Fleur smacked her lips, turning in the mirror. People thought beauty came easily to her, and so it did. But that didn't mean it didn't have to be worked on, because beauty came in many forms.
Different makeup, different hairstyles, different outfits — she could make herself cute. She could make herself gorgeous. She could make herself elegant. But today, she needed to be sexy, to make balls ache, heads turn, fists clench. She needed to make Harry want to bend her over.
"You can do this." She breathed through pink pouty lips, watching her mirror-self smirk and wink. She just had to keep herself sane, to stop herself from descending into her…carnal thoughts.
Harry did things to her, things she couldn't control.
But she could acclimatise herself to his power, his scent, his magic. She'd fingered herself before she dressed, legs thrown wide, eyes closed, diddling herself to another orgasm, imagining his hands in her hair as he used her.
Marie had a sweater of his, and she'd cut off a snippet of the cuff, enough to breathe in his scent, to try and build up a resistance.
Never had she thought that she'd be the one trying to build a resistance to him. Who was the Veela here?
"Incroyable." Her mirror self told her, smoothing her hands over her tight dress.
It was true, but incroyable might not be enough.
Harry, somewhere, somehow, had grown up. He'd changed from a maybe to a fuck yes. At the Torurnament, he'd been an obvious up-and-comer. Now, he was a come-on-over.
"And a cum-all-over." Fleur murmured, smirking to herself, remembering how he'd coated her face in this very bedroom, glazing her in thick globs of seed. If only she'd taken her chance then.
It didn't matter.
She'd take her chance now. His best and worst quality was the fact that he obviously knew his worth. She'd have to be charming and clever, enticing and enchanting. She'd probably have to degrade herself, more than a little.
But Fleur Delacour always got what she wanted.
She raised her head, set her jaw. "'Arry is lucky to have a minute of your time." She told herself. "You are Fleur Delacour."
Her mantra didn't strike true as it usually did, because her mind played memories she couldn't deny. She'd whimpered and begged just for the chance to slurp Harry's seed from her best friend's swollen cunt. She'd licked his cum as it trickled down to her friend's rosebud. She'd let Marie rub her pussy all over her face, like she was a dirty wash cloth.
But Veela knew more than any other that power was not set in stone. Dynamics could change.
Fleur smacked her lips again, ensuring her lipstick didn't color her teeth. She pulled her hair away from her chest, so her cleavage caught the eye.
Besides, she thought, there are worse places to be than on your knees for Harry Potter.
###
"Georgie, darling, are you ready?"
George sighed as he saved his game on his Game Boy. He'd told Mom several times, he was George. Georgie was a kid, and George was no longer a child. He was in high school. His best mates from primary school were now smoking, drinking, flirting.
George wasn't there just yet, but he was trying to be. If only his family would recognize it. His best mates were spending their Christmas holidays trying to get served in pubs and hanging around outside the off-licenses, paying older guys to buy them a six-pack.
But George was here in Italy, on holiday with his family, walking endlessly to the dullest of historical tourist sites. He'd hoped at least for a glimpse of topless sunbathers on the beach, but the most he'd got was a naked Roman statue of some royal bird.
Even that had given him a boner that he'd had to use his bucket hat to hide.
"Georgie?"
"I'm ready, Mom." He stood up with a sigh, peering round the door to see his impatient parents. Dad's belly was straining against his tuxedo shirt. Mom was glowing, though. He reminded himself that it was her birthday.
"Oh, don't you look so handsome." She beamed. "Shall we get a picture?"
"The taxi's waiting, sweetie." Dad said.
"Oh, yes. Later. Let's go, Davis clan!" She bounced ahead, practically vibrating.
George looked at his Dad, who shrugged. "It's her birthday, son. Let her have this."
"But the opera, Dad?" He whined. "It's like…three hours."
"You can have some of my red wine."
"How about a vodka and coke?"
Dad raised his eyebrow. "You really want your mother to know you're drinking vodka and coke already?"
George sighed. "Red wine, it is."
Dad laughed and pushed him out of the hotel room. "Relax, son. There'll be plenty to look at. These opera singers always have the biggest chests."
"Dad!"
###
Harry whistled as he strolled through the Verona night. Fleur had sent him a date and a location, and he just had to make sure he was suited up. The Roman amphitheater was lit beautifully, each arch of the arcade marble glowing a warm orange, a beacon against the dark night.
