Do you understand, Cissy?"
Narcissa smiled at him, her gaze a little dizzy, as they always were when she was cum-addled and lovestruck. They were waiting for Rita Skeeter in a rented room in the Leaky Cauldron. Cissy had the bright idea to pass the time in a more pleasurable way — pressing her large tits together while he fucked them, begging him to coat her in his love. "Yes, my love."
"Talk to Hermione. Get everyone here, I need plans, I need solutions. No excuses, this is top priority."
"Yes, darling." She swiped a little glob of his seed from her lips with her finger and sucked it in, shivering.
"Is she coming?" Harry said impatiently.
"She said she'll be here shortly."
Harry paced up and down, running his hands through his hair. "Fuck, this is bad."
Narcissa frowned. "What's wrong? You were so excited earlier. An opportunity that the Dark Lord doesn't have."
Harry scowled. "That was before I got stuck over there. I was in the past, Cissy, and I couldn't reach here no matter how much I tried, how much I blinked. You didn't notice because you were sleeping, but I was just sitting here like a frozen Inferi, my eyes awake but nobody was home. Because me, my brain, my soul, my mind, whatever, it was in the past."
"But why?"
He pinched the bridge of his nose. "The further we get apart from each other, the more diverging locations, the harder it is for me to find myself. Like, when we're both in this house, in this room, it's easier, but…I don't know." He picked up a Butterbeer and downed it. "There's so much about time that I don't know."
"We'll figure it out." She promised.
There was a knock on the door. Cissy blew him a kiss and strode into the next room, closing the door behind her.
Harry needed to do this alone. He opened the hotel door and there she was — Rita Skeeter, a woman as foul as any Dark Lord, but much more useful to him. She gave him an oily smile as he waved her in and carefully closed and locked the door.
"My, my, what a lucky woman I am. Alone in a hotel room with Harry Potter." Rita smirked. "That was, until he decided to invade the Ministry and kill the next Minister."
Harry was unamused. "Cut the crap, Rita. You know as well as I do that wasn't me. It was Polyjuice Potion."
Rita smacked her green lips together. "Do I? A hundred plus witnesses say very differently. Harry Potter declaring himself as the Leader of the Light, promising to wash the corruption of the Ministry away."
"The corruption which Amelia Bones would have done away with, right." Harry rolled his eyes. "Why would I endorse Amelia and then kill her?"
Rita grinned. "That's just one of many questions that tonight's special edition paper will ask." She tossed her curls and withdrew an acid green quill from her bag. "Don't be dull, Harry. Play the game."
Harry clenched his fist. "You mean the game that your special edition will destroy. The game of, oh, I don't know, the fragile existence of wizarding democracy as we know it?"
Rita's eyebrows drew together as she examined her crimson nails. "I'm afraid that all I heard was the insane ramblings of the Boy-Who-Massacred-The-Ministry?" She paused. "That's a mouthful, scratch that." She made a note with her quill.
"Rita, this is serious."
"As am I." She sucked on the end of her quill, examining him. "You're a paper-seller as a hero, Harry, but the fall of a hero makes for big sales too. I would look the other way if you were caught fucking a Muggle or called someone a Mudblood, but this story makes you into a Dark Lord. This story goes international."
Rita shrugged. "Besides, at this point? The story gets written without me."
"Did you get any pictures of Voldemort at the Ministry? Witnesses?" Harry asked desperately. Tonks must have come through for him, shapeshifted into looking like the Dark Lord.
Rita collapsed onto the sofa opposite him, pushing off her high heels with a sigh. "I can neither confirm nor deny."
"Really?"
"What? There's ten times more witnesses saying you were there. Besides, if Voldie was there and you were there, then that just makes your Polyjuice claim look worse, right?"
"Voldemort attacking the Ministry is still a story." Harry argued.
"Not half as big." She waved her hand dismissively. "Voldemort is meant to attack things. You're meant to smile and kiss little babies. Play the game, Harry."
Harry gritted his teeth. She was infuriating. "Fine. What do you want?"
Rita shrugged as she picked up a bottle of Butterbeer from the table. "What have you got? I need page turners, not cute little secrets."
Harry had…secrets, so many he was beginning to forget what he was hiding from who. Horcruxes, his harem, insights into the Pureblood students of Hogwarts, Snape's whole thing. But there were few secrets he was willing to give away, except for the thing he'd agreed with Narcissa.
Harry ran his finger around the rim of his beer. "Narcissa Malfoy—"
"Got caught buying lacy panties in the Alley." Rita yawned. "Not a story — she probably got tired of wearing the chastity belt she had to wear to keep creepy Lucius off."
"Narcissa is my mistress." Harry said simply.
Rita rose her eyebrow. "What, do I look like I'm born yesterday? I know I look great but I'm a lot older than you think, kid."
"I…" Harry wasn't going to say she looked old. "I'm serious."
"Bullshit." She snorted. "Her husband just died."
"In mysterious circumstances. A story that," Harry gasped in mock shock. "Only I knew and told you about. Remember, I wanted you to write that I killed him?"
"Get outta here with this Quibbler bullshit." Rita scoffed. "What, Cissy was so full of grief that she shacked up with a Hogwarts student?"
"Narcissa loves me and was grateful for the protection and security of being the Mistress of The Most Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter."
"Pull the other one, Potter. I'm not buying your dragon dung." She shook her head. "Giving me this shit just to stop the biggest story of the year, it's pathetic—"
"Cissy!" Harry called loudly.
The bathroom door opened. Narcissa walked out, wearing a short white satin nightie that barely reached her thighs. Her breasts threatened to spill from the top. Her hair was coiffed elegantly into long curls, long tassel drop earrings almost reaching her neck. She was applying a deep red lipstick carefully. "Yes, my love?"
Rita's eyes went wide. "Polyjuice." She said instantly.
"You were an intern at the Prophet when you covered my wedding, Rita." Narcissa chided as she strode towards them, sinking into the seat next to Harry. "You thought you were drunk from the champagne, but your editor switched your glasses with the non-alcoholic. You were just giddy."
Rita gaped in disbelief. "Impossible. Narcissa Malfoy is a sophisticated woman, queen of high society. She'd sooner die than be the bedtoy of a teenager." The reporter snapped her fingers. "This is a prank, revenge for something I wrote. Narcissa, this is beneath you."
