Draco Malfoy waited impatiently. People gave him odd looks because of the hood that covered his face, but he didn't want anyone to see him. To see the son of Potter's new mistress, to see the humiliation on his face.
He snapped his fingers at the bar maid, who gave a wary glance to the row of empty pint glasses already on his table. Still, she brought him another one. The alcohol helped, but he wasn't here to drown his sorrows.
He had to see her.
He had to see Mother.
They'd never been particularly close, since Draco followed his father in all things and Father had never treated her as anything more than decoration, a status symbol.
Draco had thought of her little, but she was a conduit to Father.
Your Father says this. Your Father says you should get better grades. Your Father says he can't pick you up from the station.
He took a big gulp of beer, but the bitterness in his throat wasn't from the booze. Mother had been the stone-faced presenter of bad news, of Father being too busy or too important to pay attention to him, so Draco had come to resent her.
But he always thought she knew her place.
Not like this, not splashed on the cover of every paper on every bar table, a proud whore for all to see.
He swallowed the bile in the back of his throat.
He had to see it for himself. He had to know that she'd chosen this, turned her back on the House and home that Father had given her.
Draco couldn't get through the wards around Malfoy Manor, his owls unanswered, so he waited at a pop-up German beer stall in Diagon Alley. His gaze locked on the white marble steps of Gringotts, the burnished bronze doors that people streamed in and out of.
Mother hated to enter Diagon Alley from the Muggle side — it wouldn't do to mix with that kind. She'd go through the entrance that the Purebloods knew to pay for, the Floo point that Gringotts made available.
"It's a shame we can't Apparate." She'd sigh every time. But Diagon Alley was layered with anti-Apparition wards because of the attack all those years ago, some masked madman ripping the street asunder.
So she had to come through Gringotts.
Draco would be waiting. He had to see with his own eyes.
Around him, the cheer and frivolity of the Alley street only worsened his mood. Every year, a Christmas market would bring wooden stalls for a week, selling handmade jewelry, snow globes, beer and Christmas-themed potions.
A potion that would make antlers sprout from your head, or to shoot red and green sparks from your mouth every time you spoke.
Father had called it juvenile, but he'd taken Draco once. One of the few happy memories he had, his little antler-sprouts raised proudly as he rode Father's shoulders, ordering him from stall to stall, holding a Christmas tree-shaped stick of green cotton candy.
Mother had taken that from him. Mother had ruined every memory.
Potter swore to his face that he hadn't slain his father, but Draco couldn't believe the Dark Lord would have killed him either. Father believed in his cause, funded it, fought for it — he would not betray it.
Draco's hand tightened around his glass. Mother hadn't just submitted to his school rival, to their enemy in values — she'd become a whore to the man that probably killed his Father.
It was unacceptable, which was why he was having trouble believing it. Even after a day, a sleepless night, he couldn't fathom it. He couldn't even look at the day's newspapers, because he knew that Skeeter would keep this story running for weeks.
He couldn't see her face…until he did. There she was, stepping down the marble steps on tall red high heels.
Draco almost didn't recognize her.
She was glowing, her smile coy but ever-present. Her hair was long and tousled, and Draco realized he'd rarely seen it down, unmanaged.
Her lipstick was a deep red. Mascara to lengthen and thicken her eyelashes. Her festive red dress…Mother would never wear such a thing. It wasn't even close to reaching mid-thigh, let alone her knees, and she had to tug it down as she reached the bottom step. The curves of her chest were easily visible from the U-shaped neckline, a whole valley of cleavage.
He dug his nails into his palm. It was indecent.
But not, he knew, for a Mistress. This was what people expected, to know that a Mistress knew her place. The wives of Britain wanted a clear way to differentiate themselves.
Mother swept her hair over one shoulder and revealed the other status symbol of a Mistress. The choker around her neck, a choker of Potter red. The Potter emblem sat at its centre, an insignia of gleaming gold, for all to see that Narcissa Malfoy was owned.
Draco had been told and now he saw, but still he couldn't understand. How could she reduce the Malfoy name to this?
A Mistress, to be used roughly for all the things a man shouldn't inflict upon his beloved wife.
The Pureblood mantra that everyone knew ran through his head, the silly rhyme that they all knew.
A wife's place to support and hold, to pleasure and treasure. A wife for comfort and solace, but never leather and lace. A Mistress on her knees and her back, a sweet relief and a rump to smack.
It was a joke.
Father had told him of all that went on in the parties of Purebloods, the smoking rooms after dinner. Where deals were made across whiskey and cigars, where unbreakable bonds were made. Men showcased their Mistresses, between their knees or sitting in their lap, because it wouldn't do to show off a wife to leering eyes, but a Mistress was a status symbol to own.
Narcissa strode through the Alley and Draco followed. He didn't know what he'd do, his head pounding, his vision tunneled.
But he had to see.
She stepped into a side street, where the main shops gave way to smaller boutiques, little dusty enterprises for niche bookshops or vets for magical pets. Draco followed carefully.
A bell rang as she entered a shop framed in wooden oak, the door so small she had to duck to enter. Draco stared up at the sign. Madame Lucille's Lounge of Intimate Things.
He felt so light that a feather would knock him over.
Mother was in a lingerie shop.
Could he talk to her? Confront her? He had to try.
A Silencing Charm on the bell above the door and he slipped in, stalking behind a clothes rail sagging with dresses.
"Lady Malfoy! Back again?" A cheery voice welcomed. "Can I still call you that?"
"I'm still Lady Malfoy." Mother smirked. "I'm just a lot more besides."
"I saw the news. I'm so happy for you, if you don't mind me saying. A good man is hard to find."
"Thank you, Lucille." Mother sounded genuine and warm — it was a tone Draco had never heard. "I'm very lucky."
"Good for him, too, right? That poor boy, after all he's gone through, he needs a helping hand." Lucille squeaked. "I didn't mean it like that, of course!"
Draco parted the dresses on the rail so he could see Mother. Her lips twitched in amusement, her eyebrow raised delicately. "Don't worry, I'm giving him plenty of support." Her tongue darted out to wet her lips. "And a hand too, of course."
Lucille burst into laughter. "Lady Malfoy! So naughty. He has been good for you."
Draco seethed. There was a cannon exploding in his head, his skull throbbing, but each cannonball dissipated into a nauseating taste that trickled down his throat.
Mother's words repeated with every cannon blast. And a hand too, of course.
