns of her dress, and long tanned legs stalked confidently in heels. Women smacked their dates out of their stupor, while Harry just smiled politely.

He was a lucky guy. He tugged her to him just so he could kiss her, hear her delighted moans, tousle her long blonde mane. She thanked him, a reminder that he'd made himself the king of an inverted and insane world.

"I think we should get you a yacht." Apolline declared once she'd Veela-magicked herself a fresh coat of lipstick.

Harry took in the yachts, small and large, examples of wealth and luxury. "I've never been on a real boat." He admitted. "Just rowboats. My Uncle took me on a rowboat to this rock out at sea, to this shack, trying to avoid all the letters Hogwarts were sending me when I turned of age."

"Your Uncle is a whisper of a man." Apolline growled. "But think no more of this tête de noeud. Imagine," She enveloped his arm. "Ze open sea, your lovers in bikinis, a big boat with a barbecue."

"That does sound nice." Harry said.

"Yes," She nodded to herself. "Before ze harem grows too big to carry us, we need a yacht."

"I'm not sure it's going to grow that big, sweetheart." He laughed.

She patted his arm and darted a kiss onto his cheek. "You are so silly, mon amour. One day, we will need a cruise ship to carry your lovers." She bit her lip, like she was aroused at the thought.

"Are you ready, 'Arry?" She said suddenly. "It is time." Her pronunciation of his name changed depending on how horny she was, it seemed, as well as the strength of her accent.

"How can you know?"

She pointed across the water, at a distant island. Among the trees, once green but bare in the winter, a white stone fort was embedded in the cliffs of the island. A flashing beacon resonated slowly. "The signal."

"I'm ready."

Her hand patted his chest abruptly. She looked nervous. "Remember, Harry, you need to disregard the common thought on Veela, the stuff of fiction and wizards' fantasies. They think us impressed by resistance to our Allure."

He frowned. "You're not?"

She shook her head. "We enjoy sex and carnality and the pleasures of the body. We would not withhold it or deny it or hide it."

"That…will take some getting used to. Is it going to be an orgy in there?"

"Not an orgy, no. But unashamed, yes." She nibbled on her lip. "Veela do not like seeing our Allure have no effect on a man. It is as if you have removed our defenses."

"So if I feel the lust, the madness?"

"Don't hide it." She advised. "Reveal it. You have a mighty member and a powerful magic." She nuzzled his chest. "You should be revered for it, not ashamed."

"And that's where you come in, right?" Harry cleared his throat. Apolline had told him that she would be needed on his visit to the Court. Each visitor to the Court was given une compagne, usually a minor Veela of little status, a willing set of three holes to be utilized when the visitor's lust grew too large.

The Allure too strong, the combined effect of the Veela's too powerful, it was expected that the visitor be driven to full-bodied lust at some point.

Apolline had designated herself as his. "You'll not want the weathered hags that are reduced to such a status." She sniffed.

Harry doubted that any of the Veela could be described as weathered hags, but he wasn't going to complain at having the Delacour matriarch by his side — it was comforting, even.

"And do not get mad, sweetest 'Arry."

"Mad? Why I would get mad?"

Apolline looked mournful. "She will not recognize you as the male Veela that you are—"

"I'm pretty sure I'm not, sweetheart."

"You are." She insisted. "But she will not pay you the respect you are due. These Veela, they clutch at power and independence, forgetting the sight, the taste, the smell of a male veela. She should crawl to you on her knees and beg for your attention — and she will, in time."

"I won't get mad." Harry assured her. Whatever Apolline had seen, or smelled, of him that had got her so convinced of his might, he wasn't counting on anyone else sharing her delusion.

"The Portkey, mon amour." She prodded him. He took hold of the satin pair of panties — someone at the Court had a sense of humor, it seemed. A pull at his navel.

And he was on the island, within the fort they'd stared at from across the sea. At once, Harry could feel the presence of a thick magic, but it was warm and pleasant, a tingle in the air, like Hogsmeade.

What appeared on the outside to be a cold and historic wintery fort was transformed on the inside. It was balmy, gray skies above turned to a Mediterranean blue. And around, what he found was not a fort but a Roman palace.

"The coven makes a place its own. The Allure is not the only magic we command." Apolline explained, tugging him forward.