Harry sighed as he settled back onto the sofa, tangling his hands behind his head. "Cissy, on your knees, sweetie."
"Yes, My Lord." Narcissa gave him a smoky look as she slipped to the carpet, crawling between his thighs, hands reaching to unzip him.
"Narcissa Malfoy would never—" Rita's words died in her throat as Narcissa pulled Harry's cock free and ran her tongue slowly from base to tip.
"Never," Narcissa agreed as she tied her hair behind her. She glanced over her shoulder at Rita. "Unless it was for love."
As Narcissa descended, so too did Rita's jaw.
Harry gently stroked his Cissy's hair as she lovingly licked his cock, her eyes wide and adoring. "So, Rita…is this a big enough story for you? Interviews with both of us, a piece on how Cissy fell for me, a photoshoot with a new glowing and in love Narcissa Malfoy? You can do a puff piece on mistresses throughout history." Harry paused. "You might need something on how Cissy escaped her abusive marriage and how she felt so guilty at the relief she felt when he died at the Dark Lord's hand."
Rita could say nothing — she simply watched, stunned.
Harry smiled as Cissy nuzzled the hand he put against her cheek, cheek bulging with his cock as she worked it into her throat. She'd come so far to be able to take so much of his shaft. It was a real achievement — though probably something best left out of her interview.
"Oh," Harry snapped his fingers. "I'll talk about I learned of Lucius' death early, told Narcissa and offered to shelter her from the public eye and be her ward and protector while she grieved."
Narcissa gurgled approvingly on his cock.
"We agreed to keep it a secret so she could mourn in peace, but when I met her each week to have dinner and advise her on how to manage the estate, we fell in love." Harry smiled down at his Cissy. "I was entranced by her grace, her sharp wit, her strength under pressure, and of course her beauty."
Cissy blinked up at him through long eyelashes. A tear ran down her cheek. Her desperate tongue stretched towards his balls as she choked herself.
"What do you think, Rita?" Harry looked at her challengingly as he arched his hips up, feeding his cock all the way down Narcissa's throat. "That's a lot of headlines, when this Ministry dust settles. Do you think she's a…oh, yeah, with your tongue…do you think she's a page turner?"
###
Hermione coughed heavily as she stumbled out of the Floo. She'd wanted time before she met the rest of Harry's girls, wanted his whole attention and the ability to pretend it was just the two of them.
But Hannah's message had been clear. Harry was in trouble and she needed to Floo to Malfoy Manor.
Of course Harry was in trouble — everyone knew something happened in the Ministry. Hermione didn't know how Harry had ended up in that mess — he was meant to be at the Veela Court. Hermione had spent the whole day feeling jealous and angry and insecure, and then feeling guilty for feeling all those things, and then writing a mental script to ensure that Harry didn't see her inner turmoil.
Only Harry had done what Harry did, and got himself into real trouble.
She brushed the smoke from her eyes and blinked to see the Malfoy living room. Only, instead of holding Narcissa Malfoy, it held all of Harry's girls.
Narcissa greeted her first, wearing a mauve sleeveless dress that looked like it cost more than Hermione's parents had ever earned. In heels, stockings, necklace and earrings, the older woman looked like was going on a dinner date, rather than fretting over their joint lover.
Hermione supposed Harry quite liked the trophy wife aspect to the Malfoy mother — he didn't get the chance to show off as a child, bless him.
Narcissa's lips curled as the woman ran her eyes up and down her Gryffindor uniform. Hermione resisted the urge to quail — Harry had chosen her, taken her, loved her, which meant she belonged. "So, you're his best friend."
"I am."
Narcissa tossed her hair behind her, smiling. "I was Harry's first lover, you know? The first to take his mark. He lived here, over summer. I suppose I'm like his wife, in many ways."
Hermione nodded politely. The woman would have to do better than that. "But not actually his wife, of course. He'll marry younger, newer, right?"
Narcissa's smile faded.
Beyond her sat Harry. But Hermione quickly realized what trouble he was in — he sat, eyes open, but unresponsive, unblinking, a blankness to his gaze. What had her Harry done now?
"'Arry is not harmed, his mind is just elsewhere." A voice explained. Apolline Delacour, Hermione realized.
She had to blink to take her in — a beauty of beauties, silvery-blonde hair over a slightly tanned body that looked like it had walked out of a teenager's wet dream.
Ron would have been tongue-tied. Seamus would call her a MILF. She was wearing a pink floral print dress, showcasing long legs and big breasts. Hermione couldn't imagine that Harry had needed much convincing to claim the stunningly beautiful Veela mother of Fleur Delacour.
Hermione hadn't forgotten how the boys had gone goo-goo over the Triwizard contestant — somehow, Harry and his mates had bonded over their shared lust for the beautiful girl. Hermione imagined Harry was really struggling with not being able to tell the guys that he was banging Fleur's mother.
"A pleasure." Apolline purred. Even her voice sounded sexy. "'Arry says he would not have survived his adventures without you."
Hermione smiled thinly. It would have been easier if the Veela knockout was unkind. "And you're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen." She said honestly.
"Hardly." Narcissa sniffed from behind them.
Apolline put a hand under her hair to fluff it in mock-embarassment. "'Arry does seem to…enjoy me."
Hannah snorted from where she sat on the sofa, nose buried in a book. The girl was wearing her Hufflepuff uniform. "Harry likes anything exotic for a quick tumble, but when he wants comfort, he comes to Hogwarts. To me."
"Comes on you, you mean." It was another girl that answered, her voice sharp. Hermione recognized her as a leggy tanned brunette, a French girl with a rich accent. Fleur's friend Marie, the one Harry had told her about.
Hermione had assumed her to be a girl that Harry had taken purely to get to Fleur, a stepping stone to the Veela. But Marie was drop-dead gorgeous in her own right, with the sort of easy confidence that came with great beauty, but wasn't usually found in one so young.
Harry's got a beautiful French brunette, he doesn't need you. A voice in Hermione's head said, but she ignored it. Harry had spent all his recent days loving her, the happiest days of her life, two hearts connected and talking in their own love language.
