Now Harry knew how to make Whorecruxes, he wanted to get started. But while he might have been able to finagle his way into Bellatrix's panties, he was wary of starting with her. He didn't want to fuck up his best chance of implanting a spy into Voldie's Inner Circle.
Hermione had agreed with him. "Make your first Whorecrux with someone less valuable." She wrinkled her nose. "I can't believe I'm calling it that, now."
While past Harry searched for a suitable target, the Harry of the present had just barely recovered from his Christmas fun to set up a date with Fleur.
"She can still be your Christmas present." Apolline had told him eagerly.
Harry thought his gift still needed wrapping. Fleur was still trying to control their relationship, trying to make him lose control and fall into lust. It didn't matter, really, but he wanted her to know when she was claimed that she'd already been conquered.
Still, his chaste aims wavered when he met her in a London pub. Fleur was dressed for catching eyes, although catching eyes sounded like hooking in one or two glances with a metaphorical fishing rod. Fleur's version of catching eyes was more like a convoy of fishing trawlers.
She was clad in black leather trousers, shiny and seemingly painted on, gleaming and reflecting the dingy orange lights of the pub. A white t-shirt was almost as tight, cut to show her slim midriff, her tits pushing the shirt away from her skin. Her blonde hair was loose and more wild than he usually saw it.
The pub's day drinkers couldn't look away. Harry could hardly blame them.
"'Arry." Fleur kissed both his cheeks. "Where is ze one place you always wanted to get your cock sucked?" She placed her hand on his thigh as she sat on the stool next to him.
The bartender coughed and made himself busy.
"What happened to good morning?" Harry joked.
She rubbed his crotch. "I will give you a good morning, je te promets." She said smokily.
"I thought we might eat something—"
"I will choke on your seed, oui?" Fleur leaned over to nibble on his ear. Harry had to watch himself — within moments he was hard and had somehow gotten his hand trapped between her warm thighs.
"You're such a romantic." He chided.
She looked at him, unimpressed. "I'm not 'earing a non."
Harry sighed. Who was he kidding?
He thought about it for a minute. He'd already fulfilled a lot of his fantasies, and thanks to the girls on Christmas Day, many more he hadn't even thought of. He'd taken Draco's mother, he'd fucked Hermione in her bed and his. Hannah had held her tits together while he fucked her jugs and finished on his face.
But most of those were Hogwarts fantasies…there were others, in the long dark summers between school years.
"There is one place." He said slowly.
"Parfait." Fleur took his hand and tugged him out of the pub. Harry took the opportunity to take in her ass, jiggling in skin-tight leather. For their watching audience, He took a meaty handful of her asscheek as they left, his own way of tipping the bartender.
"Take me zere." She ordered.
"It's not exactly paradise." Harry warned.
"Paradise is for me to take you." She said arrogantly, putting her hair in a scrunchie behind her.
"Don't say I didn't warn you." He muttered, wrapping an arm around her waist as he pulled her into a side alley.
A short pop later and they were home. An old home anyway. Privet Drive, which hadn't changed at all, the same row of boring boxy houses. The hedges were all equally neat, except for the slightly unkempt bush of Number Four, which Harry noticed with some satisfaction.
Not so easy to maintain the house and garden without slave labour, Auntie?
"I grew up here." Harry said, with more bitterness in his voice than he'd expected. He'd barely thought about the Dursleys since he'd left it for Malfoy Manor, that fateful day — it was a wonder how quick it was to overcome childhood trauma with the aid of MILFs and eager schoolgirls.
Fleur wrinkled her nose. "Ze banalité of ze banlieue."
"Suburbia," Harry agreed. "The only place too dull for the Dark Lord to find me."
The Veela teenager hooked his arm. "I shall brighten eet up."
Harry knocked on the door to Number Four. Surprisingly, he felt guilty. The neighbors would be watching, casting aspersions on the blonde bombshell in tight leather. Petunia would get catty comments asking if she'd rung the wrong number when calling for pizza. Vernon would be asked if he had a new niece.
