Talking It Out

As soon as he was inside of the Room of Requirement and the door was closed behind him, Treowe let out a sigh and sagged against it, both relieved and more than a little exasperated. Still, he was safe now, for a relative value of the term. The Room of Requirement's enchantments meant that something like the way mail owls always knew where to find you just didn't work when you were within its boundaries.

Which was exactly what Treowe needed, at the moment. Barely two days since the Yule Ball had passed, and the results of his machinations (as well as the things that HADN'T been part of his plans) had been across the Prophet's front-page article for all to see. Even without Rita, they still found a way to sell papers via sensationalized hogwash. At this point, everyone that had an owl and an opinion had seen it, because they were all trying to send him letters expressing those opinions.

Reaching up, Treowe rubs at his still-present horns, noting that the skin around them has once again dried out and is in fact beginning to chaff. He would have to reapply the balm that his Head of House had provided, as human skin was not meant to coexist with such growths, even when the growths came from magical means. Or perhaps especially because they came from magical means.

The tail issuing from his spine and tailbone was a bit less of a problem, since the skin back there was already more calloused from past experience riding Bicorns. Chuckling slightly at the thought, Treowe pulls out the provided jar of balm from his moleskin pouch and begins to apply it to the flesh around the base of his wickedly curved horns, even as he contemplates all the trouble, he now finds himself in.

He'd wasted several hours the day after the Yule Ball, waiting for Madam Pomfrey to finally declare that it was beyond her ability to fix him, as the changes were actively resisting her attempts to cure him of whatever kind of curse or potion effect that had done this to him. The only other short-term option was to cut the horns off altogether, but there was no telling how that would go, or what would happen as a result. Best to wait a little while longer.

On the other hand, watching a hungover Weasley get woken up from an impromptu nap over at the Gryffindor Table by a howler from his mother had definitely been enjoyable. The Prophet, once it got through the juicier gossip concerning the Triwizard Champions, had fixated on Ron as the youngest son of a Ministry Official, meaning his actions were also bared for all to see.

Regardless, Madam Pomfrey hadn't been able to do jack shit, though she'd had plenty to SAY about it. Apparently, his additions appeared to be a self-transfiguration attempt into some large-horned beast gone wrong. Obviously, there was nothing 'self' about this particular transfiguration, but there was also little Treowe could say or suggest on the subject, as she was coming close to infringing on Family secrets he was magically bound to never speak of outside of his bloodline.

It was fine though, Treowe knew from his elder sister, Shelbie, that Pomfrey had a degree of proficiency and expertise in the healing arts, but despite her age, she'd never actually secured a master in the subject. He supposed that explained why she was Hogwarts' nurse, rather than a Mediwitch as St. Mungo's or the like.

All in all, what that meant was, he would need to leave Hogwarts and return home for a time to be treated and cured of the additions to his body under Shelbie's care. Luckily for Treowe, that was something that Lord Morton had already ordered in a letter delivered via House Elf to his personal quarters in the Slytherin dorms. Of course, Treowe would have gladly left already, given Snape had easily acquiesced to the need, but his status as Hogwarts Champion put him under the direct purview of Dumbledore, and the old man was currently stalling for time as he tried to figure things out, or so it seemed from Treowe's perspective.

Being Hella's date to the Yule Ball had kicked over an anthill, stirred up the hornet's nest, poked the sleeping dragon, and a whole other slew of similar sayings. But it was probably time for it to be done, if for no other reason than to get them used to the idea when his and Hella's TRUE relationship finally came into the light. It wouldn't be as surprising then, and hopefully, wouldn't be as objectionable either.

Not that Treowe was inclined to give two flying fucks what anyone else though, especially in the backwards-ass wizarding world, but still… it would be nice not to make dozens upon dozens of enemies when the time finally came. Heh, still, he did wonder just how many people would try to approach Hella outright when they received no response to the many letters that had likely been sent to her already. Given the size of his own pile, Treowe could only imagine that Hella's was twice as large, easily. Perhaps even more.

Pressing his lips together, Treowe moves over to one of the Room's tables, a different one than the one they usually ate at… or fucked at, for that matter. Pulling up his moleskin pouch, Treowe opens it and calls out succinctly into the open air.