The arena was only two levels of arches, but it still stood taller than any of the Verona buildings, a perfect circle in the ancient city. Beaming floodlights crisscrossed above the arena, a light for the crowds to follow as they teemed into the arena.
Harry blinked as he strolled towards the arena, realizing that he'd been here before. Tom, briefly, recovering an artifact that lay under the arena itself.
What was it? A great gladiator had been buried here, a tribute to his achievements during the Roman ludi games. Tom had come here to take the man's helmet — the secret to the gladiator's accomplishments had been his enchanted helmet, the Squib gladiator unknowingly wearing a performance-enhancer.
Trading the helmet had ensured Tom won an apprenticeship with a Venetian dark wizard — the canal waters of Venice were still polluted from the rituals those two had done together.
Harry shook his head. He was here on a happier occasion today. It didn't take him long to find his date — Fleur always stood out, even surrounded as she was by a crowd of eager suitors.
Since she hadn't spotted him, at turns flirting and chiding her entourage of handsome men, he took a moment to drink her in.
She was the stars — a long opera gown of the darkest blue, but patterned with shimmering golden stars, like she'd ascended to the night sky above and torn a piece of it to wrap around herself.
The bodice was two sharp triangles, to hide her chest but not cup it, so it gave the impression than by leaning forward and peeking over, one could see all of her creamy decolletage.
She coyly tugged at the sheer tulle of her long opera gloves in matching blue, cocking her hip to display every inch of the long bare leg that peeked from the slit in her widening dress.
Harry pushed through the crowd of men. "Excuse me," He grabbed her hand. "I'm looking for some entertainment for the night. How much do you cost?"
Her eyes clouded over, even as she smirked.
"You can't talk to her like that—" One of them tried.
"I suppose we could negotiate." Fleur said, nibbling at her deep red lip, her eyes smoky.
Harry winked as he pulled at her hand. "I have a piece of gum."
"Do I look zat easy?"
"No, but from prior experience…" He trailed off.
She laughed, rich and loud. Her hand found his chest as he tugged her away from the grumbling men. "'Arry, a man so young should not be so confident."
"A woman so young shouldn't be so striking."
"Moi?" She batted her eyelashes. "I wore ze first dress I found."
"You might cause a riot." Harry pulled her through the crowds to the arena's entrance. People moved out of their way, but that wasn't new.
She shrugged her bare shoulders. "I 'ave to impress my date, non?"
"I wasn't expecting the opera."
"You are not a fan?"
Harry paused. Was he a fan? Harry wasn't. Tom had sat through some — before Lucius Malfoy, there had been a long line of wealthy patrons that he'd needed to charm, beguile and manipulate. Wealthy lonely women had been Tom's specialty, for a while.
"Depends on the opera." He said finally. He caught sight of a banner. "Samson and Delilah is a bold choice." He bumped her shoulder as the gaping attendant tore her tickets.
"Too much?" She said innocently as they walked into the arena. The crowds were thick and loud, but she parted them easily, because nobody could deny her.
"A woman seducing a man for three hours?"
Fleur giggled as his hand traced the bare skin of her back. "I zought it appropriate."
"Delilah is manipulative and ruthless, trying to figure out where Samson's strength comes from."
Her hand found his as they sat. She perched primly on the padded cushion of the seats in the floor of the arena. Around the sides, tourists were less comfortable, sitting on the original stone steps. "Oui," Her thumb rubbed circles. She swept her long silver blonde hair over one shoulder, revealing more of her bare shoulder as she looked at him through lidded eyes. "I am manipulative. Oui, I am ruthless. Zat is why I am a good partner for you."
"And not Marie?"
She sniffed. "Marie is good for bedding only."
Harry snorted. "Isn't she your best friend?"
"Oui, she is." She smiled fondly. "Marie is a darling, my best friend since childhood. Zat is why I will be 'appy to share our bed with her."
He shook his head. This girl — he'd never tire of her arrogance. "How gracious of you."
"Oui." She smirked, leaning against him as they waited for the opera to begin.
"Samson tells her eventually, right? That his strength is in his hair, of all things."
"Not where your strength is." Fleur agreed. "Or mine." She took his hand and placed it on her bare thigh, shifting her knee to open the long slit of her dress.
Harry swallowed as his hand was dragged slowly up her skin, and then froze as she tugged her dress back over his hand. She leaned over and whispered into his ear. "Between my thighs, I have great power, non? And…I 'ave no hair down zere."
She giggled at the look on his face, resting her head on his shoulder. "Enjoy ze show, 'Arry."