Marble white statues stood on either side of the rubble path, interspersed with groves of orange and lemon trees. Somewhere, women laughed and giggled, but he couldn't see any Veela. Just darting figures between the trees, or eyes peeking out from inside the trees themselves.

The marble statues of impressive detail. A woman whispering into a man's ear, draped over his back, his cock in her firm grasp — it was a reminder that the Veela prided themselves on swaying a man's mind.

Statues of feminine beauty — nymphs rising from the sea, or pressed against the tree, or simply standing tall and proud, wand in hand. Statues of transformed Veelas, cruel-beaked bird-like heads, spitting balls of fire.

A statue of a naked man holding his erect cock — Elutheratan, Harry presumed, the male Veela that Apolline had spoke of, from a history long forgotten.

Harry admired one particularly fine depiction of a woman in self-pleasure, only to flinch when the statue winked at him and leaped off the pedestal, running into the grove trees, giggling all the way, her marble-effect evaporating from her skin.

Apolline rolled her eyes and pulled him forward. "Mischievous girls — they need your firm hand." She muttered.

"Were you here, once?"

"For a time. We learn here, politics and power, all that we need in the outer world. And it is here we become sisters." She explained.

The path led them between pools of clear blue water, Roman baths ringed by columns that held nothing at all, like an archaeological ruin. But giggles and impish faces behind each pillar.

And in the water, Harry realized — naked girls playing, splashing water on each other. They emerged with a cry, swimming up to the side of the pool, tossing back wet hair to reveal teasing smiles, their bare breasts sitting on the stone-side.

"Come for a swim?" A redhead begged.

"You can make us wetter." A blonde added.

Apolline muttered something in French that Harry didn't quite catch, and the teasing smiles turned quite sour.

The laughter and giggles turned to orgasmic cries as they continued on, as the pools of water became much smaller, and Harry realized it was not water but oil, like sunning lotion. On a massage bed by the oil pool, a buxom brunette worked her hips in circles on her lover's face, body glistening under the fake sun.

Harry was having trouble controlling himself. The Allure was so strong here and it wanted him to unleash his hard erection, to take each of the Veela and rail them until his cum dripped from all of their holes.

"Easy, Harry." She said soothingly, pushing him forward. "I'll take care of you, when we get there."

There seemed to be the Corinthian-style temple ahead, with gleaming white marble steps leading up to the large building, eight vast columns holding up the entablature. The columns were topped with capitals of swirling designs, but not of leaves or flowers, but breasts, Harry realized. It was a temple to the female form.

Not a temple, Harry realized, as he climbed the steep steps to the top. For it was fully open and not a building at all. At the top of steps, it was a square marble floor, and then steps back down again. An ornate shelter from the sun.

Or rather, a display, for all the Veela around to see the Princess who reigned above them. She who lounged on a golden-trimmed furniture, wearing a gauzy pink robe, less an item of clothing than thin semi-sheer fabric that hung from a thick metal ring around her neck. Her dress had no ties, so that between her front and back panels, her hips and breasts were visible from the side, a vision of nakedness in side profile.

Her hair was being held behind her, shimmering like white gold, longer than she was tall, being combed through gently by two attendants, who wore mockeries of white togas, showing more than they revealed. Behind them, a handful of Veela sat around a table overflowing with gifts — he didn't look at them, worried about being overwhelmed by the Allure.

Apolline curtsied. Harry bowed.

She looked at them with curiosity, with eyes that were purple plum-colored now, though he knew they were blue before. A simple glamour or had the woman so transcended beauty that she simply chose what she looked like on each morning?

Harry let out an involuntary gasp as her aura overwhelmed his mind. Whereas at the Delacour's soiree, he'd defended himself from her Allure, this time he could do nothing, for her power combined with all the Veela in the fort.

He grimaced. Despite Apolline's warning to let the Allure hit him, it rankled him to feel his mind so warped. Could he fight her, even if he wanted?

"Lord Potter." Princess Sofia said, her voice sweet like honey. Her aura was mighty — he blinked and imagined himself fucking her throat. Tearing her skimpy fabric in two, humping at her skin, if only to leave a mark — any mark — on such a vision.

She smiled like she knew his mind.

"An honor to be invited, Your Highness." Harry tried, but even he heard the tremble in his voice.

"An honor that you walk in our court." She parted her bee-stung lips, and Harry batted away the image of his dick between them. "Apolline is to be your compagne?"

"She is."