"My grand-mere would call you a gourgandine." Marie continued, distaste in her voice. "I don't know how you take pride in being physical relief. Harry appreciates brains, class, elegance, la grâce."
Narcissa laughed at that, as she stood behind her sitting daughter and began brushing her hair. Hermione did a double-take at the sight of the Malfoy daughter — Helena was every bit the beauty that her mother was, a pureblood noble's features with kind eyes that seemed incongruent.
"Just because you're French doesn't mean you have class." Narcissa said primly. "Didn't you blow him in a Muggle night club?"
Helena gaped at the Beauxbatons girl. "Really? With everyone watching?"
"You can hardly talk," Marie snapped. "Is eating Harry's cum from your mother's gaping chatte classy?"
Helena went red. Narcissa froze. Apolline hid her laughter behind her hand.
"Perhaps," Hermione began slowly, wondering what she'd walked into. "We should calm down and talk about Harry. Is he in trouble?"
"Yes, thank you." Narcissa dropped her hairbrush into Helena's hand. "What would we do without Hogwarts' brightest to tell us to calm down? We've already talked, we have plans."
"Clearly not. Didn't Harry ask for me specifically?" Hermione said sweetly. "Or don't you do what Harry asks?"
Narcissa glared, her stare imperious. "Do not question my love or loyalty to Harry. I would kill myself if he asked."
Hermione's smile broadened. "One must hope he suffers no slip of the tongue. What's wrong with him?"
Narcissa sighed, but it was her daughter who answered morosely, playing with the hem of her black pleated skirt. Her blood-red tunic was thick and lined with belts and buckles — Hermione imagined it had to be thick, in Durmstrang's cold. "Harry fought Voldemort in an unleashed ley line, a time-stream, he called it, in the Department of Mysteries. His mind is split between our present and the past of the eighties."
"The eighties?" Hermione repeated, furrowing her brow. How did Harry get himself into these situations? She parsed through the implications — she knew more about time than most, thanks to her misadventures with the Time Turner in third year. "Stupid question, but since it's the Department of Mysteries, I'll ask it anyway…is he sure it's our time, our timeline, I mean. Not another?"
Narcissa sat down in a huff, stressed — she'd bitten her manicured nails. "He said he escaped Voldemort by sabotaging a stone in a chamber in the past and removing it in the present."
Hermione glowed — her man was so clever. Nothing turned her on more than seeing him use his brain. "Then he'll need to be careful not to interfere or interact — he should stay out of sight until we can bring him back. In my third year, Professor McGonagall told me what awful things have happened when wizards have meddled with time. Loads of them ended up killing their past or future selves by mistake!"
Narcissa winced.
"What?" Hermione frowned. "What's he doing now?"
Hannah sighed. Apolline giggled. Helena hid her mouth with her hand.
Narcissa bit her lip. "He's…he's trying to fuck my sister."
Hermione stared. "Your sister."
"Yes."
"Bellatrix."
"Yes."
"The Dark Lord's insane right hand."
"She…had a challenging childhood."
Hermione thought her mind was going to short-circuit. Her beloved Harry was devoid of a brain. "I…why?
"She hasn't joined the Dark Lord yet, she's quite innocent." Narcissa blushed. "Harry's going to put her on the right path."
"Our Harry's such a cad." Helena couldn't stop giggling, flexing her toes as she rested her feet on the ottoman.
All eyes turned to her.
"What?" She said defensively. "He's such a boy." She swooned.
"He's in danger." Marie reminded. "Half his mind is stuck in the past — he needs our help to bring him back."
"How did this even happen?" Hermione worried at the sight of comatose Harry. "He was meant to be at the Veela Court with you." She glanced at Apolline, who drew in a big breath.
Apolline looked affronted. "Maybe he wouldn't be chasing women in ze past if you 'ogwarts girls could use the large amount of time he spends at the castle actually satisfying him, non?" Her accent became stronger when she was angry.
Hannah tugged on her pigtail — her white blouse was so unbuttoned that her huge tits were straining to spill free. "He seems very satisfied when he fucks these, thank you very much." Hannah grasped her own breasts and shook them.
"Oh?" Narcissa waved a glass in her hand wildly. "And has he done that much since the new girl?"
Hermione gave her a withering glare. "I'm not the new girl, thank you. I'm the old girl, the first girl, the only girl. Nice to meet you."
"If you were that important to him, he would have taken you first. Or fifth." Narcissa snarled.
Apolline tugged her falling dress strap back on her shoulder. "I must admit, I zink 'Arry could do better — I have many friends that would be more, ah, agréable."
Hermione's irritated response was interrupted by Marie. "Harry's lusts are not to be guided." The brunette said knowingly. "He reminds me of ze famous poem Chansom d'automne. And I go, where the winds know, broken and brief, to and fro—"
"Oui, Marie, clearly French poetry is what is needed here." Apolline rubbed her forehead.
The two French women began bickering back and forth in high paced unintelligible French, and Hermione could only look on, bewildered, able to pick up only a word or two. The women were all stressed, worried about Harry, and with no idea how to fix it.
But, as clever as she was, she had no idea how to fix them, to seal the developing cracks in their pseudo-harem. They were all based around their love for Harry, but when he was gone, they had no leader, no commonality, bouncing around aimlessly like Chocolate Frogs out of their packet.
Hermione sat in a chair, resisting the urge to cover her ears with her hands, like she'd done when her parents argued. Her hidden fear — confrontation. It was why her proudest moment was punching Draco in the face.
Draco's sister, Helena, sighed and put aside her hairbrush. She exchanged an exasperated glance with Hermione before she suddenly slunk off the sofa, bare knees in the plush cream carpet.
She crawled between Harry's legs, pulled his trousers down and slowly, carefully, lovingly began suckling on his balls.
"W-what are you doing?" Hermione stared, uncomfortable. Just the thought of another girl with Harry made her shudder, but actually seeing it…the ease with which the blonde beauty had done it, the comfort. The adoration — was that she looked like, Hermione wondered.
Helena's lips smacked together as she let one heavy ball slip from her mouth. "If Harry's not here, and he's in the past, maybe it's because we're not enticing enough. Mother told me that we must always look our best for him, always be attractive and submissive and loving. And always obey. Arguing isn't doing that, so I thought I'd do something productive."