###
George clapped along as the curtains fell, the intermission beginning. But his attention wasn't on the stage, but on the devastating blonde a row in front, six seats to the right. He'd not been able to take his eyes off her, not since he saw her outside of the arena, not since the opera began.
She was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. A vision of perfection. Her hair shone in the light of the stage, and he'd bit his lip every time she swept her locks over her ear.
Her and her lucky bastard of a boyfriend must have been sharing salty peanuts, or something, because he kept giving her his fingers to lick clean. And when her eyes closed, when she cleaned his fingers, George thought he was going to mess his jeans.
Dad elbowed him in the side. "You alright there, son?"
"Yeah," He croaked, blinking as the lights came on.
"She's a smokeshow, huh?"
"I…" George nodded. "I think I'm in love."
Dad snorted. "Listen, son, you gotta shoot for the stars, that's how I got your mum. But well, maybe aim for somewhere in this galaxy, right?"
"She's not of this planet, that's for sure." George muttered.
At his words, though the angel couldn't have heard him, she looked over her bare shoulder. Met his eyes. Gave him a small smile.
Mom was still clapping. "Isn't it great?" She enthused. "Who wants ice cream?"
"I've got to queue at the bar for the wine." Dad said.
"I-I'll get the ice cream." George jumped to his feet and pushed out of the row before they could argue.
He needed a better look at her, to meet her, to know anything about her. But the crowds were thick, and composed almost entirely of old people walking slowly. So when he'd finally got free, and found an ice cream attendant selling overpriced little pots at the back of the rows, he couldn't see a glimpse of that strange silver blonde hair.
He sighed with disappointment. Bought three pots of chocolate ice cream.
But when he turned, he almost tumbled into her.
He stuttered, mouth opened but words not coming out, his eyes coursing over her figure. She was unearthly, long legs, slim waist, bountiful cleavage. "H-hi."
She raised an eyebrow as she dug her pink plastic spoon into her ice cream. She'd gotten it already, somehow — maybe she just wished for it and the heavens granted it.
"Hi."
"I'm uh, um, George."
"Hi, uh, um, George." She sucked a chunk of vanilla off her spoon, making it spotlessly clean as it emerged from the whitest of teeth. "I'm Fleur."
"A-are you enjoying the show?"
She didn't answer, just studying him, like he was an animal in a zoo, while she ate her ice cream. But the vanilla ice cream slipped from the little spoon and landed on the top of her breast.
George stared.
"Whoops," Fleur simpered. "I am clumsy, non?"
"Fleur." Her boyfriend was at her side as she swiped her fallen ice cream with a finger and licked her finger clean.
George hated him. He was wearing glasses. He wasn't even all that. But his hand rested confidently on Fleur's ass, even as he glanced past George, as if he didn't even matter.
"Let's get you something to eat." The man said.
"Okay, 'Arry. Nice meeting you, George." Fleur's eyes dropped to his crotch, to the bulge in his trousers. "Enjoy ze show."
George stood there for a long time, replaying the interaction in his mind. Wondering if he'd made a fool of himself, or if there was something he could have said, to make her walk at his side instead of her stupid boyfriend's.
"Harry." George repeated the name with disdain. "Ugh."
He gave his parents the ice cream, trying to hide the fact he was hard.
"I'm just gonna hit the bathroom." He mumbled.
"It's gonna start soon." Mom frowned.
"I'll be quick." He darted out of the row, past the line of people coming back to their seats, and looked for the bathroom.
Thankfully, it was empty, so he could splash his face with cold water.
He studied himself in the mirror. "Stupid." He muttered.
The door of the cubicle opened. In the mirror, George watched as Fleur stepped out, licking her lips.
She tugged the top of her dress up, startling as she spotted him. But her smile only widened.
"Oh, George." She beamed. "Be careful, oui? Zat ice cream is messy."
Behind her, her boyfriend stepped out. He pulled up his zip.
George stared.
Fleur walked out. Harry patted him on the shoulder as he walked by.
###
The opera ended. The curtains came down. George clapped hard, because even if he hadn't been watching the stage, he'd seen a life-changing show. He could never again be happy with the girls at school, not when he knew there were women like this in the world.
Mum cheered and whistled as the performers bowed. "Did you like it?" She shouted past Dad.
"It was brilliant." George nodded.
Dad snorted. "Yeah, Georgie found it really stimulating."
He flushed red. Dad was never going to let this go, but it was worth it. Just a glimpse of Fleur was worth it. He watched her all the way, as her boyfriend walked her out of the arena.