Apolline cleared her throat. "We owe a debt to Lord Potter, for saving my daughter in the Triwizard Tournament, your Highness."

"Oh, both of you, call me Sofia."

Apolline startled. "Thank you, Sof—"

"Actually, I don't like it." The Princess frowned. "Your Highness it is."

Her attendants tittered in amusement behind her.

"Can I call you Harry?" Sofia raised a delicate eyebrow. Harry wanted to coat that arrogant face in so much cum, she'd need windscreen wipers to clean it off.

"Of course." Harry smiled politely as they sat down opposite her. His cock was poking obscenely through his linen trousers.

She snapped her fingers. "Leave us."

The attendants stayed but the handful of Veela stood from the table. Harry took them in. Some of the same women he'd seen at the Delacour party, women of extreme beauty, all older than the young Princess. They seemed to differentiate themselves by extreme hair colors, teal, purple, pink. Harry supposed it was difficult to stand out when next to the Princess.

Her amused eyes took him in for a moment. "I'm sorry, Harry, for the duel at the party the other day. Perhaps I…stoked the fire a little, to provide some entertainment to a dull party."

Harry felt like he was sweating. He tore himself from visions of hammering her peachy ass, high on the steps of the open temple, for all the Veela to see. "I-It's fine." He said through gritted teeth. By his side, Apolline just smiled politely, as if her soiree hadn't been insulted. "I enjoy a good workout."

"It was not nearly as spectacular as your duel against the Dark Lord, I'm told." Sofia sipped on the straw of a glass that was offered to her, and then waved it away. She smacked her lips. "Truly you are all they claim you to be."

"Not yet." He'd shove his dick so far up her ass that his cum would erupt from her throat. "Growing up to be."

Apolline's soft hand landed on his thigh. Harry looked down to see a wet spot through his trouser fabric, his precum lancing out. "Allow me." She murmured. She inched his trousers down and his hard angry cock swung outward to be captured by her hands.

Fuck her, fuck her, fuck them all. Dominate, take them, they deserve it, they shall submit. Harry pushed away the voice in his head, exhaling a sigh of relief as Apolline swallowed his cock to the base.

The Princess had her gaze locked on his groin, on the bulge in Apolline's throat. "Your physique reveals your power, indeed." She said slowly. "Perhaps Madam Delacour may struggle. Her husband, though a respected ally to our people, is not nearly as mighty."

Apolline popped off his cock to take a gasping breath. Without a word, she swallowed him again, her throat milking in that way only she could do, mouth wet and warm.

Harry coiled his hand through her hair, feeling on edge as he gazed unashamedly at the Princess, catching little glimpses of her naked flesh, staring through the semi-sheer material at her breasts, at the hints between her legs.

Apolline had told him that he should not resist his lust, after all.

"Relax, Harry." The Princess giggled. "We Veela are not your enemies. Take your pleasures, please. We wish to be friends. And friends share pleasure, non?"

Harry allowed himself to sit back against the soft cushion, to part his legs and relax as Apolline slid to the floor below him. She suckled and slurped and bobbed, eyes on him. His good girl, working in public, even as the leader of her coven watched on. It was less of a blowjob and more of a depraved worship of his cock, Fleur's mother desperately trying to keep his attention on her and not the Princess.

"And where do you receive your pleasures?" Harry asked languidly, his mind hazy.

"Nobody is above carnal lust…and I'm never far from pleasure, Harry." Sofia slipped her dress away from her legs, revealing that a portion of her lounge had been cut away, for a Veela girl to stick her head in. A blonde pretty young thing worked away at Sofia's pussy, lapping in a slow rhythm.

Harry realized he could see the Veela's legs dangling underneath the sofa — she was lying inside it, furniture designed for a Veela pleasure slave to lie on her back.

He tried to see the folds of her pussy, that which entranced him, but the girl's busy tongue hid it. Caught by Sofia's knowing gaze, he simply looked away.

Over the Veela kingdom, the magical paradise inside a Riviera fort, holding the Veela coven. There were others, Harry knew, but none as large as this. It was an ode to paradise, in a way, but inspired by Roman and Greek palaces before it.

Pillars and pools, statues and grove trees — it was not designed, not structured, no architecture but for that which lay at the center, the risen temple, a tribute not to all Veela but to the Veela that reigned.