Did she jerk Potter off every time he was hard? Did he finish on her face? It was probably the least she did for him.
He bit his fist to stop himself from screaming. It was all so wrong.
Potter had everything, even his mother.
Draco jerked himself off every morning, because Pansy wouldn't touch him until marriage, because she was a proper Pureblood witch.
But Potter?
He had that mudblood whore Granger, who wore shorter skirts every day, her unbuttoned blouses showing off her hickey bruises around her neck, as well as the oversized blue pendant he'd bought her.
Draco had fantasized about the pushy girl being reduced to a Researcher for his family, taking his cock in return for coin and shelter, but now Potter took her nightly.
And a hand too, of course.
Draco couldn't even have fantasies that Potter didn't steal.
Hannah was a star in every Hogwarts boy's nightly dreams, her tits bouncing with every move, her blouse buttons strained to breaking point. Draco had sometimes followed her up the stairs to Astronomy class, eager to see the skimpy panties she wore.
Now, the rumor mill said Potter took her too, pawing his grubby hands all over her tits.
And a hand too, of course.
Who else would Potter take? Would Draco's own mother be reduced to one of many whores?
Tracey's invitation replayed in his mind. A chance to take out Potter once and for all.
Why was Tracey so desperate to end him? She'd already paid Draco and his friends to make him stay away from Daphne, all those months ago. If she was trying to end him again, Potter was probably close to Daphne too.
That thought made him squeeze his fingers into the dresses in front of him, squeezing hard like he had his hands around Potter's neck.
The most beautiful girl in Hogwarts, the pure and prim ideal of a Pureblood, blonde and elegant. He'd always hoped that Father would make a deal with the Greengrass family. He'd even approached Father with the suggestion.
"You should be able to court her yourself, shouldn't you?" Father had sniffed. "You have the name, the money, the power."
"But she's not like—"
"I don't want to hear excuses. Losers make excuses. Losers get nothing. Winners go home and take the girl with them." Father frowned at him. "I married the most beautiful girl in Hogwarts because I was a winner. Choose who you want to be."
Draco never felt more like a loser. Daphne and Potter — it felt wrong. She had grace, elegance and a behind that seemed surreal on such a slim girl. She couldn't mix the finest of genes with a blood traitor like Potter.
Mother called out. "Do you have anything…crotchless?"
Lucille giggled. "Lady Malfoy."
"I know, I know. But," Mother said conspiratorially. "I have to compete with these pretty young things in Hogwarts. Harry's very popular, you know."
"I bet." Lucille grinned. She snapped her fingers. "I've got just the thing. In fact, if you don't mind my boldness, I'm wearing it." She flicked her wand and her robes pooled around her feet.
It was a contraption of black leather strips and rings and buckles that wrapped around her body tightly, framing her bare breasts, like her body was segmented into little windows of flesh. Two leather strips ran to the sides of her pussy and disappeared behind her. Draco gaped.
"What is that?"
Lucille looked smug. "The latest in Muggle madness. A full body leather harness. It frames your body, buckles around your neck, your thighs, your crotch, under and over your breasts."
Mother coursed her eyes over her, fascinated. "B-but it doesn't cover anything!"
Lucille slid her hands down her body. "That's the point. It frames everything, drawing the eye to all the good bits. Isn't it so slutty?" She hesitated. "A wife would never wear this…"
"But a Mistress would." Mother finished slowly.
"Lord Potter will love it, I guarantee." Lucille promised.
"Where do I change?" Mother said eagerly.
The two women disappeared into the changing rooms in the back, giggling all the while. Draco was left more stunned than enraged.
He was empty. He'd lost everything. He looked down and realized he was hard, aroused, but it didn't matter.
Potter had taken everything from him, even the relief of his own hand. Could he even touch himself without thinking of Potter ruining his own slut mother?
He wandered out of the shop in a daze, his feet taking him through the Alley.
He knocked into people, spilling their glasses. They shouted after him, but they were irrelevant.
He couldn't be hurt — he had nothing left to lose.
"It's not as cheap as the subscription, but you cannot miss today's issue! It's just as unbelievable as yesterday's! Ten knuts!" A man doffed his flat cap, holding a stack of Prophet papers, grinning with the few teeth he had.
Draco shuddered.
"You, sir, you look like a mover and a shaker. How can you work without knowing the news?" He called. "Don't you wanna know what the Malfoy kid said?"
Draco glared at him. Had that bitch Skeeter made up quotes from him, as if he'd approve of his mother's tawdry affair? The gall!
"Give me that!" He snatched the newspaper away.
The headline read. NARCISSA EXCLUSIVE: HOW HARRY FOUND OUT ABOUT THE DAUGHTER MY ABUSIVE HUSBAND HID FROM ME.
Malfoy gaped. "What?" He snatched the paper from the man's hands, reading on.
THE OBLIVIATION ABDUCTION! I WAS ROBBED OF RAISING MY DAUGHTER, BUT HARRY BROUGHT US BACK TOGETHER. HOW COULD I NOT LOVE HIM?
Draco stared at the picture. Mother stood next to a beautiful pale girl in a demure green dress, a girl of platinum hair and eyes the shade of Draco's swimming pool.
A hidden daughter. His sister.
HELENA MALFOY SPEAKS: MY HERO HARRY GAVE ME BACK MY MOTHER, AND MY SMILE.
His scream pierced the happy buzz of the Alley crowd. Birds squealed and flew from the rooftops. He squeezed his eyes shut, because he didn't want to see anymore, didn't want to feel.
There was nothing right in this world. Even the winter sun on his face would be taken by Potter.
His wand trembled with sheer emotion, sparks shooting from it. Magic was the only thing he had, and it demanded retribution.
Tracey was right. Potter was a monster. And monsters still had to sleep.
###
Hannah tiptoed her way through the Hufflepuff dorms back to her bed, hoping nobody was still awake. She'd made it!
She sighed with relief and pulled aside the curtains around her bed.
"Oh!" She squeaked.
Susan lay there in her pajamas, her eyebrow raised.
"Where were you?" She said, unimpressed.
"Uh," Hannah tugged on her pigtails. "With Harry, duh?"
"Really. With Harry." She repeated. "Your hair is perfect. Your blouse has all its buttons." Susan's hand snapped out and grabbed underneath Hannah's skirt.
"Hey!"
"You're not even wet."
"Okay, okay!" Hannah sank down next to her best friend. "I was in the library, getting more books."