How did he do it? He palmed her ass, walking her like a toy, while she just herself be man-handled.
Outside of the arena, Mum fretted. "We're never going to get a taxi with all these people."
Dad frowned. "George, we're going to the taxi stand on the other side of the arena. Don't move, okay?"
"Okay." He said blankly. But as soon as they were out of sight, George took off, following the beautiful couple. Fleur's dress glimmered, the stars of her dress sparkling like the stars in the sky.
They glided over the cobbled streets and turned into a dark alley. George followed guiltily, peeking around the corner.
There she was. Her bare leg was raised, trying to wrap around his waist. Both hands clutching his shirt while she mewled and whined, pressing desperate kisses into his collarbone.
"'Arry." She moaned.
"Fleur." He said patiently.
"Come back to my home. Or take me somewhere. Oh, et puis merde, take me in zis alley."
"Fleur."
She raised a threatening finger. "Do not pretend you don't want me, 'arry. C'est impossible."
"It's not a matter of—
She grabbed at his bulging crotch. "Zen you want to play games, non? I can play too."
"Fleur." Harry held her arms firmly. "It's not a matter of your beauty or how much I want you. It's…look, committing to you would…close off certain political paths. Avenues in my life. Other girls don't like you, Fleur." He said simply.
George watched with wide eyes. How could he turn her down?
She huffed. "Because zey cannot compete."
"They can compete in political power. They can become wives, creating voting blocs."
"Putain!" Fleur stomped her foot in frustration.
She whirled around and caught sight of George. "George!"
He gulped and hid himself behind the wall.
"Come 'ere!" She snapped.
He stepped out, red-faced. "I-I'm sorry, I was just looking—"
"Nobody cares." She growled. "You see this?" She pointed at the street, by the bins, where there was a muddy ripped cover of a dirty magazine, the type that George and his friends would search for in the forest behind the school.
The headlines blared up at them. DICK TRICKS TO MAKE YOU SICK.
BIG 'N' BOUNCY - ANNIE BARES ALL.
ZEST-TEST YOUR GIRL.
"Y-yeah."
She crossed her arms. "You've read these magazines before?"
"Y-yes." He admitted slowly.
"What do you find in the pages?"
"Huh?"
She scowled. "What is sexy? What are ze girls wearing?"
"Um, like…underwear—"
"And?"
George trembled. What was happening? "Outfits and stuff."
"Outfits." Fleur said flatly.
"Nurse outfits or like schoolgirl?"
Fleur nodded with satisfaction, turning to Harry. "Keep going."
"Umm…like stockings and like, burlesque stuff?"
"Keep talking."
George stammered. His mind felt like it was caught, a fly in a spider's web. Despite himself, his feet wouldn't move, his lips just kept flapping. "A-and they have like articles from girls talking about…their first um, backdoor stuff."
Fleur caressed Harry's cheek. "Uh-huh."
"O-or like their first threesomes or orgies. Or how to like, tie your girl up."
"I see." Fleur said, not looking away from Harry's eyes. "C'est compris, 'Arry? You understand?"
"Fleur." He said softly.
"Every male fantasy, I can be." She leaned forward to nibble at his earlobe. "You will want for nothing."
Harry said nothing.
She tutted and then finally sighed. "A second date, oui? I 'ave much more to show you. I am not too proud — zere is not a single part of Fleur Delacour that you will not cover in your cum."
She kissed him then, while George watched, a long and sensuous kiss that left her panting.
Then she turned and walked past George, not even looking at him. He heard a pop from behind him, but when he turned back to the hubbub of the main Verona street, she was gone.
Harry coughed politely, adjusting his suit trousers. He made to walk past too.
"C-can I just ask?" George asked desperately, his hand up.
"Huh?"
"Can I ask?" George swallowed. "Your secret, man? What's your secret?"
"My secret?" Harry said blankly.
"Fleur. H-how? I mean like…how?"
Harry laughed and then suddenly became serious. He scratched his nose. "I'm not the best judge of this, but I think, at the end of the day, you have to be able to do three things to get a great girl. You with me?"
George nodded eagerly.
"You have to be able to pay the bills. You have to make them laugh. And then," Harry rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "You have to be able to fuck them, real good."
George stared. "I can't imagine lasting a single second with her."
"Neither can I." Harry joked. "Good luck, mate."
"T-thanks."
"Learn some French, too?"
"French?"