Despite himself, Harry admired it. The Allure played with his mind, imagined his throne at the top of these steps, the adoring Veela masses below, waiting for him to descend and pick five — ten — of them to ascend with him, allowed to pleasure him.

"I like what you've done with the place." Harry joked, though his humor was undone by Apolline's chokes and gurgles on his cock, as he forcefully pressed her down, unable to control himself.

"What is it you seek here, Harry Potter?" The Princess said softly — her own nipples were hard through her dress.

"You invited me, didn't you?"

Her smile was wry, dimples in her rosy cheeks, lightly dusted with freckles. "You did not come for our pleasures, as magnificent as they may be."

"I seek an ally." He admitted. "You have seen the news from Britain, I'm sure. Voldemort grows stronger. This isn't something that will go away with time. He will come and offer a choice between alliance and death. A choice he'll give to the werewolves, to the Giants, and yes, to the Veela."

She sniffed, even as she rocked back and forth a little on the tongue beneath. "We are not interested in the wars of men. The Veela are above such pettiness."

"I think we both know that's not true." Harry said, allowing Apolline to withdraw for a desperate breath. "You implant your Veela where they will have the most influence. You marry them to men of power, of position. All of that influence you've gathered — what use will it be when Voldemort is the only power?"

"What use would we be, that is the better question." Sofia spread her legs lewdly, inviting Harry to be distracted. He didn't take the bait. "A coven of Veela to fight as warriors for you? Does that thought entice you?" She smirked, ensuring he thought of a battlefield of winged whores, clad in impractical armor. "Veela do not fight on the battlefield."

"Yet you did, once. I saw the statue of the man you fought for."

"You are not a male Veela, Harry." Sofia chided. Apolline's tongue extended from her lower lip, trying to reach his balls as she gagged against his skin. "And we are not the clutch of desperate, submissive sluts that we once were, eager for a man's firm hand. Apolline, nom de dieu, use your hands, putain."

Apolline gurgled mindlessly, her hands dropping to knead his heavy balls.

Sofia rolled her eyes.

"Will you deny Voldemort as you deny me?" Harry questioned, leg trembling as Apolline worked him towards his climax. The Allure affected him in odd ways — it was like the sun shone just for Sofia, like the wind breezed her dress aside to reveal her breasts, only for a blink to hide them once again. She was covered in a halo that came and went.

She shrugged a bare shoulder. "Unless he is more interesting than you, which I doubt."

Harry groaned as Apolline slobbered on him, frantically bobbing her head. "Y-you may change your mind when the wars spreads across the Channel. You've worked hard — so hard, fuck, yes, — to en-ensure that Veela have rights and favor with the right people. But if you join the war too late, all that goodwill evaporates to all."

Sofia made a dismissive noise in the back of her throat. She sighed, toes curling for a moment, and then she was standing up. Harry swore he had a single glance of her dewy pussy before her dress covered it, before she was sitting next to him, uncomfortably close. Her scent — a perfume of fresh, feminine arousal — washed over him.

The next she spoke, her voice tingled in his ear. "What would we do, Harry?" She whispered. "Gift you a Veela to lap at your asshole? So she can be seen wiping the blood from your forehead if you are victorious?"

"That's not what I'm asking for." Harry trembled. He was so close but despite how Apolline's tight throat milked him, he couldn't reach the climax that taunted him. "But even if I were, is that such a bad thing? A Veela with Lord Potter makes you more legitimate."

"A Veela marriage does," Sofia sighed at Apolline's desperate efforts, taking the Delacour mother's hair in hand and pushing her further down. "But you won't marry a Veela, will you?"

Harry arched his hips up, trying to reach nirvana. "Maybe if it was you." He growled.

Sofia laughed, a rich noise of genuine amusement. "Oh, you English. Come, walk with me."

Between his legs, Apolline whined, her makeup running down her face, mouth splattered with saliva and cum strings.

"Merde." Sofia muttered. "Amateur." She reached a dainty finger out to press against his groin and he felt a surge of magic rush through his cock. He came immediately, taking Apolline's head with both hands and squeezing her into his groin as he spurted.

"Yeah-fuck, yeah." Harry moaned nonsensically as he filled her, while Sofia traced her finger across his scalp.

He felt the Princess take a deep breath, inhaling his magic. "Such magic." She murmured, shivering. "Oh, how wonderfully dirty. Salopé." She said, as Apolline swallowed desperately, trying to keep up with his constant ropes of jizz. Her mouth ballooned, her stomach filling up, her dress straining. She dripped onto the ground.

