When Harry woke the next morning, Hermione surprised him again. This time, not with her wand, but with her hands, slowly jacking him off, his cock oiled up with lotion of some kind.
"Good morning, Harry." She said quietly, not looking at him, just stroking gently. "Does that feel good?"
"It does."
"Good." She let out a small moue of satisfaction. "It was poking me all night. You really should…take care of it more often. I've read about the dangers to wizards that don't, ah, relieve themselves often."
Her hands twisted on his head and then slid back down, his oiled up cock making loud schlapping sounds in her hands. "That feels so good, my Mione." He moaned.
She took a long, deep breath, breathing in his scent, his magic. "I thought that you…you know, make me feel good. So I should return the favor. I bet the other girls do lots more." She gave him a sharp look. "But I'm just going to do this, for now." Her line in the sand drawn, her gaze dropped to his cock, eyes widening a little as his precum shot out, lancing onto her nightie, drizzling over her hands.
"Do whatever you like, my love." He tangled his hand in her hair and stroked it lovingly. His Hermione — she'd never stop surprising him.
It wasn't long until her strokes quickened, his balls tightening.
"I'm going to cum, Hermione. You're so good to me—fuck!" He groaned, coming. Her hands never stopped, stroking fast and eagerly, twisting underneath his bulbous cockhead, two slick hands, one working his base and the other his head. He came hard, spilling hot creamy jizz all over her nightie, shooting one rope onto her chin and the rest over her chest and hands.
It dripped down onto her thighs. But Hermione didn't blink, her mouth agape with awe, drinking in the scent and heat of his magic and masculinity. Rope after rope, creamy load coating her in a thick white glaze, like she'd been downed in yogurt. It dripped between her cleavage, under her nightie, her nipples pointing through.
And then he was finished, gasping, her hands gently slowing. She was gasping too, squirming on the bed, her hands hovering like she wasn't what to do with them.
"You can magic it all away or you can taste it, my Hermione. I won't make you do anything." He said gently.
Her eyes flicked to him and then to her hands, her mouth opening and closing, not able to voice any words. Her hand came to her face, and she took in a long, deep sniff, her eyes rolling back. Harry almost smirked — pure Potter magic was difficult to resist — it was warm and powerful.
She looked at him nervously and then dabbed her tongue out to her fingers. Harry just stroked her back as she tasted his seed — but once she'd had a taste, she had a mouthful, and soon she was licking her hand like a cat licked its paw, filling her mouth with his ropes of gooey cream.
"Texture is thick, cream-like, the smell is distinctly masculine musk, the magic is oddly warm, even in my core—" Hermione recited.
"What are you doing?" Harry said, amused.
"I am doing science." She sniffed. "I am trying to understand why powerful men have such leverage in this world and why witches — mmm," She hoovered up a thick pool from her nightie, sticking the fabric up to her mouth. "Why witches are historically disenfranchised in the magical world, content to be wives or mistresses or researchers—"
"Well, I think you're doing a wonderful job."
"Don't patronize me, Harry." Hermione pointed a finger at him, and then stuck it in her mouth when she realized the seed was about to drop from it. "I am determined to understand the submissive nature of witches and whether it stems from Morgana herself, whether the magic she uses for the Morgana's Maidenhood blessing to witches everywhere, somehow affects our—slurp—" Hermione slurped up a pool of his cum from her nightie and then caught sight of his wide eyes, suddenly, her face reddening.
"Do you want to go to breakfast without me? I'll be…um, right down." She said quietly.
"I'll do that." Harry rubbed her back. "Thank you for this morning, my love. Wear the clothes I put out last night, okay? Remember, the pretty panties."
"Yes, Harry." She said quietly, not meeting his eyes.
"Good girl." He kissed her cheek and then left her to her dubious science experiments. Whatever she wanted to say to justify it, he wasn't complaining. His Hermione was a wild one, and he'd always known it.
Down in the Great Hall, the papers had arrived early and were causing a buzz almost equal to the breakout of Azkaban. Harry strode to his usual seat, looking around the Hall. It was still early — not even the teachers had arrived yet. Daphne was there, sitting uncomfortably.
Hedwig gave him his paper as he sat down, and he rubbed her head while she stole some bacon, his eyes coursing over the Prophet's headlines.