Susan flipped open her satchel bag. "More Dark Arts books." She said flatly. "Is Harry making you do this?"
"No!" Hannah insisted. "I want to. I have to."
"You have to study the Dark Arts to be with Harry Potter?" She said doubtfully.
"I have to keep up, because I love him, Susie." Hannah said. "I'm not you, okay? I don't have a marriage proposal. I have a cute smile and big breasts. I have to show my worth in other ways. I have to be strong — he's going to face a lot of danger."
Susan tugged on her pigtail. "Hey, dumbo, if he's smart, he loves you for you. Loyal, kind, funny, you."
Hannah sighed. "Why are you in my bed?"
"I was looking for my knickers, I know you keep stealing them."
"We share them!"
"We do not share, you take, I take them back." Susan poked her in the side. "Now stop dodging the point."
"It's not enough to be me." Hannah nibbled on her lip. "You saw the paper today?" She nodded at the Daily Prophet on their bedside table. Helena gave a shy wave to the cameras, leaning into her mother's side.
With Harry's help, Rita Skeeter was on a full week long cycle of Narcissa character redemption, which was a testament to how big the story of her being Harry's mistress was, and, Hannah thought, how much Narcissa needed a redemption, so unlikeable was she.
Hannah hadn't expected Harry to reveal the Helena news. Harry had said he'd done it because he needed Narcissa to be publicly loved so his standing in the Light side of the families didn't suffer, but Hannah privately thought it was just because he loved her so much. Protection, not politics.
"I saw it." Susan tilted her head to one side. "Poor girl. Harry found her and brought her back." She snickered. "He's fulfilling his one heroic act a day quota."
"He's a hero." Hannah said wistfully. Just thinking about him made her feel warm.
"So what? What's the big deal?"
"Helena is a beautiful blonde mini-Narcissa." Hannah said slowly.
Susan looked confused. "Riiiight?"
"And Narcissa is Harry's Mistress, linked forever to House Potter."
The redheaded girl blew out a long breath. "Just because she's his Mistress doesn't mean her daughter has to get with him. She's a pureblood noble, she'll have to get married to a…" Susan trailed off, wincing.
Hannah slumped against her friend. "Narcissa can give Harry herself and her daughter."
"Harry's only got so many rings. Didn't he have dinner with the Greengrasses?" Susan tried to encourage her.
"If Daphne marries him, then what do you think her parents will do with Astoria?" Hannah said quietly, fidgeting idly with the buttons of Susan's pajamas.
"Huh?"
"She's not getting married to Draco, is she? Or even Nott. They can't marry one daughter to Potter, align their family with his, and then marry the other daughter off to someone that hates his guts."
"Nott doesn't hate…oh." Susan realized. She looked queasy. "You think they might package them together?"
"Sister wives." Hannah spat. "What better way to ensure Greengrass rises as the flag of Potter does? Two Malfoy girls, two Greengrass girls, and there is little old me."
"But—"
"But Harry won't leave me behind, I know." Hannah rested her head on her friend. "I'll just be there, in the background, marginalized by both pairs, because I'm not a package deal. The only package I could be is with…" She cut herself off.
"With me." Susan finished.
Hannah sat up hurriedly and grabbed her hand. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that. I'm not pushing, not now, not ever. I want you to choose the best thing for you." She picked up one of the thick tomes from her bag and dropped it again, sighing. "I just need to do this, for me, you know?"
Susan considered her for a long moment, her smile tight. "I know. I miss you." She pulled Hannah into her, until they were both lying on the bed in a tangle of limbs. "I miss cuddling with you. I miss…exploring things together."
Hannah giggled as she heard Susan's heartbeat quicken, head to her chest. "You're not turning into a full lesbo like Tracey, are you?"
Susan snorted. "If Tracey Davies is a full lesbian, I'll eat the Sorting Hat. She's just clinging on to the only friend she's got, tongue first. I just miss us. Remember how young and dumb we were, when we first started doing things?"
Hannah sniggered. "It was that plastic toy. The cheap vibrating broomstick. Merlin, that thing got messy."
The redhead chuckled. "Auntie thought she'd given us a toy we loved innocently. She always thought we were way younger than we were."
Hannah tightened her hold on her friend as they thought about her Auntie. "I'm sorry, Susie. I'm moaning about poor little me when you're going through the worst."
Susie stroked her hair. "I wasn't in your bed looking for my panties." She admitted. "I'm cold and lonely and just…sad."
"Oh, Susie."
"You think Harry will mind if you share my bed tonight?"
"Of course not."
They snuggled together, a silly giggling mess of accidental elbows and hair in each other's mouths. It took them time to settle down, but eventually they were under the covers, staring at one another. Susan's green hues just inches from her.
Her friend's hands stroked up the skin of her midriff, all the way up to her breasts. "They're so big." Susan said in awe. "Are they bigger? You look so beautiful these days. Is it true? A powerful wizard will—"
"Will change you slightly to fit his desires. Morgana's magic, Merlin's power." Hannah confirmed, biting her lip.
"That's so fucking hot." Susan growled. "I hate how hot that is."
Hannah giggled. "Come on, it's late. We should sleep."
"I haven't been able to sleep for days." Susan complained.
Hannah slipped under the covers.
"What are you doing?"
"I know how to get you to sleep." She said naughtily.
"Han!"
She yanked down Susie's pajamas and swatted at her bare pussy.
"Ow!"
"Shush, you. Let me Tracey Davies you."
"I'm going to tell her you said—oooh." Susan moaned as Hannah began languishing her pussy with attention.
Hannah smirked into her friend's needy pussy. She didn't know much in life, but she knew how to eat Susie's pussy.
Kisses around her thigh, hands underneath her ass to raise her up. Teasing kisses until she got frustrated.
"Come on!" Susan groaned.
"So bossy." Hannah admonished, but she spread her friend's thighs with her hands, nice and wide, and then swept her tongue from the bottom to the top, making her pretty pussy glisten.
Long and achingly slow licks, again and again, until her thighs were trembling. Then, there it was. Susie's shy clit, now engorged and saying hi.
Hannah ignored it for now, pressing her face deep into Susan's cunt, rubbing her face like an eager teenage boy, tongue lapping and swirling all the way. Susan was as sensitive as she remembered, splashing her in delicious juices.
It was said that Morgana made witches sensitive so that they could find pleasure in men easily, but Hannah wondered if she'd known that it would also mean that witches could make each other go wild.