He finished with a relieved sigh, stroking his Apolline's hair.

"No wonder she agreed to be your compagne." Sofia snorted, but her eyes were a little wild. Behind the Princess' lounging chair, her attendants looked stunned, faces blank. Was Sofia too drawn by his seed, his magic, like Apolline had been?

He blinked and she was composed once more. "Come, already." She tugged him down the steps, not even letting him wear his pants once more, so he felt foolish in a dress shirt and nothing else.

Sofia didn't seem to care as she played tour guide for him, body pressed against his side. She was a lithe tease, bringing his hands to slip against her naked hip only to push him away. Pressing hard nipples against his side, only to stalk ahead of him primly. Flipping the back of her dress away to give him a glimpse of her glorious ass, and then attaching herself to his arm again, so he could see it no more.

She took him through the rose gardens, row after row of blooming flowers of every color. She took a deep breath in. "A gift from an Arab sheikh — every rose in the world."

She gestured to a marble statue, another depiction of the man Harry had seen as he entered, a man with a throbbing cock, seated on a throne. "Elutheratan. The male Veela, the man that brought the Veela together, made us united and strong and a name that others could not ignore." Her eyes lingered on the statue. "A titan of our history."

"There's never been another?"

"We've never needed another." She said shortly. "Veela do not need a man's rule."

He had more questions but she was stalking ahead.

Through a greenhouse, only instead of plants, it held paintings. Paintings even Harry knew, that Vernon would recognize too. "Originals, of course." Sofia whizzed him through.

Up the old stone steps to the fort's palisades, so they could see the sea that washed against the island. Only then did Sofia seem to drop her guard, show a hint that the young Veela was even a little vulnerable. "This is a safe haven for Veela, something that my mother and her mother and her mother before her worked hard to build. We maintain it, but it is only borrowed land. Borrowed land from a man." She said distastefully. "With the assistance of Apolline's husband."

"You'll need to relocate?" Harry said, feeling the sea air breeze against his balls. How did he find himself in these positions? He was hard again — how could he not be, with Sofia's attention.

"We want to relocate. Back to our true home, our ancestral home, in Corsica." She pointed at the sea's horizon, though there was nothing to be seen. "An island off Corsica, rather, an island for the Veela to live alone, unfettered by man or Muggle." She smiled wistfully. "You haven't lived until you've seen the blue of the turquoise bays."

"Yeah?"

"White beaches, grottoes, mountains and coves. A paradise for my people." Sofia blinked away wet eyes. "It is where we lived with Elutheratan, once upon a time."

"And now?"

Her features contorted. A glimpse of a beak emerged and then dissipated. "The mermaids. They have it and they refuse to return it."

Harry hummed. "And you want me to ask them nicely?"

Sofia glowered at him. "I don't care how you ask. Come." She ordered and he followed, willing to follow that ass anywhere.

Through a path of kneeling statues to a wooden shelter, under which sat thirty Veela. And at their front, a silver-haired beauty, old but elegant. "A class?" Harry guessed.

"Teaching to convince a man away from his foolishness. Not an easy task."

The students were distracted by the sight of their Princess and Harry, studying his hard shaft. "I can offer such a thing." Sofia said silkily. "Thirty eager Veela — can you imagine such pleasure?"

"I think they'd kill me."

Sofia smiled slowly. "But what a way to go."

Onwards, she took him around the fort. She shifted him to the side of the path as a pack of horses approached. Ten Veela rode on pure white horses, completely naked, hair streaming behind them, breasts bouncing. They saluted the Princess as they passed. Sofia tugged Harry from his stupor — tugged him by his hard cock, of all places.

On a bench, two jaw-dropping Veela tongued each other in a slow sixty-nine, one with pastel-pink hair and the other black.

"Ugh." Sofia said in a long-suffering tone. She stepped forward and snapped a harsh spank against one of the girl's rears. "Don't just look at it. Eat it. Use your tongue!"

The sounds of pleasure intensified. Sofia shook her head and looked back at Harry. "Not all the powers in the world are men. We must know how to seduce women also, non?"

The black-haired girl looked up at Harry hungrily, her face wet. "Is he for us to play with?"