The arguing stopped. Each of the women looked at Helena as she knelt, her loud suckling filling the room.
"I…" Narcissa took in a deep breath. "Who wants a cup of tea?"
There was a chorus of assent as they made their way to the kitchen, ready to start afresh. Hermione gave Helena a warm smile. She didn't know how that had worked, of all things, but maybe they had a hope of getting him back after all, if they could work together.
"Ze English and their tea, huh?" Apolline elbowed Marie, snorting.
"What tea does Harry like?" Helena wondered out loud.
Hannah's eyes sparkled. "Milky, like my breasts."
"Noire, comme son oeil si elle n'arrête pas de parler de ses gros seins." Marie muttered to Fleur's mother.
Hermione's smile froze on her face as she slowly translated Marie's comment. Her French wasn't good, but thankfully her listening was much better than her speaking. Black, like her eye if she keeps talking about her big tits.
"What did that skinny bitch say?" Hannah murmured to her as they took seats around the kitchen island.
Hermione brushed her hair out of her eyes, giving Hannah her easiest smile. "Huh? Oh, I think she said that she was jealous that you knew what tea he liked. She thought Harry would like black, because who likes very milky tea, right?"
Hannah paused, considering her truthfulness. "I guess even Harry's not perfect. At least he doesn't add three sugars like Ron." She grinned finally.
Hermione sighed in relief when the girl turned away. Where was Harry? She couldn't deal with any more intra-harem politics.
"Good save." Helena leaned over and muttered.
"You too."
"Friends?" The young girl said bluntly, brushing a platinum blonde hair out of her eyes.
Hermione gave her a surprised look. "Just like that?"
"You love Harry more than breathing, right?"
"Yeah-yes." Hermione corrected.
"Good." Helena hooked her arm through hers. "We have so much in common. After we get him back, I'll tell you this trick Mother taught me to make him cum super hard." She looked over at Hermione expectantly and she realized that the young Malfoy daughter was waiting for an equal gift.
"Uh, thanks. I'll…well, I know how to make him laugh, guaranteed. It involves Gobstones."
Helena smiled at her, a warm and true smile, the sort of transforming smile that Harry would have fallen for. For the first time, Hermione felt like sharing Harry wouldn't be so bad.
Now they just had to get him back. Where was he? And with who?
###
"You uncomfortable?" Harry said as he knelt between Bellatrix's legs. He adjusted the woman's foot stance. "Right foot's too inward, that's costing you a half a second."
"I'm not uncomfortable, you're uncomfortable." Bellatrix argued childishly. "I'm just thinking I should invoice you for getting so hands on."
"You're the one getting hands on training." Harry reminded. They'd met up after the Malfoy Manor party — they stood on an empty green hill, one of many in Dorset's verdant land.
It was just the heavy breeze of the wind and nobody around for miles — some people thought Britain ugly, Harry thought, and those people were fools. Every shade of green, rolling hills as far as the eye could see, fields both faded and fresh, each with four walls of dense dark bushy trees, like the sheep wool of nature.
Some of those trees now bore sizzling magic scars, but training had its price. Bellatrix was powerful, clearly, even if she was a poor student.
"Can't you teach me something more fun?" She whined.
"You know what's fun? Winning? Fix your stance and your duelling will improve." Harry said firmly.
He kept his eyes set on hers, even as the strong winds whipped her skirt up for a long second, revealing lacy black panties. Bellatrix had refused to wear anything more than the short skirt she was in, and then chastised him heavily if he looked below her neck.
"You just want to grope me more." She growled. "I am a lady, you know?"
"Clearly." Harry said, amused. "Again."
Bellatrix began casting against the trees, scores of curses, many of which were far from the mainstream curriculum. Someone had been showing her stuff, and Harry suspected it was Voldemort.
She didn't wear the Dark Mark, hadn't joined him, but Harry knew that Tom's seductions took years, sometimes. He'd begin by offering books, tips, duelling training. Avenues to power, until he'd hooked them with magic that felt good to use, that wanted to be used.
Nobody was ever satisfied with a little power, a little agency. Become the wizard or witch you were meant to be, he'd say. Every job in this world is given to the mightier wizard, he'd say. Imagine a world where you could be powerful and free, he'd say.
Harry couldn't recall how long Bellatrix had taken to recruit, or when she'd joined him. But if she was standing here now, eager for training, then there was still time. He wasn't really sure why he was doing this.
She was attractive, no doubt, hypnotic eyes framed by lush black hair, Pureblood nobility with an aristocratic slenderness.
And, he could admit, she was fun, even if she was crazy. She pushed her ass back against his crotch when he brought his arms around her to correct her wand-hold, accused him of assault, demanded a duel, and then flashed her skirt above her waist teasingly when she lost.
She was all sorts of trouble, too much trouble for him to be doing this. Hermione would have called it his saving people thing, trying to rescue her before she was tainted by Voldemort's evil. Narcissa would tell him it was devious and brilliant to steal Voldemort's right hand before she became it.
But Harry wasn't sure either of those things were true, not really. He knew, at an intellectual level, that he shouldn't be here — messing with his future by interacting with anyone in his past.
He knew, too, that fucking around with time was a short path to madness and sadness — stealing Bellatrix away from Voldemort was just as likely to mean Voldemort took another as his enforcer, someone more lethal, or even seducing someone more kind, like Sirius.
But he was here anyway. Perhaps for the same reason Tom had been — because she was a lot like him. Them. Harry and Tom. Bella knew she was capable of great things, but she didn't know how to reach it. Desperate for any shortcut, any route to power, Harry and Tom had chosen the darkest of bonds, magic to subjugate and dominate.
Bellatrix was a kindred soul. Tom had seen in her a formless clay to mold, someone so eager to be somebody that they'd cling to the promises and affection of anybody. Harry had seen that too, but he saw something more, saw the spirit of her younger sister Narcissa.
Bellatrix had gone off the rails to free herself of the strict structure of clan Black. Narcissa had stuck to it rigidly. He'd shown Narcissa a little light and watched her bloom into someone incredible. What would Bellatrix become?