"Oh, yes, Han!" Susan arched her ass up into Hannah's delving tongue, making her smile.
One day, she'd been doing this for an audience, for Harry. One day, she'd be licking out his seed noisily, messily, making a show of it.
But until then, it was time to get Susie off. She was breathing fast, thighs trembling. Hannah reached up, folding her friend up so she could pull apart her buttoned pajama top and grope her friend's full tits.
Susie's nipples were as sensitive as her own, and Hannah pawed and kneaded as she finally pressed her tongue to Susie's clit.
Lapping, wiggling, teasing, until—
"Oof!" Hannah squeaked as her head was pressed firmly into Susan's pussy.
"Right there, right there, please!" Susan gasped.
Hannah obeyed, getting serious. Her tongue worked away frantically, fast and wild, Susan's thighs clamping shut to keep her there.
Susan bucked. "Fuck, fuck, fuck." She chanted, arching herself into Hannah's tongue, fucking her face, her body rising off the bed.
"Yes!" The beautiful redhead screamed.
Hannah tried in vain to keep her tongue attached as Susan came, her body writhing and squirming like she was being hit with a Cruciatus. Susan snatched her pigtails and rode her hard, bucking her body through a rollercoaster of a climax.
Hannah grinned as she was sprayed with Hufflepuff juices, feeling the tremors in her friend's legs as they rocked through her whole body.
When she was done, they were silent for a good few minutes. Susan breathed heavy breaths while Hannah studied her pussy. Wet, slick, reddening with blood, juicy and tight. It would be perfect for Harry. She'd be a good wife for him.
When she felt Susan shaking, she thought her friend was laughing, until she heard a sudden sob.
"Susie?" Hannah climbed up, frightened.
"I'm so alone!" Susan wailed, clamping onto her.
"I'm here, I'm here, you're not alone." Hannah said, alarmed. "I'm right here, Sue."
Susan looked at her with wide wet eyes. "Should I just do it? Shall I marry him? I'll have a family, I'll be protected. I won't be alone anymore."
She opened her mouth, stunned. Was this the moment? Harry would be so happy if she could gift him Susan on a plate.
But, as she looked in her friend's eyes, she felt a tug on her bond with Harry. She could feel him, his powers.
And in a second, she was in her friend's head, looking back at herself, seeing herself from Susan's point of view.
She could hear Susan's thoughts.
If she says yes, here, when I 'm at my lowest, then I'll know for sure. She's more Harry's than she is mine. My Hannah is no longer my sister, my confidante.
Hannah broke free, a chill running down her spine. Had she just used Harry's powers to use Legilimency? She didn't know how to do it, but could the bond give her such a power? She knew she'd tugged on their bond when it happened.
Harry would want to know — that had all sorts of implications. And, she realized, if she could use his power, maybe she could accelerate her Dark Arts training.
First, she had to deal with Susan.
"No." She said firmly. "If you're not set on Harry, you shouldn't get with him just because you're grieving. I don't want you making any big choices when you're like this." She kissed her friend's forehead, stroking her hair. "And believe it or not, Harry wouldn't either. He wants the best for you, too."
Susan cried harder, but she pulled her into the tightest hug.
Hannah continued. "You're going to be solo and single and not quite ready to mingle, okay? But you're also going to have me, and Harry will just have to deal with it."
Susan laughed while she sobbed, wiping her face. "Remember what we thought we'd do this summer just gone?"
"Hot witch summer. We got a lot of looks in our dresses though, didn't we?"
"We did." Susan wiped the snot from her nose, smiling wetly.
"Go to sleep, bestie. It'll be better in the morning."
"O-okay." Susan clamped onto her tight as Hannah brought the covers over them. "Thank you, Hannah. You're the best."
"I am."
Susan was silent for a long minute. "There's no way Harry can do what you just did. Man amongst men, whatever, Boy-Who-Lived and all that, but this flavor of Bertie Botts? Only a woman can do it right."
Hannah snorted. "He can't, you're right—"
"I knew it."
"—until he uses Parseltongue. I almost died."
Susan lifted her head up, her mouth agape. "I'd forgotten about that. No wonder you look like you've been sniffing Trelawney's candles every time you come back from him."
"It's the best, I can't lie."
"Ugh." Susan huffed quietly, her eyes closed. "Now how am I going to sleep? Stupid Harry with his stupid big dick and his stupid…"
Hannah looked over, but her friend had dozed off, each sleepy snore blowing away a wisp of red hair.
She watched her friend sleep fondly. One day, they'd make a mean match for Cissy and Helena or Daphne and Astoria. Hannah nodded to herself confidently.
Harry was a man amongst men, but even he couldn't fight back against Hannah and Susan's combined bosom power. The Hufflepuff Heavies would smother him in big creamy tits, stealing all of his attention.
Hannah smiled as she slipped into dreams herself. Harry would be so happy, he'd probably not even bother with the other girls. Nobody worked harder than a Hufflepuff…and two Hufflepuffs?
They were going to blow his mind.
###
Harry walked through Hogwarts, his head high. People treated him differently now they knew about Cissy. It was mostly the boys.
They'd always assumed Hermione was his. The Hannah rumours were just that. Hannah had always had some rumours about her, that was part and parcel of looking like a sex doll in Hogwarts.
But, Harry thought with amusement, the inarguable confirmation that he was with Narcissa Malfoy, blonde bombshell, it made him a legend in a way that fighting Voldemort hadn't.
Dueling with Voldie had made the Hogwarts' boys uncomfortable, if anything. They wanted to duel him. They'd mutter behind his back that he wasn't all that. They'd say they could do it, if they had the chance.
But banging hotties? That made him cool and relatable, somehow. That he'd bagged Draco's mother made it even better.
He was walking to lunch with Hermione, but it didn't stop the comments.
"Good catch, Potter."
"Give her one from me, Harry."
"Careful, Harry, she's dangerous."
"A hundred points to Gryffindor, Potter, Merlin!"
"Can you bring her to the next Slytherin match, Harry? Malfoy would fall off his broom and Hufflepuff needs a win."
"Oh, really." Hermione huffed at his side, as they waited on the stairs for Hogwarts to swivel them into place. "It's all a little juvenile."
"Hazza!" Cormac McLaggen took a leaping jump from a floor above and landed on the moving stairs.
"Me?" Harry muttered. Nobody had ever called him Hazza.