"Letters."

Out of the wizarding equivalent of the usual fantasy RPG's "Bag of Holding" pours a stream of letters, flowing out of the opening like a river and landing on the table where they quickly form a few neat, orderly towers. There were dozens of them, well over a hundred at least, and that didn't even include the Howlers he had been using for targeting practice with his wand these last two days.

"Binky!"

His call is immediately answered by the pop of a House Elf of House Morton. Clad in a toga embroidered with their coat of arms, Binky the House Elf blinks rapidly, his large eyes looking around.

"Binky is here, Master Morton!"

Said eyes settle on the table covered in letters a moment later, and his long ears begin twitching as he starts to bounce in place with excitement, happily awaiting orders. Treowe smiles slightly at the sight.

"Binky. I have mail that needs to be sorted, obviously. However, I expect much of it is either cursed or laced with unpleasant things. Gather as much help as you need from home and quarantine any laced envelopes for Leela to experiment with when she gets the chance. No doubt, she'll enjoy the challenge of figuring out how serious a threat to my person each of them was, and it'll make it all the easier for House Morton to bring charges against those foolish enough to try and harm me."

Binky's head is bobbing up and down constantly as Treowe speaks. When he pauses for a moment, Binky doesn't move quite yet, having learned long ago when Master was done speaking and when Master was just catching his breath before continuing.

"… Have Cuppa prepare and deliver me some of her coffee as well, I'm going to be up for a while responding to the legitimate correspondence in this pile."

There's a high-pitched sound from Binky, clearly excited, as he pops away, and Treowe chuckles briefly before sitting down in a high back chair in front of the roaring magical fire that the Room produced. There was a hole in the back for his still-present tail, and Treowe couldn't help but wonder for a moment if there was a supply of chairs with holes like this one stashed in Hogwarts, or if the Room simply modified or summoned its own.

He's barely settled into the chair when a sound not unlike a roll of bubble wrap being twisted all at once sounds out. Before him stands the wide-eyed, caffeine junkie of a House Elf that the Morton Family had affectionately named 'Cuppa'. Smiling, Treowe reaches out and takes the silverware pot from her shaking hands, pouring himself a drink into the cup and saucer that had already appeared with the end table beside his chair.

"Thank you, Cuppa."

And he means it too, every ounce of gratitude is genuine as he inhales the aroma of freshly made coffee. In response, Cuppa squeaks and releases a rush of words that, truth be told, Treowe doesn't quite catch before she ultimately pops away. Meanwhile, behind him the elves work to sort out the mail he's left for them, as he relaxes in his chair, drinking his coffee.

They wouldn't need his help in sorting the malignant from the benign, as House Elf magic, especially when it was used in defense of their official Master, was some of the most powerful magic in the world. But more importantly, none of them would WANT his help, even if he were to try to provide it as some sort of gesture of his care for them. They hated having tasks taken from them, even in that sort of small way.

So Treowe stared where he was and enjoyed his coffee, which Cuppa was absolutely a wonder at making, waiting for his House Elves to finish their work and give him the portion of letters that weren't going to try to curse his cock off or something like that in some misguided attempt to 'protect Hella Potter'.

… Yeah, he definitely wouldn't be surprised if Leela came back to him weeks later to tell him that more than one letter was specifically designed to do that. Unfortunately for the senders, he'd already been there, done that, and had no fucking intention of stopping anytime soon. Chuckling darkly, Treowe sinks into the high-back chair a little more and stares into the magical flames before him, enjoying the warmth they generate as caffeine circulates through his system.

Today was likely to be just as long as the last two days… but that was fine. Treowe could handle it.

-x-X-x-

Most sincerely

Treowe Morton

Heir of the Noble and Ancient House Morton

As he finishes signing the latest letter of the benign pile of letters, the ones without hexes, curses, or malignant potions or alchemical powders laced into them, Treowe lets out a sigh and looks to see that he's doing quite well for the amount he started with. Truth be told, he hadn't expected so many to actually be legitimate correspondence that demanded his attention. The wizarding world continued to surprise him…

Still, the stack of 'good' letters was a lot less than it'd started out as now. Dipping his quill, the feather emerald green, back into his ink well, Treowe multitasks, gathering up more ink into the quill, while at the same time casting an ink-drying spell with his wand in his other hand. Then, he places both down for a moment, before folding the letter up.