"Ça va?" Fleur looked at him quizzically.
He shrugged. "Even when you don't care, and you know you don't care, and you know you shouldn't care…"
She looked at him knowingly. "You still care a little, non?" She patted his hand. "Zat's a good thing, 'Arry."
The door swung open. Despite himself, Harry took relish in seeing Petunia's lips thin, her eyes widening on seeing Fleur, the worry lines in her forehead scrunching together along with her eyebrows.
"You shouldn't be here." Petunia said quietly. "You left, we didn't kick you out."
"Pet, who is it?" Vernon shouted, over the sound of the blaring TV.
"I've only come back for a minute." Harry stuck his foot in the doorway before it could slam shut.
"Pet, is it the council about the bins again, I told them already—" Vernon swallowed hard as he came around the corner. His skin colored red, and then puce on seeing Fleur. His fat jowly neck wobbled, his mouth opening and closing.
"Hi, Uncle." Harry waved — Vernon didn't seem able to tear his eyes away from Fleur.
Vernon's beady eyes narrowed. "Boy! W-what are you doing? You're not welcome here! You left without so much as a thank you, or even a note. Do you know how much you made your aunt worry—"
"Not at all, I'm certain." Harry said dryly, pushing past Petunia. "I'm not staying, don't worry. I just need something from my room, I'll be ten minutes."
"Thirty." Fleur interrupted, a soft blush on her cheeks. "I'm Fleur, enchanté."
Petunia scowled, shutting the door hurriedly. "You can't bring your freak whores here." She hissed.
Fleur's mouth dropped in surprise.
Vernon blustered. "Well, see, she's, I mean, very wank—welcome, welcome!" He caught the eye of his wife and flinched. "But not if she's a freak! We don't want your sort here."
"Dad, you're missing the best part! Kevin's about to fry those burglars." Dudley called from the next room.
"Like I said," Harry scowled. He didn't like anyone, not even Fleur, seeing his unpleasant home life. "We'll be a few minutes."
Fleur had to press against the wall of the entry corridor to shimmy past Vernon's bulging belly, his leering eyes hungry.
Harry was one step up the stairs when he heard Dudley's loud exclamation. "Him!" Dudley jutted into the corridor — the boy was oddly shaped. Big, his shoulders broad and biceps large from boxing, but he hadn't lost his belly yet.
Harry's cousin caught sight of Fleur. "Hi-hey," He corrected. "How you doing?" Dudley tried, in a strange American accent.
"Je vais bien." Fleur tried, her smile sickly sweet.
"Yeah, you are — what?" Dudley said as he parsed Fleur's reply. Behind them, Petunia's lips were bone white.
"I-I'll call the police!" She threatened.
"N-now, now, Petunia. I can handle this." Vernon crossed his arms, trying to show his toughness.
Harry thumbed his nose. "I'm going to grab something from my room, then I'll be out of your life."
Dudley turned from his parents to Fleur to Harry, trying to make sense of it all. "You're dating little Harrikins?" He scoffed.
"Oui." Fleur said.
"Just friends." Harry repeated, out of muscle memory. He winced at Fleur's icy look. "Good friends," he amended.
"Good enough to know 'Arry is très grosse." Fleur smirked, but her French was lost on Dudley.
"You can wait in here while Harrikins is searching for his teddy bear, or whatever it is." Dudley gestured through to the living room. "We've got a big TV, look." He added.
"I want him gone, now. And his whore!" Petunia screeched, her fingernails cutting into her palms.
"Tunie, Pet, calm down, I'll deal with this." Sweat was pouring down Vernon's face. "Listen," He adjusted a tie that he wasn't even wearing. "Lady, uh, I mean, mademoiselle," The red-faced man smoothed his moustache. "Why don't you and I wait in the garden. I've got a new car now we're not having to shelter and feed the boy, it's not a lease like next door—"
"Pardon!" Fleur said loudly, her eyes shooting daggers. "Pardon, Madame, Monsieur. 'Arry has to give me his Christmas present."