KNOCKTURN ALLEY RENTBOY SAYS HE SPENT WHOLE SUMMER WITH FALLEN HOGWARTS HERO.
Harry almost choked on his pumpkin juice as he read the whole article. It was awful tabloid trash from Rita Skeeter, citing an anonymous male prostitute who'd spent "four weeks of dreamy love" with Cedric Diggory the summer before he'd denied.
It seemed like Cho Chang was making her play. Harry met her eyes, while she was being comforted by a host of her friends. He gave her a little nod, even as her tears fell.
Devious little bitch. He admired. Terrible lies, but stories didn't need to be true to stick. The Hufflepuff table looked furious, but what target did they have for their anger? A buzz was going through the whole room.
"Is this you, Potter?" Roger Davies stood up from the Ravenclaw table, sneering. "Not content with killing Cedric, you had to drag his name through the mud."
"Sit down, Roger." Harry sipped on his juice. "You don't know what you're talking about and you're embarrassing yourself."
The handsome boy held his hands up. "Just saying — two boys went in, only one came back."
"Like I've said all along, Voldemort killed him. He's back, haven't you seen the news lately?" Harry said calmly.
"Very convenient that all the other Triwizard Champions had such a terrible time in the Third Task, don't you all think?" Roger turned, addressing the other tables.
"You're dealing in lies and speculation, Roger." Harry stood up, voice spreading over all the House tables. "I've shown my Pensieve memories to Susan Bones and her aunt Amelia, to show them what happened, in order to paying respects to House Hufflepuff and Cedric's closest friends. And also to apologize for not being able to do more than bring back Cedric's body."
Hannah stood up. "It's true — Susie and I both saw what happened. Harry fought V-volde, I mean, the Dark Lord and brought Cedric's body back."
"Pensieve memories can be unrel—"
"The next Minister, Amelia Bones, also showed my memories to Cedric's family, to give them closure. I would ask," Harry's voice was sharp. "That you allow the same closure to be given to his closest, like Cho."
Cho just cried. Marietta shot a venomous look to Roger. "Stop it, Roger! She doesn't need this right now."
But the Ravenclaw boy just held up the Daily Prophet like a torch. "This is clearly tabloid trash, a story planted to discredit Cedric, and the only one who seeks to benefit is Potter!"
"How do I benefit?" Harry crossed his arms. "I don't know anything about Cedric's proclivities, but he was a good guy. We all know it. The real Hogwarts champion. I wish he were standing here today, but he's not. So I'm just trying to live my life."
"You're trying to get closer to Chang—"
"I want Cho to be left alone, like she deserves. Can you say the same? Or are you trying to get in her good books with this spectacle?"
A wand cracked a boom into the enchanted sky of the Great Hall as McGonagall strode in, the tell-tale steps of her boots clapping against the floor, the sound everyone feared. "That is quite enough, both of you!" She snapped. "I'll dock you both a hundred points if you don't sit down, right this instant!"
"Sorry, Professor." They chorused, doing as she said. Roger glared at him. Harry just smiled.
"Never a dull moment with you around, Harry." Katie Bell slid into the seat next to him, stealing the slice of toast he was about to eat.
"Hey!"
"Hey, yourself." Her hand slid into his lap, under the table. "Been meaning to return the favor, from the other day." Her hand stroked him through his robes, through his underwear. But there was no awakening his cock, not after Hermione had just jacked him off.
He caught her wrist. "Naughty girl. How about I take you to Hogsmeade and we can see how many favors I can rack up?"
She bit her lip. "Don't want you thinking I'm that sort of girl, Harry."
"No strings, old friend." He shrugged. "You set the pace. I just want to see what I'm doing to you, next time I do it, if you get me."
Her smile was nervous but warm. "Okay, it's a deal. I've been thinking about that night, about you, a lot." She admitted.
"Me too." He lied. "Next Hogsmeade weekend, then?"
"Can't wait." She nudged his shoulder and then began slitting open the envelopes she'd received.
Harry turned to his own stack of post. Narcissa's letter was on the top, obvious by the lilac envelope she always used.
My Lord, my love,
How I need you, morning, noon and night. I cannot go a single minute without thinking of you, the love you give me, the love I wish to shower upon you.