Once it's properly folded, he reaches over for the stick of red sealing wax and the lit candle holder. Holding the rex wax over the flame, he dribbles a fair amount onto the center folds of the letter until eventually, there's a glob large enough for him to press his family ring, the ring of the Heir, into the hot wax to seal it. Of course, all of it is magical, so there is a brief flash as his seal is magically accepted and all that rot, but otherwise, it's no real different from a mundane wax sealing. Letters going to the Lord or Lady of another Noble House required the entire shebang, so to speak, all of that medieval letter etiquette that showed the wizarding world was still stuck in the dark ages in some ways.

Placing it in an envelope, Treowe seals that as well, writes the name of the intended recipient, and then adds it to the stack that he would be mailing out in the morning at a more reasonable hour. The cursed, hexed, or otherwise malicious letters would go to his father in the morning to be used as evidence of an attempt on the life of his heir. Afterwards, Leela would probably get to dissect them for all their secrets.

Likely, the family vault would grow in stature as fines and compensations were paid out to them in order to keep those involved from getting into legal trouble. But Treowe didn't doubt that some of the letters came from idiots who were too poor to pay off such criminal activity, and they at least would go to jail for their stupidity. It was a broken system, but one he was more than happy to abuse for his and his family's gain.

Grabbing the next benign letter, Treowe tears it open and begins to read. A quick overview of the content makes it obvious that it's just another general rant, of which more than half of the 'good' letters still are, for all that they're not hexed or cursed or potioned. Blah, blah, blah, Evil Slytherin, yada, yada, yada, not worthy to stand in the presence of the Girl-Who-Lived, whine, whine, whine. The author had obviously never met him or his family, not least of which because Treowe didn't even recognize the name. He wasn't all that surprised that they simply heard he was a Slytherin and decided he was a bad egg off of that alone.

With the letter's writer being unfamiliar to him, Treowe has to check a small book that contains a list of families known to his own in one way or another just to be sure, but that also reveals no relationship between the name and House Morton. The book is actually a linked tome, one of a few that are tied to the original, which was kept by his father and regularly updated with the names of their steadfast allies and the ever-shifting loyalties of the Houses that made up the Wizengamot.

Pleased to find nothing, Treowe tosses the letter onto an ash-filled plate and holds up his right hand with the thumb and middle finger pressed together. With a loud SNAP and a stare of intent down at the letter, the parchment bursts into flames and Treowe smiles in satisfaction. That was one of the easier spells to learn to do wandlessly as it turned out, though the flame was entirely magical and could not spread, so it was only useful in situations like this.

Still, it felt good to do, all the same, felt good to not have to rely on his wand for EVERYTHING. Reaching out, Treowe picks up his coffee cup to take a drink, only to find it empty. Frowning, he picks up the nearby silver coffee pot, only to find that empty as well. He considers calling Cuppa back for more for all of a moment, but by the old clock that the Room provides, it was well after midnight. Milk would be better for calming down before heading to bed.

And he did need to head to bed, soon at least. He would need his mind sharp in the morning, if the Headmaster finally decided to get off his ass, stop twiddling his thumbs, and actually see him. Sighing, Treowe stands up and stretches his arms over his head, which is also pulls to the side, feeling the satisfying pops in his neck as he does so. Then, he clears his throat.

"Floppy."

The House Elf that appears is not a Morton House Elf, but a member of the Hogwarts House Elf staff. It's alright though, no one seems to realize that Treowe and Hella have so thoroughly suborned the loyalty of the Hogwarts House Elves these last few months.

"Floppy, please bring me my trunk."

The House Elf bows, pops away, and then pops back in a moment later, leaving Treowe's trunk in front of him before leaving again. The next several minutes are spent changing out of his dragonhide and into silk pajamas. The House Ring he'd used all day is put back in its nice and safe spot within his secure, booby-trapped trunk. And when he said booby-trapped, he meant the thing could do a damn good impression of a mimic. With bear trap-like jaws laced with a paralytic, if somebody attempted to open it without the right combination, they were in for a harsh surprise.