"Bro, bro, bro!" Cormac smacked him on the back, grinning. "That's what I'm talking about! I always thought you were a pureblood pure-boring puritan, but you've got the goods, baby!"
"Thanks man—"
"You dicked down Cissy Malfoy, queen of high society? Top tier Potter pounding, baby."
Harry shook himself, while Hermione watched on, aghast. "Dicked down?"
Cormac wiggled his brows. "Did you give her the full Ollivander?"
"What?"
"Ten inches of chestnut, baby, all over those tits!"
Harry goggled, red-faced. He raised his hand to push the overbearing boy away, but Cormac only grinned and smacked his hand. "Hi-five, but we only bagging tens out here."
"Cormac, Merlin, settle down a little—"
The large boy didn't seem to have heard him. "I mean, I've caught some snitches in my time, don't get me wrong. Stimpson is a catch for sure. But I've never looked at the mommies, you know?" He shook his head in admiration. "Now I feel like there's a whole big world out there, one I've been missing. The older lady."
"Right." Harry said uncomfortably, very aware of Hermione's glare. Cormac didn't seem to have even noticed her.
"Got any tips for snagging the McGonaGirls?" Cormac snickered.
"That's Professor McGon— oh, nevermind." Hermione huffed from behind them.
Harry paused. Despite himself, he felt a little proud. It wasn't like he wasn't fucking Cissy. It was much better than being lauded for not dying as a baby.
"Teenage girls want a status symbol." He said loftily. "The dates, the public affection, the gifts."
"You know it, brother." Cormac nodded. "To snag Stimpson, I almost went broke trying to convince her I was anything but."
"But the older lady? She just wants a good time in the bedroom, to feel adored and needed."
"I am standing here, you know." Hermione muttered.
Cormac looked like he was a step away from taking out a notebook and writing it down. "That makes sense, I can use that." He said reverently. "Do you give them the old Shooting Star?"
"Shooting Star?" That was Ron's broom, last year.
Cormac gave him two finger-guns. "It's a bumpy ride but she gets there nice and slow."
Harry snickered. "Shooting Star, that's funny."
"Is it though?" Hermione griped.
"I give them the Hogwarts Express." Harry continued, smirking. "Several hours and she has to take a break in the middle to get some sugar, and then again to change into her school uniform."
Cormac roared with laughter, buckling over. He smacked Harry again, beating on his arm. "Bro, bro, bro. You're the man. Hogwarts Express, I gotta remember that one. Keep it real, man, don't put a ring on any of those old birds. I'll catch you next time."
With that, he was gone, leaping from the stairs onto a stone parapet and sliding back-first through the railings. "Nice panties, Turpin!" Cormac cheered from the floor as a group of Ravenclaws passed by.
"Funny guy." Harry shook his head.
"Really, Harry?" She gripped his arm and pulled him along. "Him? He's gross."
"Ah, he's just eccentric, you know—"
Hermione sniffed. "He once told me that I was a bookworm—"
"You are a bookworm—"
"—and then he said 'I want to put the worm into bookworm, if you know what I mean.'"
Harry coughed. "That is bad. But calling old ladies McGonaGirls? That's funny, c'mon."
Hermione sighed, leaning over and flicking his ear hard.
"Ow!"
"Don't let this go to your head, Harry, of all things." She chided. "After all your adventures, this is going to be the thing that makes you arrogant like Malfoy?"
"Alright, alright." He protected his ears. "I've always got you to bring me down to Earth." With a flick of his wand, he opened a passing broom closet door and pulled her into it. He kissed his way up to her neck as she squealed.
Harry tried to charm her as he rained kisses on her skin. "The most beautiful—"
"Daphne." She said flatly.
He tried again. "The most kind—"
"Susan. She's grieving for her Auntie and she still sent me her notes from Charms."
Harry rolled his eyes. "The most clever, then."
Hermione ran her hands through the back of his hair, biting her lip as he nibbled on her neck. "Well, there's Lisa Turpin, Padma, Su Li—"
"Who's she?" He frowned.
Hermione scowled. "Honestly, Harry, you don't pay any attention to girls if they don't wear miniskirts and thigh-highs."
"Well, whoever is she is, I know you're more clever than she is, and the most loving, the most loyal."
"Thank you." She blushed. "Although…when you say most loyal, you make me think of Voldemort talking about Bellatrix."
Harry sighed, resting his head on her shoulder as she giggled. "Most unable to take a compliment?"
"Aww. Am I hard work to control?" Hermione teased, stroking his hair. "Like a Cleansweep Three?"
"Ugh." Harry grumped. "I love you even when you're a pain in my ass. Are we not having a quickie, then?"
She pecked his cheek. "Love you too." She glowed. "Even when you're a pain in my sore down-there, which means we're definitely not having a quickie, even if my thighs weren't locked tighter than Azkaban, after hearing your chat with Cormac."
"It's just changing room talk." Harry protested. "It's a Quidditch thing. Can you use your mouth, at least? I love your tongue."
"Nice try, Hazza. Sex isn't everything in a relationship, you know. Once your ego pops, then you can get my mouth again. I'm worried you might not get through the Great Hall doors."
"Fine." He squeezed her ass childishly.
Hermione giggled. "Did you get another riddle from your blackmailer yet?"
Harry held her tighter, grinning. "You're still annoyed that Helena figured it out quicker than you, aren't you?"
"Am not!"
"Are too!"
"You try figuring out riddles when you have two knuckles in you." She grouched.
"Let's hope I never have to." Harry shivered. "But yes, I have another note from my riddler." He pulled out the note from his robes and read it aloud.
"You may think I have no blackmail, now the news is out. Very clever, but you're not getting off that easy. I saw her blowing you when Lucius was pictured alive abroad by a Swiss newspaper, which means, naughty, naughty, she was a dirty cheat and not the angel Rita Skeeter is making her out to be. Don't worry, I won't tell, as long as you can figure out my riddles. Are you smart enough or are you using your pet Granger?"
"They sound annoying. But, if they've got the dates right, they could be dangerous." Hermione observed.
"So am I." He crossed his arms.
She snorted at his tough guy routine. "What's the riddle?"
"Here it is. What kind of room—"
"Wait, wait." Hermione tied her hair behind her and sank to her knees.
"I thought we weren't doing anything—"
Hermione fished out his cock from his robes, inhaling deeply. "If, like with Helena, you're going to be using my body and my brain simultaneously in the future, I need practice on multitasking." She looked at him like he was dumb.