"We're using your room as storage." Petunia interrupted triumphantly.
Harry rubbed his forehead. "I just need ten minutes—"
"Thirty." Fleur interrupted again, running her long tongue over her pinkish-red glossy lipstick. She ducked under Dudley's arm to grab a cushion from the armchair. "I'll just need to borrow this. Bon!" She said cheerily and darted up the stairs, past Harry, her high heels making indents in the carpet. That, more than anything, would have angered Petunia, but she was gaping in shock as all three Dursleys finally understood her intent.
Harry and the Dursleys watched her go up to the second floor in a kind of stunned stupor, all eyes locked to Fleur's supple sweetcheeks bouncing up the stairs, in her tight leather leggings.
"I won't last long—" He scratched his neck. "I mean, we won't take long." He followed Fleur up the stairs sheepishly.
In his old bedroom, he closed the door with a sigh of relief, ensuring it was locked.
Fleur pulled her t-shirt off to reveal her beautiful well-rounded tits, creamy and full. She knelt on her stolen cushion eagerly, by his bed.
Harry, meanwhile, was taking in his old home. How had he ever lived here? The smallest bedroom, big enough only for a single bed, a nightstand, a desk and a dresser.
His gaze flitted to the wastepaper basket by his desk — after he masturbated to thoughts of Cho or Hermione or Fleur, he'd lie on the bed tiredly and throw his tissues into the bin. That felt like a long time ago, now.
Now, his girls cleaned him up with whimpers and moans.
Harry sat on his bed heavily, smoothing down the sheets. His bedroom was still full of Dudley's old broken toys and unread books. Scratched paint on the chipped wall where the Weasleys' had pulled away his prison bars.
His desk held an owl cage that Harry had never returned to collect.
Hedwig and I are both free. He thought, smirking.
Fleur's fingers undid the zip of his jeans, unlatched his button.
"Zis is where you lived? Your home?" Fleur tugged down his boxers, her hungry eyes taking in his growing cock.
"Where I grew up." Harry corrected. "It wasn't much of a home."
She inhaled deeply, her hands wrapped around his shaft. "Super. I can smell all your le foutre in this room."
Harry didn't know how Fleur could smell all the times he'd wanked, but maybe Veela were like cum-detectives. He groaned in satisfaction as Fleur began jerking him off slowly, breathing in his musk. Downstairs, the Dursleys argued loudly.
Fleur looked around, frowning. "No photos or magazines?"
He stroked her hair, admiring how small her hands looked around his cock as she stroked his skin up and down, all the way. Her fingers trailed his precum from his head over his cock gently, her palms cold around his hot member.
"Just memories and imagination." He said with a little nostalgia. There'd been countless nights, polishing his wand, thinking of little fantasies. Hermione lifting her skirt in the library. Cho in the locker room showers. Fleur thanking him for rescuing her sister. "You, in your swimsuit." He added.
"Oh?" The Veela's perfect pink lips formed a little 'O', but Harry knew she wasn't surprised. "My swimsuit?"
"You know perfectly well, you cocktease." Harry growled.
Fleur smiled coquettishly. "It was a leetle tight, non?" She jerked him faster, the slap-slap-slap sound loud enough to hear outside the bedroom. One hand teased his full, heavy balls.
"I 'ad to oil myself to wear it." Fleur admitted. "And ze back kept disappearing between my derriere!" She giggled. She stuck her tongue out and ran it around the rim of his head. She fluttered her eyelashes and looked him in the eye. "'Arry, could you see my pussy?" She pouted.
"You know that everyone could, you slut." His fingers tightened in the sheets. "Everyone saw your cameltoe."
"Non!" Fleur cried in mock surprise. She tossed her hair behind her and suddenly swallowed his cock, choking noisily as she forced it down her throat, gurgling and slobbering until her lips pressed against his skin.