Slytherins were a conniving lot, and a paranoid bunch because of it, and most of them knew that seeking an advantage over one another was done at their own risk. None had tried anything with Treowe since his first year, but after he escorted Hella to the Ball, he was expecting the stupider members of his House to try something.

Better to keep his trunk with him for the time being though, just in case. The best security was to keep it out of their minds altogether.

He's well into relaxing on a provided sofa in front of the same fireplace as before when the door to the Room of Requirement opens and closes. He knew from testing and experimentation that the Room was inaccessibly from the outside unless the current user within it allowed access or the magic and willpower of the one outside was much greater than the current user. There were all of two people in Hogwarts that could currently join Treowe in this room, as far as he knew, and he highly doubted that the Headmaster had figured out what Treowe and Hella had been doing quite yet.

Oh, he was sure Dumbledore, after decades in Hogwarts, likely KNEW about the Room of Requirement, but would he know that Treowe and Hella had been using it? Not yet… not yet. So that made the only other option…

"Hella."

He raises a milk-filled goblet in greeting, even as her shoes echo softly across the floor. Once she enters his field of view, his eyes follow her across the room. It seems she's foregone the Hogwarts uniform and robes for a set of more mundane apparel. A sweater that had probably been magically enlarged to cover up her sizable breasts, and a skirt that was higher in the back from covering her shapely derriere, showing off her stocking clad legs.

"Treowe! I um, I need to speak to you about something!"

She's as beautiful as ever, but he's not SO distracted by her looks that he doesn't notice her nervousness, her squirming, her fidgeting. That is, until her attention is drawn to the piles of letters on the table he was working at, distracting her immediately.

"Um… what's all this?"

Treowe just chuckles.

"Fan mail."

He shrugs and pauses as he drains his goblet before continuing on with a wry grin and a milk-mustache.

"All of this is the result of the two of us making the front page of the Daily Prophet for our decision to attend the Yule Ball together. I don't recommend touching any of them, to be perfectly honest. Most weren't sent with the best of intentions, and several are designed to do serious harm or humiliation to me… or anyone else who opens them, I suppose."

Hella looks horrified, but Treowe just waves a hand dismissively.

"Not to worry, House Elves of House Morton have already been through all of it. The truly malicious letters will be traced back to their senders, and they will pay for their poor choices, one way or the other."

Standing up, Treowe walks over to Hella and wraps his arm around her waist, pulling her close to keep her curiosity from getting the better of her as they both stare at the letters.

"That pile there is cursed, hexed, or otherwise malicious. My father will be using them to press charges against their senders for endangering his only heir, and then my eldest sister, Leela, will probably be picking them apart for the hell of it."

Then he points to the pile furthest away.

"And that pile there is made up of responses to various families that were polite enough to inquire after my relationship with you, or other related subjects. The ash-filled plate is filled with the remains of letters that were rather rude and deserved no such response."

Hella still seems surprised, which means she hasn't encountered any of this herself yet. Amused, and acting altogether too innocent, Treowe cocks his head to the side.

"I am sure you will have your own fan mail, after what happened at the Yule Ball."

He watches as his innocent comment causes her to flinch as she looks between him and his piles of letters. Watching the cogs in her head turning… as always, it makes him far too happy to see her figuring it out. Her gaze becomes calculating as she stares in consideration of the evidence presented before her. Treowe smiles proudly as she realizes that in two days, he'd probably received more letters than she had found gracing her in the entirety of her time at Hogwarts, and no doubt, she would soon start asking why.

"… Yeah, I got some from those concerned about me…"

She absently mumbles that out, without taking her eyes off the piles of letters. What goes unsaid is the fact that she didn't get any of the ones that he was having to deal with. Almost as if someone was screening her mail and had been for quite some time.

"So! What did you want to talk about?"

He couldn't help but be curious as to what subject was of more importance than their current situation. His tail, meanwhile, is acting off of his subconscious wants and desires, because its slowly stroking up her legs at this point, displaying both his curiosity and his usual desire to have sex. Hella shudders from the sensation, while rapidly switching her attention between the piles of letters, Treowe's erection, only thinly veiled by his tenting silk pajamas, and looking off into the distance, probably thinking about what she originally came to speak with him about in the first place.