"You just said we're not going to do anything—"
"I changed my mind." Hermione said primly. "Now, give me the riddle so I can show you my multitasking and deduction skills." She jerked his cock, breathing heavily as she stared at his hardening cock, the blood rushing to his shaft. "Look at this thing, isn't it monstrous?" She murmured, like she was talking to herself.
She stroked him slowly with both hands, her mouth open in a kind of awed trance. "Look at the veins, the rushing blood, the thickness."
"Uh, Hermione?"
"Ssh." She rubbed it over her face, closing her eyes. "You know what Apolline calls it?"
"No?"
"Le dompteur de salope." Hermione smiled serenely. "I may be missing some syntax, she speaks so quickly, but it means, literally, bitch tamer."
She giggled, inhaling with flared nostrils. "It's just so brutish, there's nothing beautiful or elegant about it, not like a woman, you know?"
Harry had no idea what she was on about, but as long as she kept jacking him off, he was happy.
"It's so hard and thick and throbbing, and Merlin, the scent—" She took a shuddering breath. "You know, the books on old magic, on Merlin and Morgana, they write that witches have been historically subjugated because a wizard's magic is so deeply arousing. It's biological patriarchy, in a way." His cock rested on her tongue as she stroked his skin back and forth, all the way to his cockhead and back down.
"Right." Harry said, not listening.
"But you, it's not even the magic. The scent is just so masculine." She shivered. She snapped her gaze to him. "You didn't shower today, did you?"
"No?"
"Ugh, boys." She wrinkled her nose. "So unhygienic." Despite her words, she kept taking deep breaths, shifting his cock all over her face, anointing herself in his musk, her tongue extended.
"It's absolutely, inarguably, obscene." Hermione declared. "You know, in the sixties? This judge said he couldn't define obscenity but he knew it when he saw it."
"Uh-huh." Harry said, his hand in her hair, arching his hips forward to try and enter her mouth.
"And this is so obscene. It's so fat, like it's designed to just…reshape." Hermione bit her lip, cheeks red.
He grunted agreement. Sometimes, he and Ron had learned long ago, it was best to let her monologue.
"A thick, girthy, almost angry, mushroom head." Hermione admired, making it glisten with a lap of her tongue. "Oh, what's the riddle?" She popped his cock in her mouth, making her cheek bulge.
Harry blinked. "Riddle? Oh, what kind of room has no walls, doors or windows?" He looked down at his cock as Hermione slipped it out of her mouth. "Oh!" Harry realized. "Mushroom. The answer's mushroom. I'm so smart." He chuckled.
At Hermione's guttural cry of dismay, Harry couldn't help but fold over laughing. He kept sniggering, even when she rose from the floor, cursing him all the while, even when she flung open the closet door and stormed out. Even when he sat next to her in Transfiguration class, he couldn't help but chortle, one hand under the table to cradle his aching blue balls.
She was right. Sex wasn't everything in a relationship. It was a lot — and laughter was the rest.
###
In the past, Harry sighed as he stared at Bellatrix. Once again, they were in a secluded green field, part of a national park that the Muggles had closed for some reason or another.
He'd brought a dummy for her to practice her spells on. "I've sealed each of its limbs with some runes focused on shielding. " Harry told her. "The body parts will come off once you can chain enough power in a ten second period. Got it?"
"I'm not a child." She pouted.
"Then have fun." He stood back and watched the beautiful dark witch. She was fun to watch — every underpowered curse produced a filthy string of swear words, and every missed curse caused a mini tantrum.
She was teasing him, a little — she wore slim flowing black silk robes, so that when they dueled, they'd inevitably get torn or caught on something, revealing her lacy underwear beneath.
Since his display of power, she'd stepped up her game — pouty lips coated in dark shades, arching her rump when he corrected her wandgrip, robes tied a little lower than appropriate.
But, Harry grumbled, he couldn't take her until he could figure out how to create a Whorecrux without killing. The theory made sense to him, to fuck her and immediately seal her bond, her love, her slice of soul that belonged to him, seal it in an object. He'd have to do it immediately so he didn't change the timeline in the future, he theorized.
Harry had tried meditating, using Occlumency to delve into the memories of Tom creating horcruxes, looking for a clue. He'd had no luck so far which meant Bellatrix wasn't getting bent over today, no matter how bratty she acted.
Which was a lot, today, always testing his limits. His sexy little psychopath had cottoned on to the fact that his moral compass was very different to her own, resulting in some questions which he wasn't sure were deliberate or not.
Like, "Are Muggles even human, if they don't possess such a core resource like magic, and couldn't it be argued that it's ethical to eliminate them if not?"
"Isn't it a mercy to put down the weak?"
"Is life even sacred?"
It was no wonder Tom was trying to recruit her — giving her the Dark Mark probably made her more sane.
She bent over to fiddle with her shoe, looking at him between her legs. "Stop looking at my ass." She shouted.
"Stop over-enunciating your spell incantations." Harry replied firmly. "It's costing you a second per spell."
"Yeah, yeah." She grumbled, beginning the chain of spells again.
As Harry watched her, he caught a flash of orange from the corner of his eye, behind the trees in the distance. His magic shot out, alarmed. Nobody should be here in this remote place.
He felt a familiar magic aura, and with a pop, he had Apparated behind her.
Amelia Bones held her hands up, looking sheepish. "Busted?"
"Amelia." He said evenly, lowering his wand. "And if you're here…" He sighed. "You put a tracking charm on me?"
She smoothed down her skirt, wincing. "I was worried you were trying to stop me from doing what's right." She peered around the tree at the forest clearing, where Bellatrix was screaming bloody murder at an inanimate dummy. "You're training her?"
"I am."
"Quite the difference for the man that warned me not to mess with the timeline."
"I told you, didn't I? I'm all in with you." He lied. "If I can change Bellatrix, re-point her less sane energies, imagine how much safer Britain would be. Voldemort without his right hand."
Amelia nodded thoughtfully. "You really are with me."
"I am." He crossed his arms. "So maybe don't put tracking charms on me?"
She grimaced. "Sorry."
"And maybe start letting me in?" He took a step forward so she was pressed against the tree trunk, in her tight blouse and work skirt.
"Not here." Amelia took his chin in hand. "But that doesn't mean I shouldn't say sorry for doubting you."
"I like the sound of that."
"Maybe I can say sorry and give some support to my Susie at the same time?"