Fleur seemed determined to be as noisy as possible, to fulfill every fantasy he'd had. Glurk-glurk-glurk, she bobbed, eyes tearing up and running as she sucked and swirled her tongue. Harry knew they could be heard all the way downstairs, his groans as loud as her moans and nasty whorish slobbering chokes.
Fleur pulled out all the tricks, pumping his shaft as she blew him, tongue lapping and flicking all over his cockhead. Her cheeks hollowed out, her throat bulging, until she'd switch tacks and thwack his cock and precum all over her face.
Thirty minutes later, his silver alarm clock rang noisily. The clock he'd salvaged from this very room and repaired, one of Dudley's many victims.
Fleur moaned in disappointment at the noise, reaching out to silence it without even taking his cock out of her mouth. "Sho-shoon—" She said around his dick.
She withdrew with a loud pop, her eyes big and mournful. "'Arry, you want to cum on my face, oui?"
After half an hour of this obscene edging blowjob, Harry was happy to come wherever.
"Ze best place, non?" Fleur said happily, pumping him with both hands, a long string of saliva and precum stretching from her lips to his cock. "Marie says eet degrades, but non! Eet's a gift!" She bit her lip as she thought. "Cum inside and you could be imagining someone else!" The thought seemed to offend her.
"But cum on my face? Zat's for me!" Fleur batted her long eyelashes again, jiggling her tits for his pleasure.
"I'm going to cum." Harry grunted.
"S'il te plaît." Fleur begged. "Shall I countdown?"
"Huh?"
"Ten." She smirked as she rapidly jerked his cock. "Because I'm a ten, non?"
"Modest, too." Harry hissed as her hands tightened.
"Nine. Non in Germán is nein, a word I will never say to you." The beautiful Veela winked, twisting her hands, her tongue lowered but not touching his reddened head.
"Fuck, Fleur."
"Eight, because I 'ate ze thought of missing a single drop of your cum." As if to prove the point, she dove down to attach herself to the trail of precum that trickled down his veiny dick.
"Mmm. Seven, ze most magically powerful number, non?" Fleur cocked her head. "And I theenk seven is ze most cum loads I can drain from you in a day."
"Seven?!" Harry gasped as her manicured glossy fingernails tickled his skin.
"Oui. You would sleep so well." She insisted. "You theenk you can't cum so much, but zat is because you 'aven't been wiz me."
Harry probably could do it, he thought — he'd damn near done it on Christmas Day, rotating between his girls. After several Firewhiskeys, his head had hurt almost as much as his balls.
"Six." Fleur's slick palms stroked expertly. "Six is ze number of girls you can fit on a big bed." She looked up at him through her eyelashes. "Would you like zat, 'Arry? One to lick your behind, two on tes couilles, one to ride you, and two on either side to kiss and cuddle." She giggled. "Seven in ze bed, like a ritual's beginning, non?"
"Fleur, I'm gonna—" But her hands tightened at his base, cutting off his coming load. Harry's hips jerked uselessly.
"Five." She continued, like she'd done nothing. "For ze five uses I 'ave. My derriere, my pussy, my mouth." She gave him a two handed wave, taking her hands off his dick, making him let out a sound that definitely wasn't a whimper. "My 'ands."
Her silvery blonde hair had escaped her scrunchie, strands splayed over deep blue eyes. She gave a mock gasp, nibbling on the hair that found its way between her lips. "Eet's almost a shame, non? Five uses and only one cock…but you wouldn't do that to me, would you, 'Arry? Share me with your friends? What do you English say? Gang bang?" She tested out the words, the phrase very foreign from her French tongue.
Her jerking was now so frantic, his precum so excessive, that her hands were frothy and sticky as they stroked his cock. An intense wave of pleasure was building in his core, his hips arching from the bed, and he was enraptured by the sight of her; open-mouthed, splattered with the drips of his precum, panting, tongue white-tipped, her nipples hard as she knelt between his legs.