After a long moment of contemplation, Hella finally lets it out with a shuddering breath.

"H-Hermione knows about us, Treowe. She… she figured it out yesterday. Needless to say, she was rather concerned about our… dalliances."

Treowe's tail goes still and moves away from stroking at her legs. That WAS serious, given what he knew about Hermione, both through metaknowledge and observing the brunette know-it-all these past four years. Leading Hella over to the couch he'd been on, he sits her down beside him, correctly deducing that this was not a conversation they should be having standing up.

That Hermione had figured it out wasn't all that surprising. She was the most brilliant witch of their generation, after all. In fact, she probably would have caught on earlier, if she hadn't been distracted by Viktor Krum for these past few months. Still…

"Given that she didn't drag you to the nearest staff member, or show up in the Hospital Wing in the hours I was waiting there… I take it you dealt with the matter?"

Hella bites her lower lip, and then ducks her head, blushing. Treowe raises an eyebrow at that. He hadn't meant anything untoward, but now he was beginning to wonder.

"W-Well… we were in the shower together."

Oh, this should be good.

"She'd fucked Krum, you see. And I… I was still giddy from our night together, so I didn't try to hide how happy I was for her. I thought she and I could celebrate, you know, as friends? She'd discovered the joy and pleasure of sex, and I figured she was starting down the road of finally being able to know about us. I didn't MEAN for her to realize what you and I have been up to quite so early though."

Hella pauses, and grimaces.

"… She said something was wrong with us. She wasn't happy with herself for giving it up to Krum, I guess, because she turned that self-loathing onto our relationship, as if WE were doing something wrong. She said… she said that we needed to get help, that we had to go to one of the Professors to figure out what was wrong with us. Like there was anything WRONG with our love!"

The beautiful young witch's voice starts out low and calm, but easily shifts to loud and harsh as she continues explaining the situation. Treowe runs a hand down her back comfortingly, his tail hooking around her waist as he feels her entire body shaking and trembling. Turning towards him suddenly, Hella has never looking more terrifying. But Treowe is not afraid. Even in the face of her glowing green eyes, brimming with both power and tears, he's not afraid.

"I slammed her up against the wall of the shower, Treowe! My nails grew without me even needing to think about it, pinning her in place. I… I gave her a piece of my mind, and I told her what I thought about the adults in authority over us, and what they've done with our ill-placed trust over the years! I don't regret a word of it, I meant all of it… but t-then I made her swear not to betray me! I demanded that she give me her loyalty."

Hella shudders.

"And then she did, and I got on my knees and tasted her, Treowe. I… she was so sweet."

Her anger morphs to confusion, and she buries her face in his shoulder as he shifts their position to lean back against the arm of the couch, pulling her up onto his chest, positioning her to straddle his stomach and avoid his erection, at least for the moment. She may have said more, but the words are unclear and unintelligible as she keeps starting and stopping, clearly too emotional at the moment to voice what she wants to voice.

Still, he was pretty sure he heard such things as 'Hermione', 'friend', 'how could I', and 'what's wrong with me' throughout the sobbing session. Or something to that nature.

"Hella…"

He keeps his voice quiet and soft as he speaks, one hand tied up in her long, lashing locks and the other stroking her back even now.

"Remember the ritual we performed on Samhain?"

His question is met with a slow nod, as her green eyes peer up at him. He smiles at her as he explains.

"You demanded that you would be loved, freed of those who would control you, and never again be fooled by those that didn't care. Do you remember saying those words?"

"I-I do…"

"Well, it sounds to me like Hermione may have tripped over one of those caveats, now didn't she? And that ritual wasn't just for show, Hella. That ritual had POWER behind it. Power given by you sacrificing your virginity for the cause."

Her red face and teary eyes are staring at him now in disbelief, but also growing understanding.

"We are wizards and witches, Hella. Magical beings. Unlike the muggles, who clench their fists, tremble with rage, or do other various things to try and hold back their anger… our magic responds to our emotions and lashes out. Uncontrolled bursts of power for those who have so much of it never truly go away… we just get better at controlling our magic and our emotions. But it takes time, lots of time, and the more powerful one's magic is, the longer it takes."