He wanted to find out.
"Can you show me how to cast better Unforgivables?" Bella pouted.
He crossed his arms. "Why do you need to know?"
She rolled her eyes. "Because they are incredible pieces of magic, duh."
"The Unforgivables aren't a joke, Bellatrix."
She scowled at him. "Don't be such a stick in the mud, Harry — what is your surname, anyway?"
He ignored her. "You going to risk life in Azkaban for cool spells?"
"What are you, Minister of Magic?" She teased, flouncing down into the grass. She muttered a curse and a thousand grass blades split in two.
"Yeah, the Minister would teach you the Entrail-Expunger." Harry said sarcastically.
"If you teach me one, why not teach me the other? It's not like I don't know how to use them, I just can't do them right." Bellatrix shrugged, absently pulling her blouse-shoulder down to itch at her skin.
"Because…" Harry trailed off. Because…there was no real reason. Or if there was, he hadn't found it. Because he was only refused because of the thought in the back of his mind.
The thought that he was being stupid, teaching a dangerous woman to become an even more dangerous enemy in the future.
"Let's wrap this up." Harry decided abruptly. "We'll meet again in a few days."
"Bored of me already?" Bellatrix laughed, but there was something odd in her tone.
"No, not at all." He put his hands on her arms and casually slid them up to her shoulders so her blouse's sleeves rode up. Still no Dark Mark. "Let's meet tomorrow, even. I want to see you."
Her face colored. "Don't be a creep, Harry. You want a girl to fuck you for magic tips, find a Mudblood. The world has plenty of fools."
"Hey, don't use that term with me." He frowned.
She looked taken aback. "Mudblood? Are you—"
"I'm half, but I don't need to be half not to like it." Harry said firmly. "Inbreeding will make us all into morons like the one your sister married, and I don't like the Ministry's laws and our changing culture any more than you do, but that doesn't mean we should be taking it out on the people with the least power in our society."
Bellatrix's nose wrinkled, but her reply was quiet. "Alright, alright, Merlin, no need to stand on your trunk and give me a speech." She sniffed and tossed her hair. "You go to one continental school and you think you're all sophista-mi-cated now, huh?"
He poked her in the chest, nose in the air. "You're right, I'm now a European gentleman come back to lord over the parochial Brits."
"A gentleman wouldn't keep staring up my skirt."
"A lady would wear a longer skirt in strong winds, or at least charm it down."
"I must have wanted you to look, is that the accusation?"
Harry stepped forward so his breath exhaled on her face. "Not just the accusation, but the truth."
Bellatrix smirked. "You're fun, Harry, but a little teasing doesn't mean anything. A bit of duelling knowledge doesn't make you powerful, and a nice smile doesn't do it."
Harry smirked. Without looking away from her, he brought his wand up. He didn't even say an incantation — and the trees that she could only scar imploded.
Bellatrix looked, agape — he didn't need to, because the bark and splinters rained down on them.
"Power makes me powerful, Bellatrix." He rumbled.
Her eyes met his, and he saw through her without Legilimency. Her shock, her awe, the slight shiver of her body. The arousal.
"I weakened the trees for you." She tried, with an impish smile.
He snorted. "Same time tomorrow?"
"What do you get out of it?"
Harry ran his eyes over her slowly. "We'll find out."
Bellatrix smirked, but he'd seen her swallow the lump in her throat. "Nice try, but you can't fool me. I don't think you can handle a real woman. You're a big softie at heart."
He grinned. "No, I've checked and I'm pretty damn hard." He winked and Apparated away. Not having the last word would drive her mad, he knew.
He Apparated to Malfoy Manor, staying in the acres of the garden. Being in the same place as he was in the future would help him to revert back to 'real time'. He hadn't been able to feel his present mind, to connect to it, which meant that the girls were probably worried.
He'd asked Narcissa to assemble them all, so they could get to work on helping him handle his time-split. But there was a worry at the back of his mind as he taught Bella, that none of them would get along, hens pecking each other over the rooster.
He settled down in the Abraxan stables, cast a Disillusionment Charm on himself, and sank into his mind.
Present-time, present-time. He repeated, as if that was how it worked.
Harry blinked.
And found himself in dreamland.
Sitting in the Malfoy Manor living room, where Marie was slowly lavishing his cock with saliva, a gentle rhythm of a bobbing head. And beyond her, a peaceful family.
His girls wore just their bras and panties. Cups of tea steamed up, ignored for books. Hermione lay on the chaise-lounge, kicking her feet behind her, nose-deep in a thick tome. Narcissa and Helena sat at the table, almost hidden behind a column of books. Apolline was unraveling a dusty scroll. Hannah was drinking a glass of milk through a straw so she didn't have to look away from a book larger than her head.
Harry smiled at the sight. "Hi, girls."
"Harry!" They chorused.
"You're back." Helena hugged herself happily.
"I'm surprised to see you all getting along so well." Harry admitted. Marie gurgled as his cock hardened.
"Of course," Narcissa raised an elegant brow. "We'd never argue when it comes to your wellbeing, my love. Right, Hermione?"
"Never." Hermione agreed, nodding her head quickly.
Harry settled back in the armchair, sighing in relief. "Well, ain't I the luckiest man in the world?"
"Aren't I, Harry." Hermione corrected immediately.
Helena pushed a butterbeer into his hand.
"No, you're Hermione. I'm Harry."
Helena giggled as he pulled and released the waistband of her panties, snapping it against her skin. "You're in a good mood."
"I'm back where I belong. With you." He said simply. He took a swig of his beer. "So, where are we?"
Apolline raised her hand.
"This isn't school, honey. What did you find?" He said.
"I have found my old Beauxbatons uniform, waiting for a good time." Apolline said idly. "But I didn't find something to help us cheat time." She sighed. "'ermione did."
"My walking library." Harry looked at his best friend fondly.
"You explain, Apolline. You're much better at it, I'll just recite the book." Hermione offered graciously.
The older Veela looked a little sour, but she nodded anyway. "In Greece, archaeologists will use Time Turners to rewind before zey accidentally destroy something valuable while digging, right?"
Harry nodded.