Harry frowned. "You're going to help me get through her raised walls?"
"I want her to have someone." She swallowed. "Now I'm not there for her. I bet you're not as interested in wedding her now she doesn't have the Minister's ear."
"I still want to." He said firmly. "She doesn't want me."
Amelia smoothed down the fabric of his chest, thinking. "You don't want her to want you. You want her to think she has to help you. She's a regular Saint Mungo. That's your problem, you're always in control, always the hero. If you're in trouble, if you need her, she'll get involved. She's a Hufflepuff to the core."
Harry considered that. "I'll tell her I can't figure out where to direct my charity money."
"Exactly! That should help." She squeaked a little when Harry stepped between her legs, her back to the tree.
He needed to cock-control this crazed crusader, before she really started to screw things up. "And you?" Harry said, his voice low and dangerous. "What gets you going?"
Amelia bit her lip. "What do you think?" She said softly.
He breathed into her ear. "You're like Susie — you want the chance to do good."
She smirked, tracing his cheekbones. "And unfortunately, you're no charity case." She patted his cheek. "I'll settle for a partner who wants to do good as much as I do."
Harry stepped back as she slipped out of his grasp, the moment gone. "I'm helping Bellatrix, aren't I? Or nullifying her, hopefully."
Amelia looked around the tree into the clearing. Bellatrix had torn off the bottom of her dress robes and was strangling the dummy with it.
"Don't mock me, dummy!" She screeched.
"I think that's more self-serving, isn't it?" Amelia said knowingly. "The crazy witch will be crazy in bed, is that the theory?"
It was Harry's turn to look sheepish. "Busted?"
"Enjoy, anyway." She pulled her hair tie out to let her long copper hair fall around her shoulders. Her hand dipped to his crotch, cupping his cock as she leaned in to his ear. "Don't forget what we're working toward. Won't it be so worth it, when you can bend the Minister of Magic over her desk? Will you make me miss all my meetings, Harry?" She said innocently.
She giggled at the look on his face. "Be careful of Bellatrix, Harry. She's dangerous."
"So am I." He rumbled, leaning in to kiss her.
She Apparated away.
Harry growled as he was left with blue balls in two different timelines. "Cocktease." He growled.
Bellatrix had her legs on the dummy's shoulders, trying to wrestle its head off, her legs showcased in her torn robes.
Harry sighed.
He couldn't fuck Bella without creating a Whorecrux. He couldn't fuck Susan or Amelia because they both saw through him. And, next up, he had Fleur, who was the world's greatest cocktease, who he couldn't fuck because he couldn't let her win.
Which sounded stupid when he thought about it, but damn it, he couldn't let her walk all over him, not when she'd been doing it to every guy she'd ever met.
He grumbled as he stalked towards Bellatrix to break up her fight with an inanimate object. He knew he was spoiled, but sometimes he swore he spent more time trying to take off panties than enjoying what lay beneath them.
###
After Diagon Alley, the Christmas market came to Hogwarts. Dumbledore had decided to enlist the market vendors, since Hogsmeade was being repaired and was too traumatizing for many of the student body, as well as being unsafe.
Instead, a mass of wooden stalls had popped up on the Quidditch field, which had annoyed Angelina.
"Come on, come all." Dumbledore had found a purple carnival hat and stood at the top of a wooden set of stairs that led to nowhere, addressing the buzzing student body. "Enjoy the festivities, boys and girls. I have been told to inform you that Professor McGonagall is manning the stall for German beer, and it is only accessible to those in fifth year and above." He said sternly, peering over his half-moon spectacles.
"Thankfully, the Liquor Licorice, or Liquorice, if you will, is under no such restrictions, and Madam Pomfrey has asked me to say that she will not be treating any nausea or hangovers. Bon appetit!" He bowed.
The cheering crowd rushed towards the wooden stalls, eager to blow off steam. A crowd of shrieking firsties ran by Harry.
"I'm gonna eat fifty Liquorices." One of them bragged.
"You'll throw up, Jeffrey." A little girl warned him.
Harry watched on fondly. He'd been these kids once.
An hour later, he cradled a beer, sitting around a fireplace by the lake with his friends, watching the Giant Squid snatch up unattended bottles of German beer and imbibe them, glass and all. He'd eaten some German sausage from one of the stalls and wasn't a fan — it didn't taste right.
Since the younger years attacked the market stalls, the senior students had naturally decided the market wasn't that cool, especially given the strict oversight of the teachers. Instead, they'd taken their purchased food and drink and set up fireplaces around the lake, sitting on chopped logs levitated from the eternal supply behind Hagrid's hut.
It was a chilly night, but the fireplace and the alcohol had them acting courageously.
Ron was sitting alongside Lavender, his arm around her shoulders.
Dean was chatting up a Ravenclaw whose name he couldn't recall for the life of him, while Seamus was brushing knees with Romilda Vane, who kept staring at Harry. Ginny sat with Michael Corner, who kept trying to hold her, unsuccessfully.
Ginny had brought her friend Luna, an odd cookie in bright yellow robes, a large sunflower in her hair, and radish earrings dangling from her eyes. She was a cute thing with messy blonde curls. Harry knew she'd attended some of the DA meetings, but her big and dreamy eyes never seemed to take anything in. He never thought she was listening.
Hermione had begged off for the night, citing homework, though he was pretty sure she was giving him a clear path to getting laid elsewhere. She was very insistent that he grow more powerful. That, or she was protecting her sore pussy — he'd really put her through it the night before, since she'd come to bed in a parody of a librarian costume.
Harry had to avoid eye contact from a hopeful Katie Bell — he had his own plans for the evening.
"…what do you reckon, Harry?" Neville finished.
"What's that now?"
"The Giant Squid instead of dragons in the First Task?"
"Oh, fuck that." He grinned. "Squiddo would have smacked me into the mountains."
"Can't outfly a squid." Ron said sagely.
"I can't wait to see him drunk." Dean watched eagerly as the Squid stole more and more bottles.
"Not getting drunk on this pisswater." Seamus complained. "It ain't the good stuff, the Irish stuff."
"You seem to be getting drunk okay." Romilda said snidely.
"How many tentacles does a squid have?" Neville wondered, fascinated, the light from the fire making his skin glow.
"Ten. No, wait, eight." Ron frowned. "Where's Hermione when you need her?"
Seamus pointed a beer at him. "Harry, you've been underwater, you've seen every inch of that bleedin' thing—"
"Steady on." Harry chuckled. "I didn't get that intimate. Ten, I think."