His explanations seems to be doing the trick of calming her down. By this point, Hella is looking at him with an interesting intensity, staring at him, focusing on his moving lips and his voice.

"However, during puberty, our emotions are already all over the place. For wizard and witches, it's especially bad as the more powerful your magic is, the worse you are affected by the changes happening in your body. My sister Shelbie could explain this better I suppose, but essentially… it's not your fault, Hella."

Hella bites her lower lip harder.

"I… I still feel bad for how I treated Hermione. I… I forced myself on my best friend."

Even as Hella laments her actions, Treowe finds himself visualizing his lover dominating the brunette witch, and truth be told, the imagery is exceptionally hot. His erection, already nice and hard, twitches as Hella wallows in her guilt, squirming atop him all the while. She had plenty of cushion in her very spankable bum… and suddenly, Treowe had an idea that they could both enjoy.

"Well, if you feel that bad about it… perhaps my naughty little witch deserves to be punished?"

Hella's eyes flicker up to his, widening in surprise at his sudden dark, aggressive tone. But when she sees the look on his face, she goes bright red… and then smiles slightly and nods.

"M-Maybe she does… how… how would one go about punishing such a n-naughty witch, Treowe?"

Treowe growls as he lifts Hella up off of him, putting her on her feet and standing up as well.

"For one… she should only refer to the one carrying out the punishment as 'Sir' for the duration of said punishment. It's all about respect, after all."

Hella licks her lips.

"Yes… sir."

Smiling, Treowe grabs at Hella's sweater, and pulls it up over her head. She makes no effort to resist him, even actively helping him until eventually, her breasts pop free of their confines and bounce and jiggle as Treowe circles around the now topless girl. Left in only her skirt, Hella doesn't do anything as he pulls her arms behind her back and uses her sweater to tie them off, nice and securely.

Nor does she fight back as he sits back down on the couch and draws her down onto his lap, laying her across it stomach first. With his erection poking at her tummy and his tail slipping up to play around with her breasts as they hang off the side of his leg, Hella is soon mewling and wiggling that fat tushie of hers in the air right before his eyes.

SMACK!

"Ah!"

The wiggling is momentarily paused when Treowe brings his hand down hard on her ass, digging his hand in to grip and squeeze at her butt cheek as the other jiggles and vibrates from the blow. The pulses of his palm reverberate across Hella's voluptuous, beautiful body, and Treowe chuckles as Hella moans from the groping she's receiving.

SMACK!

Then she's squealing again, as the groping becomes a spanking once more. That's how Treowe goes about punishing her, interchanging smacking her ass cheeks red, with groping and squeezing and kneading her bubble butt in his large hand. His fingers slip down between her thighs every once in a while, as well, and he can feel how wet she is, her cunt positively dripping the more and more he reddens her bottom.

"Are you sorry, Hella? Are you sorry for what you did to Hermione?"

She's moaning when the words reach her ears. Cutting herself off with a shuddering breath, Hella thinks for a moment… and then shakes her head.

"N-No…"

Treowe just grins.

SMACK!

He continues spanking her, asking every once in a while, if she's sorry for what she did to Hermione. But she isn't. She well and truly isn't. And that's okay. They both understand that in the end, neither of them truly blame Hella for what she did. She controlled Hermione, but it was for them. It was for their love. If Hermione had been allowed to go to the Professors, ANY of the Professors, shit would have hit the fan so damn fast…

Regardless, Hella wanted to be punished for her actions all the same, and Treowe was happy to be doing the punishing. Once every last inch of Hella's fat pale ass is nice and red, and increasingly sensitive to the touch, he finally stops spanking her. He doesn't stop groping her though, even as he manhandles her into position.

Facing away from him, Hella is left to sit on his cock, after a fashion. He rubs his tip against her pussy lips, but never lets herself fully impale her cunt on his member. Instead, he hot dogs her slit, sliding his length back and forth, getting her juices all over his shaft.

"O-Oh, Treowe… please, Treowe…"

"Excuse me?"