"Some archaeologists were exploring a way to hide some historic finds before the looters got them. The sort of treasures too big to move. They went back in time with a Time Turner, Vanished the treasure, and when they returned to the present, the treasure was still in the vanished void."
"Unaffected by the timeline." Hermione added.
"It's like the Vanishing Spell, the magic of the void itself, it's a different world." Hannah commented.
"Space and time." Harry muttered to himself. Two conjoined planes, but could they be separated by magic?
Narcissa had shifted to stand behind him, tangling her hands in his hair to massage his scalp. "That doesn't help bring you back though. And that doesn't help you fuck my sister without destroying our timeline, though, does it?"
Harry grinned, even as he was faced with sets of eyes amused, unamused and in the case of Helena, fond. "No, it does not—oh, fuck." He gasped and bucked his hips as Marie did something with her tongue.
"What did she do?" Helena demanded, darting over.
Marie popped him out of her mouth and slurped up the string of saliva. "Fleur is teaching me things in exchange for Harry's seed." She said triumphantly. Her smile faded at the faces of the other women. "I…I will show you later."
"Good girl." Harry murmured, stroking her hair.
Marie pumped his cock, keeping her eyes firmly on his as she gave his shaft a languid lick from base to tip. "Fleur's primed for you now, mon cheri. She's coming to Hogwarts tomorrow."
"What? How?"
"Just for a day, as an excuse to meet you. She's taking advantage of an old charter between Beauxbatons and Hogwarts that allows students to take out books from each other's libraries." Marie rolled her eyes. "She spent three days figuring out what book Hogwarts could have that Beauxbatons didn't."
"I will be very glad once you take her, my Lord." Apolline said. "I couldn't breathe last I tried to enter her bedroom to re-dose her pillow, she's been working herself so frantically."
"I found three sets of spare panties in her bag." Marie giggled.
"Poor girl." Harry said fondly. "I'm looking forward to it — but I want to see her beg."
"Getting back on track," Hermione frowned. "You can't Vanish a person." She paused. "Well, maybe you could, Harry, but what happens to the person when you try to…retrieve them?"
"Eww," Hannah said.
"It's a good tree, keep barking up it." Harry praised. "What else have—" He was interrupted as an egg timer rang, vibrating on the table.
Marie groaned in disappointment as she detached herself from Harry's cock, kissing his cockhead gently and rising from between his knees.
Harry blinked in bewilderment. Were his girls taking turns on him?
"My turn! Watch and learn, mes amies, I know far more than my Fleur." Apolline unhooked her bra to reveal her large plump breasts, pink nipples hard already. She dove between his legs and, showing off, sank every inch of his cock down her tight throat.
"Merlin." He gasped, closing his eyes to enjoy the sensations of her wriggling, twirling and wrapping-around tongue.
Marie wiped her mouth. "At least I can tell you what I have found." She grimaced. "I've been studying a French book on the mind arts."
"I already know Occlumency."
Marie shook her head. "No, this is different. It's about Luc Millefeuille, a French pâtissier who would deliberately poison Muggles with his pastries."
"Devious." Harry stroked Apolline's hair away from her eyes, rewarded by the Veela's redoubled efforts. "Maybe I could get Voldie to eat a poisoned carrot cake."
Hermione froze. "Does the Dark Lord like carrot cake?"
"He does." Harry had many a memory of the evil man eating it.
"But I like carrot cake!" She whined.
"I don't think you're on the path to evil, Mione." Harry assured her.
"Who doesn't like carrot cake?" Hannah added helpfully.
"Not me." Helena held her hand up nervously. "It's either too dry or has too much icing."
"I make Harry carrot cake every week." Cissy said proudly.
"Maybe Bellatrix does it for Voldie too." Hermione said darkly.
"Désolée, but can I finish my story?" Marie huffed.
"Sorry, Marie." Harry grinned — he quite liked having all his lovers together.
"Luc was a schizophrenic wizard who used his imprisonment to learn to control his multiple personalities." She tapped a thin purple hardback. "And he wrote his methodology in here."
Narcissa's eyes narrowed. "Harry does not have multiple personalities."
"In a way, he does." Hermione snapped her fingers. "Even putting aside all the Tom stuff, now there is a Harry in the past and a Harry in the present, even if they have a single connected mind. The more time they spend apart, the more they could, in theory, develop different personalities."
Marie cleared her throat. "Anyway, I'm hoping if you study it, you'll be able to flip between past and present at will, and be yourself without thinking."
"Thank you, sweetheart."
Hermione stuck her hand up like she was in Potions class. "Harry, can I tell you off?"
Harry chortled. His Hermione. "That is one of your many roles, beautiful."
"Don't compliment me so I'll go easier on you." She said severely.
"I'm sorry in advance."
"This was easier when you didn't have a Veela fellating you, you know." She glared.
"I'm sorry for that too."
"Maybe the past you can learn to give sincere apologies."
Harry gave her a roguish grin, blinking rapidly. "I've just had past Harry complete an apology course. Please forgive me, fair lady, kind-hearted maiden—"
"Stop! It's okay that you've ended up in a-a—"
"Clusterfuck?" He said helpfully.
"Thank you." Hermione said automatically, before growling. "How did you get me thanking you?"
"I'm sorry?"
"Ah!" She reached into her hair, pulling it. "Okay, listen. It's okay that you got into a clusterfuck. That happens to you. It's not okay that you've got us all frantic, in a panic, searching for any solution to a problem you won't define."
"You shouldn't speak like that," Cissy scowled. "Harry's under a lot of strain."
"It's okay, Cissy." Harry gave her a reassuring smile. "Mione's got a free pass for life. Keep going."
Hermione huffed. "I'm not chastising you, Harry. I love you. But you haven't figured out what you want. Do you want us to research how to return you to the present time? Do you want us to figure out how you can bang Bellatrix Lestrange without destroying half the world, which you want to do for a reason even Merlin's bulging brain couldn't figure out?" Hermione took a breath to continue her tirade. "Are you trying to live there and here at the same time? Are you even slightly aware of the madness that comes with causal time loops, of paradoxes?"
Harry painted his Hermione into memory. He loved her always, but she was so hot when she was angry.
"Yes, is the answer."
"W-what?"