I 'm sorry to say that business calls, and so I urgently write this missive to you using your beautiful Hedwig. I received a letter from a man calling himself Sal, a Knockturn Alley smuggler of some repute. He says he hasn't heard from Lucius so he was forced to contact me, but he's saying he has several high-priority Malfoy dealings to close off. Artifacts Lucius has sold through him, profits to collect, as well as artifacts Lucius sought to buy. As I'm sure you do, I wonder if it could be a trap, but I also that Lucius did indeed have dealings with the man. How would you like to proceed?
Eagerly awaiting your reply, and your next visit,
Your Narcissa.
Harry hummed as he scratched a reply, ordering her to set up a meeting in the evening. This situation was always going to arise — Malfoy was simply too big an estate, full of dodgy dealings, and despite Lucius' many shortcomings, he ran the estate well.
He needed someone to run Malfoy's business, that much was obvious. Cissy was wonderful, but it wasn't her forte. While she could run high society balls and grease the wheels of those that mattered, she would never be one to do the dirty work. Paying providers and brokers, bribing the right officials, threatening the competition.
And even if it wasn't exactly legitimate, Malfoy's business was too big an enterprise to shut down. Too profitable, coin that he could take away from Tom and use to build his own power, military or economic.
Harry glanced over at Daphne. The Greengrass family could run it, and Peter Greengrass would do it, as long as he married both his daughters. But every Pureblood woman out there wanted a ring on their fingers, and he only had the Potter and Black names to marry with. The man had offered him both daughters with only a single name, Astoria being only a sister-wife, but that only left him with one name to nail down Susan. Or Cho. Or even someone else.
Whoever he chose, he'd be losing an option, even with his unique…powers.
He could take Daphne without marrying her, probably, but that would piss off Peter and lose him access to their unique set of skills in the gray market, their voting bloc with the Dark, their family magic and library.
He could take Cho without marrying her, possibly, but her family would be enraged — he'd lose his access to China and all that rare magic that country provided, lose his access to her family library too.
And Susan? Well, he wasn't sure if he could take her, with or without marriage. She wasn't loosening up at all — she hadn't even bothered to stand up to defend him against Roger's attacks. Maybe she'd considered that the most likely placement of the Cedric article was him.
Harry sighed. No good answers. But much to do, and not much time to do it.
First, class beckoned. Charms. Another lesson on things he already knew, holding a textbook loosely while he studied Tom's memories inside his head, learning from one of the greatest wizards to walk the planet.
He was learning, getting more powerful with every memory that he organized, that seeped into his head from Tom, or Apolline, or Narcissa. Even Hannah. When he fucked his girls, seeding them anew, their bond grew stronger — their magic getting easier to pull from, his power growing, more of their memories pulling across. Even spilling down their throats or coating their faces seemed to help, as long his cum oozed into their skin or their bodies.
But was he gaining power quickly enough?
It never felt like it.
"Wotcher, Harry." Dora sat down next to him, and he drank her in. Black heels, short skirt, stockings, blouse buttoned low. She was just begging for it.
"Harry?" She said uncertainly.
Harry blinked. "Sorry. I'm still sleepy. You okay?"
"Just heard about the drama from some firsties coming out the Hall. Don't try and get in any fights without me, okay?" She leaned towards him, dropping her voice. "Although I'm not here to fight your student battles, strictly speaking."
"I'll do my best." Harry smiled. "I'm off to Charms, catch you later."
Her eyes went wide around a mouthful of toast. "I need breakfast first!"
"I'll be alright, Charms is around the corner. Eat something." He assured her.
Harry caught up with Hannah as she left the Great Hall. "Need you to back me up tonight, meet me in the girl's bathroom on the second floor at eight." He muttered as he moved past her.
He felt her joy through their bond in his mind — and wasn't that the strangest thing? Joy that fed back to him, making him happy. It was a dangerous feedback loop.
But the smile on his face was real. His girls were good for him. He just needed to be powerful enough to be good for them, to make the deal he'd forced them to make worthwhile, to give them a life without the Dark Lord ruling.
###
Later that night, Harry whisked Hannah away through the floo in the Chamber of Secrets. When she'd seen the plush bed in the chamber, she'd tried to distract him, panties falling, skirt hiked up. But even her peachy ass couldn't make him run late for this meeting.
In Knockturn Alley, he'd covered Hannah up in a thick robe — a sexy Hogwarts schoolgirl in this alley wasn't a good idea.