SMACK!

"S-Sir! I mean Sir! Please sir… give it to me! Punish me, sir!"

Treowe just chuckles at Hella's insistence. She's trying to push down onto his cock, but all she's really managing in the face of his obstinance is gyrating across the tip and top of his member, slathering it with even more natural lubricant as he keeps her from descending onto it like she so desperately wants.

"Do you really think that would be a punishment, Hella? Me fucking your tight, sopping wet pussy? You want it so badly… how could that ever teach you a lesson?"

The witch stops at that and looks at him with wide eyes before blushing and ducking her head.

"… Y-You're right, sir. Sorry, sir…"

Treowe smirks, and slips Hella forward a little bit, lifting her legs up by her thighs. This causes his well-lubricated cockhead to slide off of her cunt and back between her ass cheeks. Hella's eyes go wide as he fits himself in between her sensitive buttocks, pressing against her back door.

"O-Oh… OOOOOH!!!"

As Treowe drops Hella down onto his cock, impaling her anus with his length and spreads her legs wide across his own legs, the witch shrieks at the sudden intrusion, and her eyes nearly roll back in her head on the spot, right then and there. He's most definitely taking her most sensitive hole in this moment, and it's clear that, despite herself, Hella was NOT expecting it.

"Keep yourself tight back there, or I'll have to punish you some more, Hella~"

His orders are immediately followed as she clenches down around his length, but Treowe wastes no time in testing her resolve and her determination, his hands sliding up to grip her breasts while his tail circles around and plays with her pussy. Then, he starts to thrust upwards, bouncing her up and down on his cock as she moans throatily, taking every last inch of his member into her bowels and loving every last bit of it.

The pussy juices she's coated his dick in make the passage easy enough, nice and slick for both of them. This isn't the first time Treowe has taken her anally either, so it's not like Hella is completely blindsided by the concept. No, she enjoys it up the ass just as much as she enjoys it in her cunt, and in the end, it really isn't that much of a punishment as he bounces her and gropes her tits, kneading and molesting them nonstop.

She cums again and again along his tail, once he inserts it into her pussy. Her eyes roll back in her head and her anal muscles clench and squeeze along his shaft from the sensations coursing through her. All while Treowe is having the time of life, thoroughly enjoying splitting her open, his cock nestled in between her butt cheeks and buried in Hella's anus.

That doesn't mean he's not thinking about everything else though. He fully believes his explanation to Hella. It sounds like the ritual that he had her take part in really has affected her. Truth be told, Treowe has been waiting for more overt effects for a while now, but this is the first REAL sign that Hella's magic is responding to her desires, spoken as they were from the heart.

Hermione wasn't going to be able to get in the way, not and keep her relationship with Hella. The only thing he had to decide now was what the hell he was going to do next. Pretending to punish Hella so that they could both get off on the ensuing roleplay was all well and good, but the situation with Hermione did still need to be dealt with.

Should he be pushing Hella away from the brunette know-it-all? Should he be pushing her towards her instead? Did he tell Hella to keep dominating Hermione, or did he try to steer things towards a more equal sexual relationship between the two of them? Decisions, decisions… and they would all have to be made soon.

But not too soon. For now, Treowe could focus on giving Hella the dicking she deserved, even as she came again and again. Eventually, it proves to be too much for his cock, and he fills her bowels with his seed… but he's not done yet, and neither is she. Begging for more, moaning wantonly, Hella happily takes his cock in her cunt as well, and then she sucks it clean after he's done with that hole too.

It's enjoyable, but more than that, it centers them both, Treowe feels. It centers them, and calms them, and they fall asleep in one another's arms, happy and content, secure in their knowledge that this, what they have between them, is RIGHT in a way that nothing else is. They won't let anyone take that away from them. Not Hermione, not Dumbledore, not Snape… not anyone.

They'll fight for each other, and really, that's all either of them needs to know.

-x-X-x-

If you'd like to read more of my work not seen on this website, check out Hentai-Foundry.com and QuestionableQuesting.com! I'm known as 'Cambrian' on those websites.

If you'd like to contribute to funding my writing at all, check me out on P atreon.com/Cambrian

Thanks for reading!