"Yes, I want to know how to figure out how to get back here, to the present. Yes, I want to fuck Bellatrix before I go. Yes, I'd love to be able to persist there and here simultaneously." Harry went silent for a long moment. "I saw my mother. She tried to fix my hair." He wanted to say more, but something blocked his throat. Apolline ceased her ministrations.
"Oh, Harry." Hermione blinked away wet eyes.
"And I'm fully aware that I'm asking you to do the impossible." Harry said raspily. "To understand time itself, to give me a way to act recklessly back then without fucking up this blessed life I have with you. I'm fully aware that most experiments with time end up with wizards either dead or mad."
Harry twitched his nose to stop himself from crying. "But I can go into the Atrium and watch my mother have a sandwich. I can walk past her and smell her. I can see her when I close my eyes now. Do you know what it's like to try and remember your parents and not be able to? Or worse yet, to remember them as Tom saw them, dying at his hand?"
"Harry," Narcissa said softly.
"So, please," He shivered. "It's not healthy. It's an obsession. It'll end badly. But do it for me. Do the impossible. Give me a way to take Voldemort's most loyal away from him. Give me a way to hug my mother, without un-aliving myself. Give me a way to come out of this shit smelling like roses."
Hermione was silent for a long moment, and then her face broke into a watery smile. "Tell your mum about me, when you can?"
"I'll tell her I've fallen in love more than I deserve, and am loved more than I can believe."
Hermione wiped her cheeks. "You're not fair, you know. You know I love being given extra-credit assignments." She laughed, crying at the same time.
"Isn't he so sweet?" Helena swooned.
"Seeing you vulnerable makes me so wet." Hannah admitted. "I know that's weird."
"I get it." Marie muttered.
"Our 'Arry is so wonderful." Apolline paused as she held his cock. "Ah, what if we could find a way to send the bond back in time so you can fuck me as a teenager?" The Veela lit up at the thought. "You can take me in two different timelines!" She deepthroated him again, with even more passion.
"You must forgive my past self if she is…unkind, my love." Cissy said quietly.
"I'm deliriously happy with the present versions of you, thank you, ladies." Harry said bemusedly. He had to speak louder over the loud glurks and slurps of Apolline, who was working him to a close finish, her hands kneading his heavy balls, her throat tightening in a perfect rhythm to her bobbing head.
The girls could sense his growing lust. Hannah 'accidentally' spilled her glass of milk over her chest, her blouse parting in a explosion of buttons to reveal her glorious milky tits.
In the chair opposite, Hermione simply spread her legs, ostensibly reading her book, but she was biting her lip. Narcissa continued her scalp massage, resting Harry's head in her bosom. Marie crawled beside Apolline to capture his balls in her mouth.
But it was Helena who pushed him over the edge. She innocently rubbed his arm as she stood at his side. "Harry, are you trying to fuck my Auntie Bellatrix? Do you…do you want me to lick your cum from her pussy too?"
Harry groaned as he popped, gripping Apolline's head as he bucked up with the sheer intensity of his orgasm. He held her tight, holding her silky hair, drinking in Hannah as she played with her own tits, the sight of Hermione's snatch outlined through the wet taut panties of her spread legs. Marie suckled balls that lightened as they unloaded into Apolline's eager, swallowing, whimpering mouth.
When he was finished, he was breathing heavily, laughing tiredly. "Minxes, the lot of you." Harry chuckled, holding his chest as Apolline cleaned him dutifully.
"We love you, Master." Helena kissed his cheek, though she was watching Apolline intently. Harry thought she'd make notes, if she could hide a notebook in that skimpy bra.
"I don't know how she takes your massive thing so easily." Hannah complained.
Apolline winked up at him and withdrew with a shuddering breath — her eyes had watered, makeup smearing, hair wild. "Nothing easy about it." She took another harsh breath. "Being a Veela doesn't stop you from needing to breathe, you know?"
"Harry does like to…restrict airflow." Narcissa said fondly.
Hermione snorted from where she was apparently reading her book.
"I'm out of breath too, somehow." Harry chuckled. "Where were we? Oh, what happened with the Prophet?"
"See for yourself." Hannah held up the newspaper. The picture showed Lord Voldemort pacing imperiously through the Atrium. The headline read 'DARK LORD POLYJUICES TO SMEAR OUR HERO HARRY, ATTACKS MINISTRY, KILLS AMELIA BONES AND MORE'.
"Merlin, our hero Harry?" He barked a laugh. "That's even more sycophantic than I thought Rita could be. I'm almost embarrassed."
"Whatever you and Narcissa did worked." Apolline said, as she nuzzled her cheek against his deflating cock. She always said it was important to practice after-care.
"We paid a price." Cissy said. "But we had to, in order to protect Harry. I'll be revealed as Harry's mistress soon, sooner than we'd hoped."
"Is that bad?" Helena said uncertainly.
"It means that even more of Lucius' estate will pull away," Harry explained. "They were dealing with Peter Greengrass because they felt comfortable dealing with someone else who operates around the outskirts of the law. But when you're announced as my mistress, they'll know exactly who's funding them, or who's buying."
"Why does that matter?" Hannah asked.
"Because continuing to do business with me means crossing the Dark Lord." He said. "Voldemort became feared by ensuring that those that weren't with him knew that he was very much against them. Businesses get burned down, relatives get threatened. Even the little things — back in the day, he got some Death Eaters to burn down a shipment of fabric going to Madam Malkin, all because Dumbledore praised her tailoring in the paper."
"It seems…infantile when you put it like that." Marie noted. She pronounced it the French way — en-fan-teel.
"It works, whatever it is. But it's worth it." Harry reached behind him to find Narcissa's hand, smiling. "My mistress will be able to accompany me to the social events, guide me through high society and the politics."
"He just wants to show me off and dress me in something indecent." Narcissa sighed with exasperation, but she couldn't hide her beaming smile.
"That too." Harry agreed. "I'm glad Rita did the right thing, no matter the cost."
"I'm surprised she did." Hermione muttered — she'd always had a grudge against the beetle Animagus.
"It turns out that having the recently widowed Malfoy matriarch become a very loving Mistress to a rival family, of House Potter no less, is a big story." Narcissa smiled in satisfaction. "She'll release it when the Ministry fallout dies down."