"Just watch my back and cast a spell if you see anything, okay? No heroics." He told her.
"You too, Master." She kissed him ardently.
And then he was away, skipping past the street vendors. Shrunken heads on one stall, the cliche Knockturn novelty, the one everyone heard about. Just enough to scare the families from walking further down, Harry imagined.
And beyond that, the poisonous candles, their odd fumes wafting into the air, the oversized fingernails in a jar, slugs and eyeballs mixing in another.
There was nothing quite like Knockturn Alley.
Harry kept his own robe's hood on to cover his face and strode confidently down the alley, parting the street vendors and the hags, the whores and the beggars.
He double checked Hannah was still behind him as he went, and while her steps were more tentative, nobody was messing with her, covered as she was in her black robe.
Cissy had told him that the smuggler called Sal had set up a meeting at Podric Batworthy's Beard Trimming barber shop, which everyone knew was a popular meeting spot — nobody actually got their haircut there. Tom had done more than a few meetings in there.
Harry would have preferred the pub, the White Wyvern, with the safety of having many eyes on, but it was understandable that the smuggler didn't.
The barbershop bell rang when he pushed open the door.
Immediately, he knew something was wrong.
The shop was empty. Podric wasn't standing there with his hat in one hand to collect your money, his odd wand-slash-shaver in the other. Instead it was dark and dusty, light shining from the alley to the mirrors in front of the barber chairs.
The bulb above flickered, buzzed, bright for a moment.
"Hello?" Harry said cautiously, inching in. The shop door swung closed behind him. The bell rang again. The shop was covered in an odd white mist, swirling above them, so that he couldn't see through it to where the stairs to the second floor should have been. The floor with the meeting rooms.
"Hello, Harry Potter." It was Voldemort's voice, slithering, nasal. But not his face — instead, Podric stood like a corpse, his skin completely white. His neck dripped blood from a nasty slit.
"Tom." Harry responded, slashing away the mist with his wand. Only it didn't move. He turned and tried the door. Locked.
"So much panic, Harry Potter. No need to fear. As you can see, I'm not really here." The man laughed, in Podric's chubby body.
"What do you want, Tom?"
"Oh, that name. Do you think it enrages me? Simply nostalgic, I assure you." Podric's tongue slithered over his lips, far out, like it had been severed from his mouth. "I'm just here to see if my suspicions are true. Poor Lucius has fallen…and his wife now serves little Harry Potter."
"What makes you think that?" Harry tried.
"Oh, Harry." Voldemort hissed. "I should have seen it at the Greengrasses. Do you think I don't recognize the roots of my own Death Eater's bond? That which I began with to create the Dark Mark? Do you think I don't see your brand?"
Harry tried to Apparate — but the shop was warded. It had always been warded against Apparition. "There's no brand, I don't know—"
"Did you rape her, Harry?" Voldemort slithered forward, the possessed Podric jerkily taking steps. His eyes were reddening, glowing. "Did you rape Narcissa? The bond needs your seed within her, after all, does it not? Was she your first?"
"I didn't rape anyone, you sick fuck. I'm not like you."
"Ah, but you are. Two paths down the same road, Harry Potter." Voldemort teased. "I chose fear, you chose love. Just like your mother. But," The chubby barbershop owner shook his head. "Tut-tut, Harry Potter. What would Dumbledore think? And your friends? Raping women, taking their minds, their souls, their hearts."
"It's not like that." Harry grimaced, trying again to blow away the mist in the shop. But every spell he tried simply crashed against the mist and dissipated. Even against a possessed Voldemort, he couldn't do anything. And hurting the possessed man wouldn't even help him.
He had to figure out what Tom wanted. His mind raced, trying to think of his angle. Why wasn't Voldemort here in person, if this was a trap?
"Of course it is. Everything is about power, Harry Potter. Even sex. I know how you desire it, enough to spread the thighs of those around you, to manipulate it or force it. I can give you the power you seek, Harry. I can show you the brands you don't know of. How to pull their power instantly, see their thoughts, use their souls. Join me, and I will give you all the women you seek, all the power you need."
His voice was in his head, Harry realized, shuddering as Tom's slithering tongue seemed to be in his very ear, wet and licking across his ear canal.
It's just in your head. He told himself.