Harry nodded thoughtfully as he walked on by. "French girls, they're really dirty."
George stood there for a long minute before he walked back to the arena, where his parents were waiting with a taxi. Dad was scowling and Mum was shouting at him, but he wasn't really listening.
In the taxi, the city swam by. Street lights illuminating the crowd that left, laughing and joking. It felt like a different world to the one just hours ago.
Mum jabbed at his side. "Still with me, Georgie?
"Huh?"
She smiled at him. "I said, thanks for going to this opera for me. I know it's not your favorite thing, but," She sighed happily. "It was the perfect end to our little Italy getaway."
"It's okay. I liked it."
"Good." She patted his knee. "What about it, Davis clan? Where shall we go for our next holiday?"
George cleared his throat. "Mum, can we go to France?"
###
Harry grimaced, pulling at his tie as he Apparated back into Malfoy Manor. Before he could even loosen it, Narcissa's hands had taken over.
"I told you not to wait up." He grumbled.
Cissy smiled softly as she undid his tie, her large breasts straining from her white pleated babydoll. "As if I wouldn't wait for you, my love. How did it go?" Her hand dropped to his erect cock through his trousers, even as she undressed him.
"Good." Harry took her into his arms, his touch rougher than usual. "She wanted me to take her."
Narcissa rose an eyebrow as he pawed at her. "But she's not ready."
Harry groaned as she stripped him naked, her hand stroking his hard swaying cock. "Not yet. She's still trying to seduce me, to manipulate me. I want her broken, begging."
"So cruel, darling." Narcissa teased, kissing him. "Was she really that bad of a cock tease last year?"
Harry nodded, closing his eyes to enjoy her hands. "She knew exactly what she was doing. It's stupid, I know. But I want her broken and mindless before I make her mine. I want her to know how it feels."
Cissy tutted in appreciation. "You are worked up."
Harry grunted. "She blew me and I'm still ready to fuck the night away. She's the biggest cock tease I've ever seen — I almost caved for her."
"Well…" Narcissa sang. "I did think about that." She led him to their bedroom and opened the door.
Inside, Apolline looked over her shoulder, on her hands and knees on the bed, clad in the smallest, tightest, Beauxbatons uniform. Her blue skirt didn't cover her panties, her thighs bulged from the top of her stockings, and her tits spilled from her white blouse. A Beauxbatons blue tie sat between two large creamy breasts.
Harry gritted his teeth. She looked like Fleur — a fuckable, submissive, full-figured Fleur, his to use all night.
Apolline blinked long eyelashes and tittered coquettishly. "Oh, 'Arry, I've lost my wand. Do you 'ave one I can use?"
Harry growled.
Narcissa kissed his cheek, smiling broadly. "Enjoy, my love. You deserve this. I'll send more girls in as you need them."
###
In the past, Harry wandered. He was giving Bellatrix a few days to think through his show of power, as well as buying himself some time to figure out how to create a Whorecrux without murdering. Hermione's proposed invention of a Whorecrux, as he'd come to term it, had changed everything. He could conquer a woman here, without changing the future. He could seal her bond into an object and if needed, break it into the future.
It was a solution which still had issues. He'd have to seal their bond into an object on the first time he bonded them, which meant that he couldn't create a proper relationship without creating big changes to the timeline.
But it made every woman he saw here look like an opportunity.
He hungered.
At the Ministry, he watched the gossiping friends of his mother. Lily hung about with two beautiful women, meeting up for lunch in their work break.
One, Mary McDonald, a sweet little black-haired Scotswoman, her smile impish as she teased Lily, her long patchwork plaid skirt twirling.
The second was Alice Longbottom, the round-faced brunette an undeniable cutie in her high-waisted jeans and checked blazer. Eighties fashion still wasn't for him, but Alice had a thick tight bottom that her jeans cradled.
Neville's mother was an absolute no-go, Harry told himself. A violation of the bro code, not a step over it but a massive leap. To seduce a married woman and fuck her while Neville-the-baby cooed in the other room? It was morally unacceptable.
Except…Harry told himself, in the event that it might heal her. In the future, Alice suffered from a broken mind, thanks to the Cruciatus Curse. She was deemed insane. But, he thought, with a surge of memories and the bond from an opened Whorecrux, it might rejuvenate her brain, give her something to center herself on. Him, namely.
Would Neville forgive him if he returned his mother to health?
Harry bit his lip. He knew now why Dumbledore always spoke of the greater good — it was the ultimate justification for all sins.