"Is it dangerous?" Neville asked.
"Sure." Harry figured. "Those tentacles have these suckers on them, you can't get them off."
"I can sympathize." Ginny muttered, pushing Michael's arm from her shoulder.
"You look lonely, Harry." Romilda fluttered her eyelashes.
"I have a date, actually." Harry said.
"Oh, here we go." Dean rolled his eyes. "This is a casual school thing, Harry, you can't bring Narcissa bloody Malfoy."
Seamus pointed at him blearily. "Right! No mothers allowed!"
"Or grandmothers." Neville added, producing some odd looks.
"Is it Hannah?" Ginny wrinkled her nose. "She's going to do her stupid trick where she uncaps a beer bottle with her boobs again."
Ron and Dean sighed in unison.
"It's not, oh look—" Harry stood, wiping the dirt from his jeans. "She's here."
Fleur walked through the orange haze of the fireplaces, fluffing out her hair. She was trying to look casual in jeans so tight it looked like they were painted on, and a modest white tanktop. She'd even forgone her high heels for sandals.
Dumbledore had given him a lot of leeway after he'd fought off Voldemort at Hogsmeade and defended the Ministry — Harry had taken full advantage by asking for Fleur to be granted a Portkey.
The Headmaster wasn't exactly happy about it, but the old man was trying to get back in his good books after hiding the prophecy from him.
"Hi 'Arry, everyone." She waved shyly.
"Oh, great." Ginny muttered.
"Fleur!" Ron coughed the fire's smoke he'd suddenly inhaled.
Lavender tried her best, standing up to greet the French girl, tugging the hem of her rainbow striped bodycon dress down as she stood. "Hi, I'm Lavender! Wow, you're so pretty."
"Aw, zank you. 'Arry has told me about you. I love your dress, it's so colorful." Fleur ran her eyes down the girl.
"Oh, thanks." Lavender blushed, tugging at it. "I'm a little bit of a fashionista."
"Oui, I can tell."
Harry gave her a kiss on the cheek and led her down to the log, introducing her to the whole gang. "…and this is Luna."
"Are the Nargles stopping you from sleeping, Fleur?" Luna worried. "Harry's infested with them."
"I…am sleeping fine." Fleur hesitated, confused. "Do I look bad? 'Arry, do I look bad?"
"You look lovely, Fleur." He lowered his voice. "Luna's just being Luna." He assured. "Thanks for coming."
"Merci for inviting me." She favored him with a perfect white smile and leaned into his ear. "But, desolee, your friend Lavender? Zat is the ugliest fucking dress I 'ave ever seen."
Harry coughed to stop from laughing. "These are my friends." He whispered. "Be good."
Fleur wiggled her eyebrows. "Will you reward me? I've zéro practice at being a good girl."
He snorted. "There's a place underneath the Quidditch stands where seventh year guys get blowjobs sometimes. I've always wanted to be one of them."
"Bien, super." She pasted on her best smile. "So, Luna, where did you purchase zis lovely radish earring? You must tell me!"
Luna looked at her with big guileless eyes. "Radishes are grown, Fleur, not bought."
"I…" Fleur looked at him for help.
"Are you enjoying the party, Luna?" Harry tried.
She smiled. "I've enjoyed it, like the Defense Association meetings. It's like having friends."
He didn't let anything show on his face. "This is what friends do, Luna."
She hummed thoughtfully. "How novel. What else do friends do?"
Behind Luna, Dean rolled his eyes.
Fleur took over. "'Arry and I are friends — we 'ave dinner, we go to shows, we ask about each other…" She trailed off hesitantly as Lunar peered at her without blinking.
"Oh yes. I should like to be friends with Harry in the same way you are." She said genuinely.
"I bet." Seamus muttered.
"We can be friends, Luna." Harry encouraged. "I need some more friends to balance out all my enemies."
Luna pouted. "I think you are too busy, Harry. You look like you're in two places at once."
"I am pretty busy, but—"
"Perhaps it is contagious. I remember Hermione had the same problem in third year." She said dreamily.
Harry choked, staring at her. Could she tell he was in two times, past and present?
"So…Fleur," Ron tried. His gaze was locked five inches above her head, which was a new tactic. "Are you, guh, I mean, do you like Quidditch?"
Fleur swept a stand of hair out of her eyes, beaming. "Oh, oui-oui! It is so liberating, non? Ze feeling of ze stick between one's thighs!"
Ron spat. Seamus took a long gulp of his beer. Ginny stabbed her fingernails into her own arm.
Behind Luna, he could see Cormac at a fireplace full of Ravenclaws. He was grinning at Harry, inserting his finger into a circle he'd made with his thumb and forefinger. He was mouthing the word Firebolt and pointing to Fleur.
Harry winced. It was going to be a long night.
And despite Fleur's hand on his thigh, he felt it was less about giving her the Hogwarts Express, and more…stopping the trainwreck.
Why had he invited Fleur here, of all places? Maybe Hermione was right about his ego — he wanted to be seen with the hottest girl. Even with Tom in his head, he was still a teenager at heart.
She rested her head on his shoulder, sipping on his beer, wrapping her arm through his. "'Ow long until you can show me the Quidditch stands, 'Arry?"
Oh, yeah, that was why.
"Do you get the Daily Prophet in France, Fleur?" Ginny jabbed innocently.
"Ginny!" Ron tried.
"What? I'm just asking."
"Oh, oui. 'Arry has a Mistress?" Fleur smiled prettily, tossing her hair back. "It is very French, non?"
Ginny frowned. "You're not—"
"I am full of envie." Fleur interrupted. "But Veela know zat men of power are surrounded by women."
Harry coughed. "Fleur and I aren't an item, anyway—"
"Oui." Fleur's hand tightened on his leg. "Not yet."
Seamus howled with laughter. "She's dangerous, Harry, watch out!"
Harry smirked. Tonight, after Fleur had blown him, after he'd sent her home, he'd go find Apolline and get her to clean her daughter's lipstick from his cock. He'd take her and Narcissa both, making them clean each others juices every time he swapped.
All these women that thought they could use him. Ginny for his money. Romilda for his fame. Bellatrix for his powers. Amelia for his time-bending. Fleur for his dick.
In time, they'd all learn, just like Cissy and Apolline had.
"So am I." Harry squeezed the beautiful Veela to him. "So am I."