"I'd rather die than join you, Tom." Harry said, drawing deep breaths, searching for a way out of the shop. The stairs were blocked off. Spells simply crashed off the windows. The doors were locked.
"Such a binary choice, Harry Potter." Voldemort laughed. "There are things worse than death, as you know, as your girls know. Who are they? Your Mudblood friend? You were in France, weren't you? At the Veela girl from the TriWizard Cup. Did you force her too, Harry Potter?"
"I didn't—"
"That's the problem with celebrity, Harry." Voldemort teased. "Always a news article about what you're up to. Mmm, let me guess. The Bones girl? Or the Chinese girl? Oh! I know…the Greengrass girl is going to reward her savior, perhaps? Who will you force next?"
"Stop playing games!" Harry snarled.
"So hostile, Harry. Why, I'm simply conversing with you. Don't you see, Harry, why I chose to create my Dark Mark instead of using the brand you chose?"
"Because your little dick doesn't work anymore? Too many rituals, Tom?"
Podric laughed, eyes rolling back in his head to reveal red orbs. The sight sent a chill down Harry's spine. "The problem, dear Harry, was that your brand is a symbiotic one. Your victims give you power when you request it. But the Dark Mark? It drains you, as and when I will it. And when they die, their power floods to me. The reason I didn't use your brand, Harry? When your victims die, used and abused by you so shamefully, what happens to all their power? It dies with them, leaving you that little bit weaker."
Tom laughed triumphantly, loudly, his voice echoing through the shop. "I couldn't have myself be so easily defeated by the failures of my minions."
"I don't believe you." Harry growled. "I did what I had to do, I'm doing what I have to do. You want a war, I'll give you one."
"Hawwwy." Tom sang. "I'll have to prove it to you." Podric ambled jerkily over to a barber chair and sat down, swinging the chair around gleefully. "I realized suddenly why I'd been feeling so powerful, recently. Poor little Lucius must have died. And I thought to myself, lovely Narcissa doesn't seem so upset, shopping for dresses and lacy little things." Harry closed his eyes, bile threatening to rise up his throat. How could he have been so stupid? Now Narcissa was in danger.
Voldemort continued."…and my, Harry Potter seemed quite powerful at the Greengrass Manor. I put two and two together. But still, I couldn't believe it. Not poor, innocent Harry Potter, who has just seen the power of a mother's love, the power of a good woman. Surely he wouldn't take a woman like that, no matter how desperate he was. And I just had to see it for myself. And now I see it all. I see you."
"You can see inside my head, can you? You can see a brand that even I can't see?" Harry coughed out, helplessness mixing with rage.
"Oh!" Podric's mouth formed the O shape. "Not you, innocent Harry. I don't see a thing on you. No, I see the brand, so like the Dark Mark, on the girl outside. One of your playthings, isn't she, Harry? Let's see if you can feel your power disappear when she dies. Maybe you'll believe me then!"
And with that, the string was cut. Podric slumped to the ground, dead. The mist was sucked up the stairs, to the second floor. The bulb turned on once more. The radio began to play — the Weird Sisters.
A scream from outside the shop, in the alley. And another from the stairs above. Harry froze, caught between two thoughts. Above, perhaps it was Voldemort, or another minion, possessing Podric, playing all the parlor tricks. But outside, in the alley, Hannah.
There was no choice. His Hannah, his responsibility.
The door unlocked easily, and out in the alley, it was a normal evening. No chaos. A few people walking the cobbled streets. A street vendor advertising troll-meat kebabs. A bell rang — a couple exiting the apothecary next door.
Harry's keen eyes searched the alley. Where was Hannah?
A street flight flickered orange. Laughter from a side street. White scrapes on the stones. Long white scrapes…maybe caused by high heels dragging on the cobbles.
And he was away, darting into the road, pushing through people in his desperation.
"Watch it, fucker." Someone growled.
"Oi, you think you're a big man."
Harry ignored it all, sprinting through the side street. It was dark, lit sporadically by a Victorian-style lamp street light, an orange glow that cast more shadows than it illuminated. The smell of disinfectant, the hand sanitizer that everyone carried into Knockturn Alley.
Empty bottles of it littered the cobbles.
But no sign of Hannah.
"Hannah!" He called out. Nothing. A street hag laughed at him.
"Lost something, dearie?" She cackled.
He growled, grabbed her neck. "Where did she go?"