He shouldn't, he told himself.
The thought of Neville made him Apparate to St Mungo's Hospital, because everyone came here, one day or another. It was a good place to people-watch, so he set up on the bench outside the main entrance.
Harry watched as his future classmates were born. Mothers cradling huge stomachs waddled in. Tired or crying mothers came out holding babies. Some came back with their babies, getting check-ups.
Harry shifted, feeling somewhat guilty. There was Peter Greengrass, hand-in-hand with Cynthia — she was stunning, Daphne's grace and pureblood pose attached to an ass that Harry knew Daphne had gotten from her mother.
He shouldn't.
A beautiful Chinese woman cradled a young baby Cho, who sucked on a pacifier as her mother argued angrily with her cold husband. Cho's mum was so slim it looked like she'd never been pregnant, wearing a red-and-white cheongsam, so elegant it looked like she was at a wedding rather than a hospital.
Harry hummed.
If Cho wouldn't spread her legs without a ring on her finger, maybe her mother could change her mind.
He shouldn't. Not one of them, not any of them. It wasn't just sex. They were power-increases, an army created in the past that, thanks to the Whorecruxes, could be unlocked in the future. Mothers and daughters, fighting alongside each other.
He shouldn't.
There were other things he could do, in the past. Even without dramatically affecting the future, he could create a list of names and locations of Tom's growing base of Death Eaters.
He could check on the locations and security precautions of Tom's horcruxes, weakening them for future-Harry to take.
He could explore the world, find international magics, visit Tom's tutors that had since passed away.
He could plant seeds that would bloom in twenty years.
Cho spat out her pacifier. Cho's mother sighed and bent over to pick it up.
Harry stared. He wasn't proud of it, but Tom and Harry both always liked a challenge.
And what more of a challenge was there than the married mothers of his classmates?
###
Amelia groaned as she kicked off her heels and collapsed onto her bed. The Ministry was as exhausting as ever, even if she had the head-start of knowing roughly what her days would bring, even if she'd done this job before.
It would be worth it, to make Britain into Great Britain. For the greater good.
She stared up at the ceiling, still clad in only her work clothes, blazer, blouse and skirt. Her feet ached.
For a second, she considered sending him a message.
Harry. He could rub her feet, her back, and go from there.
But not yet — she couldn't trust him. He had his own motives, certainly, just like Susan had set. Still, she was glad he was here. And, Amelia considered, she could trust him more now she was in this body.
She had something to offer him, something to control him with. She ran her fingers over her breasts, taking a sharp breath as her nipples hardened.
Amelia hummed. Had she always been so sensitive?
She smirked to herself. Young people never appreciated what they had until it was gone. She was so horny all of the time, now.
She'd forgotten what it was it like to be so young, so limber, so…charged. She bit her lip, spreading her legs, shifting her panties to one side. With a mutter, her wand began vibrating.
It felt good. Soon, she'd run herself a bath, make herself some food. But for now, she let herself enjoy the thoughts of Harry. She wanted to ride him, to tighten her grip in his black locks while she worked her frustrations out. She wanted him to worship her heavy breasts while she ground on him.
When he was ready. Harry would need the carrot, before he could give her his stick.
She'd need to make sure he was well trained, before she let him take her. Men needed proper guidance.
She worked herself quickly and then rolled her hips, letting out a cry as she came.
Amelia cleaned herself, straightened her skirt, patted her face clean with a wet wash cloth.
"Food." She told herself firmly. She climbed down the steps into the basement. Frozen food would have to do the trick — she didn't want the house elves to see any of her secrets.
In the basement, the two freezers whistled. She'd need to reapply the charms, soon.
Amelia shivered suddenly — the cold had made her nipples harden.
"Stupid body." She murmured.
Her need to work her frustrations out were increasing. She'd had to dip into the Ministry bathroom at lunch time, just to clear her head.
For a moment, she wondered if she was going mad.
She snorted. An old woman in a young body — who could blame her?
What a gift she'd been given. Everyone knew about the dangers of time, but she had a unique opportunity to sidestep them.
Harry warned her, fretted about it — even now, she suspected he was just going along with her plan so he could waylay her. But the dangers of time were overstated, she was sure.
People went mad when their past selves saw their time-travelling self, but Amelia didn't have a past self.
She opened the freezer on the left. A pale face stared back at her, green and lifeless. Her own eyes.
Yes, she didn't have a past self.
She'd taken care of that.
For the greater good.