"I bet she couldn't believe you." Hannah giggled.
Harry tried to control his smile. "She did need…some convincing."
Narcissa's hand tightened around his. "Yes, well," She said primly. "Anyone for more tea? Oh, Harry, I'll get you some Cockroach Clusters." She stalked out of the room.
"What's with her?" Marie asked.
Harry shrugged, amused. "Hannah…I know I should have asked before, but I didn't want to think about it…" His smile dropped. "So, how is she? How is Susan?"
Hannah hugged herself. "Not good." She admitted. "A lot of crying. She keeps blaming herself for silly little things." The Hufflepuff looked teary herself. "Is Auntie Amelia really gone?"
"Yeah, I'm sorry." He gave her a wan smile. "I know she was close to you."
Hannah sniffled. "I spent half my time at that house and she was…" She wiped her face, drawing a large breath. "I'm okay. How did she go? Was it…bad?"
Harry shook his head. "Through the veil in the Chamber of Death. It's a magic artifact, a veil to…somewhere. But nobody comes back, I'm afraid. We don't know that she's dead, but…I hope she's at peace."
"Maybe she'll come back." Hannah said hopefully. "Magic advances all the time, right? Maybe they'll figure out where this veil goes?"
"Maybe." He gave her his best smile. "I did see her though, in the past."
"Really?" Hannah lit up.
"Yeah, she's young. So pretty, just like Susan. Working in the Ministry, figuring out how to conquer it, just like she did."
"But if she's there!" Hannah began. "Like, maybe, if you took her to the time-stream, or, I don't know, like Vanished her, or—"
"Han, sweetheart." Harry tried. "I'm…listen, I know you loved her, but I can't bring people back from death. I'm not a god."
Hannah swallowed a lump in her throat. "I know, I'm sorry." She trudged over to him and sat herself in his lap, burying her head into his neck, crying the tears she'd been hiding from Susan. "You're our Harry, which is all we'll ever need." She told him. "But if we're already trying to do the impossible, maybe you can too?"
###
Voldemort clenched and unclenched the toy in his hand. It wasn't a stress toy, like one Mrs Cole had given him all those years ago, in the orphanage, trying to convince him he was a stressed child rather than just better.
She'd given him a small white squeezeable ball, with a smiley face drawn onto it.
The squeezing motion helped both then and now — he used to imagine the ball was her eyeballs, that one day he'd squeeze it so hard that the woman's beady little eyes would just pop.
That ball was long forgotten, so now he used a dried piece of tendon, something he'd excised from a Muggle or a mudblood. He couldn't even recall what body part he'd taken it from. But the muscle was perfect — it bent but never broke.
He didn't need to be stressed, of course. He could admit that his plan had been a failure, to an extent. Potter hadn't taken a hit to his reputation, so the fickle sheep that made up Britain still thought him wondrous.
Voldemort had hoped him ostracized, perfect for recruiting or simply using to destroy the factions that opposed him. It'd be enough, even, to destroy Dumbledore's morale, his last great hope dashed on the rocks.
The Daily Prophet wasn't playing ball. He'd have to investigate how they got an image of him at the Ministry, when he'd been Polyjuiced as Potter the whole time. For a second, he wondered if someone could have Polyjuiced as him. No…it was unlikely.
But Potter was capable of the unlikely — he'd escaped somehow, when it was certain that he was cornered. The boy acted like he was permanently imbibed on Felix Felicis.
None of it mattered.
He'd done enough. Amelia Bones was dead. None ever returned from the veil in the chamber. That should be a lethal blow to the Ministry — a sign that any candidate couldn't be protected. It wasn't certain who'd replace her, or who would even run in the postponed election, but it didn't really matter.
It didn't even need to be a candidate that Voldemort controlled. It just needed to be a fool.
He squeezed his stress-tendon and smiled. And he always said — the world has plenty of fools.
###
Harry sat in the Atrium, on the stone bench, watching the world go by. The fountain water streamed up and down, a soothing bass to the loud hubbub of voices. Civilians seeking directions to obscure departments, businessman carrying proposals and heavy trunks, trunks that would carry lobbying 'gifts' just underneath the legal cost limit for political gifts. Overhead, paper planes flew charmed messages back and forth.
And through the golden statues, between the wizard and the witch, there she sat, munching contently on an over-sized sandwich, because she was eating for two.
His mother, Lily.
Harry knew it wasn't healthy. He couldn't bring himself to talk to her, so he just watched.
As a child, in the cupboard in the stairs, he'd often imagined what his parents would be like. The reality was so much better.
Her eyes sparkled when she took off her heels. She pouted when a tomato dropped out of her sandwich and onto her pantsuit. She giggled when a paper plane overhead flew through the fountain and drizzled water on her.
She was everything. The mother he'd always wanted.
A shadow passed in front of him. Someone sat next to him.
Harry frowned. He'd charmed this bench to be narrower, so he wasn't disturbed. But when he glared at the stranger, he realized that it wasn't a stranger at all.
Another redhead. Amelia Bones, sipping on a coffee and holding another. She sighed in relief when she took off her heels, rubbing at her feet.
"Sorry," She saw his gaze. "They haven't invented comfortable heels yet."
"It's okay." Harry swallowed. Two redheads in the Atrium, two dead women who he owed a lot to.
Amelia was stunning as a young woman — with the light copper hair, the same curves as Susan, but with the maturity of a woman who'd learned to use them gracefully, rather than a girl embarrassed.
As an older witch, Harry had thought her cold and businesslike, but today her eyes twinkled. "See something you like?" Her eyebrow rose challengingly.
"Sorry," He blushed.
"I do look pretty good, don't I?" She brushed her hands over her pencil skirt, over her stockings. "Skirt's a bit shorter than appropriate, but one has to flaunt it while you have it, I suppose."
"Uh-huh." Harry didn't know what to say to that. Young Amelia was weird.
"I got a second coffee for my boss, but he's out all afternoon. You want it?" She offered.
"I…sure. Thanks."
"It's black, but it's not too bitter."
Harry took a sip. It was good, warming. "Thanks."
Amelia smiled. "I'm not going insane, am I? The coffee is better back in the eighties, isn't it, Harry?"