Her glass eye rolled in its socket, her mouth bared to show three dirty black teeth. "Where do any of us go, little duck?" She bleated, her breath stinking of booze.
Harry dropped her, scowling. He had to find her. No sight, no sound, no smell…but, he thought, he had more senses than that. He closed his eyes, feeling for the bond.
Hannah, where are you? Concentrate, keep calm, focus. Talk to me.
He'd always felt their bonds, felt their emotions, felt the feedback loop. But he'd never tried to talk to them, not like.
Narcissa felt panicked. Apolline was worried. And Hannah felt…nearby.
Undertakers. One word that he barely caught. But it was all he needed. E.L.M and Wizards Undertakers & Embalmers — down the side street, left around the corner, left past the oak tree, down the slope with the locksmith.
Harry ran, his heart thumping his chest, feet pounding on the cobbles. And at the top of the slope, he saw a flash of blond hair, a flash of her braided plait before she was shoved through the door of the Undertakers.
"Hey!" He took off. The dark figure that shoved her through slammed the door behind them. Harry exploded it without even a word, just a slash of his wind and the pure rage he'd felt. The door smashed forward and splintered into a dozen pieces.
Inside, it was dusty, dark. Fine china on the table, candles emanating a musky incense, a cloud of lavender scent so thick in the air that it felt like it was choking his throat.
And on the table, Hannah, gagged and bound. But where was the man who'd taken her?
He entered slowly.
A snap of red light smacked against his shield.
"I'm not that stupid."
"Oooh, ickle baby Potter is all grown up." That voice was obvious. Bellatrix.
She emerged from behind a bookcase and as one, they pulled their hoods back. She was ugly, a beauty ravaged by time and Azakaban, eyes sunken, teeth black.
"Such a big boy you've become, little baby Potter." Bellatrix cooed. "Master will be ever so pleased. He likes you, you know. Not as much as me, though!" She cackled. A candle flew towards him, enlarging in flight so when it came, it was as big as a table. Harry just dispelled it, letting it drop to the ground, small as it began.
She was so close, just ten feet away. The shop was so small. How could they duel here? Lined around the wall were gray steel cabinets from floor to ceiling, extending into the next room — racks and racks of corpses.
Bellatrix eyed him. Harry searched for a plan. And between them, Hannah, newly stunned, unconscious.
He couldn't let Tom's right hand get away, not with his Hannah.
"Such a healthy girl you raped, 'lil Harry." Bellatrix looked down at Hannah, whose black robe had shimmied off of her to reveal her body. "I used to be beautiful like that."
"And now you're Tom's ugly whore. Great life choices."
Her face smoldered. "Willing whore, Potter. How about big an' busty here? Or my poor little sister?" She cackled. "What would your mother say?"
"Let's do this already, Bellatrix. Who knows how long you've got left?"
She sniffed, sidling along the table, her fingers dancing up Hannah's body. "Master wants the girl, see? Wants to test her, test your bond." Her mouth twisted in distaste. "But I think he won't mind if I play a little. Boop." Her fingers tweaked Hannah's nipple. Her snigger filled the room.
"Take your hands off her." He demanded, firing a simple Stunning Spell that Bellatrix dodged by just dipping her shoulder, like she didn't even need to think.
"Remember, remember, the whore of all hallow's evening," Bellatrix glowed with glee as she sang. "The red-haired lily, each petal plucked by Black, wolf and rat—woo!" She ducked Harry's angry Confringo.
Her face popped up above the table, all innocence. "What did I say? You think Peter was lying about your mother being gangbanged every night?" Her mouth formed an O.
"Enough games, Trixie."
"Cissy told you my nickname." She pouted. "She knows I doesn't like it. Naughty Cissy. Alright, ickle baby Potter. Remember, no wards. You can apparate away any time you like."
Harry took a deep breath, settling himself. This would be his toughest fight yet, one he didn't feel ready for. Bellatrix Lestrange had earned her reputation.
"You're the one running." He said simply.
She rolled her neck languidly. "Such fun, such fun. Okay, sugar. Five, nine, one, fight!" Bellatrix sang. And then her wand arm snapped down, her lidded eyes burning, long thick hair flowing behind her. Her wand glowed purple.
Harry let his magic fill his body, feeling the warmth, the spark that raised the hair on his arms. The thrill of the fight.
"Let's go."