"You wish." Sofia tutted. She took Harry's hand and marched him away. "But they could be yours to play with, Harry, if you wished. There is much we could offer you, in return for our homeland. An eager Veela by your side, in your bed each night, draining you every hour. A willing warm wet chatte. Veela will do anything, everything. And they do it better than any witch."

This much, Harry knew from Apolline. Her pussy milked him, like there was a swallowing throat inside her, and entering her felt unimaginably good.

"And," Harry took a deep breath. "What if what I want is you?"

Sofia looked taken aback. "Me?" She sniffed. "My, Harry, so…ambitious."

"Nobody is above carnal lust. You said it yourself."

She smiled slowly, swishing her long dress left and right, so more and more of her skin was teased. "My virginity is sacrosanct, I'm afraid. Beyond price."

Harry crossed his arms. He wasn't imposing, not with his hard cock swaying before him. "A treasure that none can afford has no value at all. Isn't Harry Potter and the Veela Queen a story in itself?"

"My mother still lives." She frowned at his faux-pas. She looked away, into the distance. She nibbled on her lip. "My duty is to my people, but I could offer you one night."

"Just one?"

Sofia glared at him. "It would be the greatest night of your life." She promised. She gave a short tug at her metal collar, and her dress pooled around her feet. But she didn't give him a chance to drink her in, because she was immediately stepping against his skin, a kiss to his neck, a teasing hand on his shaft. "All of me, at your beck and call. What would you do for ten hours with a grateful Veela princess that doesn't say no?"

"Your Highness!" A voice shouted. Sofia growled and with a snap of her fingers, her dress covered her once more. Harry's cock bounced sadly.

A young brunette dismounted a horse and dropped to a knee. "I have news, your Highness."

"Collect yourself." Sofia snapped. "What news?"

"I…may I give it to you privately, your Highness?" The brunette flinched as she looked up at Harry.

"It's just a cock, putain." Sofia sighed. "Tell me."

"I, but…" The brunette took a heavy breath. "It's about Harry Potter, your Highness."

"Me?" Harry said blankly.

"He's…he's attacked the Ministry. Cast his lightning bolt into the sky. He's attacking that woman, the new woman! He's after Amelia Bones!"

###

Sofia waited. She waited as the Boy-Who-Lived hurried back to Apolline Delacour, as they exchanged a panicked flurry of words, pretending not to be lovers. She waited as Harry Potter departed from the Floo she gracious allowed him to use.

She waited as Apolline made her excuses and departed too, holding her cum-swollen stomach possessively, proudly.

And then finally she made her way to the table of Councils. She snapped her fingers and she was joined by her fellow Veela. The few that ruled.

"Did you feel it?" Sofia demanded.

They nodded. Some looked excited. Others nervous.

"Can there be any doubt—" One of them tried.

"No." Sofia denied. "It is him."

"But how?"

"It doesn't matter." She shivered, rubbing her thighs together. She was soaked, but she'd done well. Hadn't abandoned herself to her lusts, hadn't chained herself to eternal servitude, like Apolline clearly had.

"Then?"

"Then we begin, just as we planned. Our pact."

"But the Queen?"

Sofia thought of her mother, the woman who lay on her deathbed but still refused to die. "She doesn't need to know and she won't, as long as we stick to the pact."

"We need to seal it." One of the others urged.

Sofia nodded, snapping her fingers. She was in a daze. Never had she thought that this day would come.

A silver bowl was settled on the table, in the middle of the gifts from all the weak men of the world. Vintage bottles of rare wine from the Bulgarian minister — the man had left his wife after only catching sight of the Princess, Sofia remembered.

The head of German law enforcement had sent her jewelry, again — she'd have to remind him not to use government funds again.

Weak men, all the globe round.

Not like Harry.

A power arousing and frightening. It would have to be used carefully, by the right hands.

Sofia peeled away her dress and trailed her fingers down to her wet pussy. Around the table, the Veela Council fingered themselves, little moans, bitten lips, eyes closed as they fantasized about him.

Sofia came first, as she knew she would. She'd spent the longest with him, after all, touched his cock, inhaled the scent of his seed.

She reached for the bowl and squirted her juices into it with a satisfied sigh, rolling her hips as the waves washed over her.

The first of the pact. A pact made in feminine power, the beginnings of a terrible ritual.

She didn't know when, or how. He was powerful, clearly. They'd have to be careful.

But as she dripped into the bowl, she knew that he'd fill the bowl too.

Fill it with blood.