"Four. Four times a day is how much I wake up during ze night wiz sticky thighs and wet sheets, thinking of you." She looked at him with wide, mad eyes, and Harry got a sense of what he'd done to her, with his, Apolline and Marie's deliberate plan to drive her insane.
"Three." She shuddered as his cock throbbed, balls tightening, ready to unload. "Three 'oles. Ass, mouth, pussy. Three 'oles you could take forever, 'Arry." Fleur begged, her eyes smoky, her cheeks tinged with cosmetic blush, or was it Veela magic? "And oui, you can switch between them." She pouted as his cock flinched in her hands. "You like zat thought? To take my derriere and then make me suck you?"
Fleur giggled, swatting his cock. "Naughty 'Arry."
"Two." Her nose wrinkled cutely as she thought. "Two pillows — zat's how many pillows you should put under my stomach, when you want my behind. Face down, ass up." She kneaded his heavy load as he neared release, his breath caught in his throat, unable to even moan. "Ze Veela's natural position."
"One." Fleur let go of his cock completely as he came. Harry groaned in dismay as he came, robbed of the sensation, robbed of the tight warmth of her hands. His cock twitched and spasmed as he unloaded a mighty load all over her, over her face, over her tits, splattering black leather leggings in long white streaks.
He made to take himself in hand, but she grabbed his wrists, holding them apart while she was hosed down like she was standing in a water fountain. Fleur moaned and turned under her manually cranked shower Harry-head, all while Harry groaned and growled, his long-edged orgasm ruined.
Finally, cum-coated, Fleur creaked open one thick glob-covered eyelash. "One, for un petit probleme. For some reason, you won't fuck me." She glared through her cum glaze. "Why?"
Harry couldn't answer, breathless from disappointment and anger and unable to even explain himself.
Fleur licked her fingers theatrically. "Mmmm-mmh. I 'ave had zis before. A star seeker in Beauxbatons." She rolled her eyes. "Zis boy's friend came up to me, said I should meet him. I theenk to myself, I am Fleur Delacour, non? If zis leetle boy wants me, 'e should come to me."
Harry just glared at her — he wanted to rage about his ruined orgasm, but it was difficult to be angry when his balls were empty and he was watching the hottest cocktease of his dreams lasciviously clean his cum.
I'm going to make Apolline pay for her diva daughter. He thought unfairly.
"But non." Fleur fingered a heavy load from her cheek and into her mouth. "Nnhg-uhh." She closed her eyes, shivering. Had she just come? "Z-zis boy wanted me to meet on 'is terms, not mine."
She scowled at him suddenly. "Everything in life eez about sex, except sex. Sex eez about power." She looked at him knowingly. "So do not theenk because I am blonde and beautiful and not so good at English, zat I am stupid. I know what you want."
She stabbed a finger at him, and then noticed it was dripping with cum, and stuffed it in her mouth. "You wanmpf me to bemmpgh." She said, almost incomprehensibly. She took her finger back out. "You want me to beg." She repeated. Her eyebrow arched up, thinly plucked and elegant brows, less classy now they were dripping with his seed.
"Fleur, for fuck's sake, you did all that just to make a point—"
"You want me to lick your toes?" She licked her lips. "To lick your cum from ze carpet? To beg to lick your trou du cul?"
"Fleur, it's not like that—"
She swallowed his cock all the way to the base and then kept pushing forward, like she was trying to gulp him down, forcing him to yank her by the hair from his sensitive glans. She giggled breathlessly, giddily. "You want me to beg to be chained to your bed, non? You want Fleur Delacour to get on her 'ands and knees and say 'mets ta bite dans mon cul.'"
Her body was so curvaceous that she could lean forward on her knees and twerk her ample asscheeks behind her, to emphasise her point.
"Je suis desolee, 'Arry." Fleur said mournfully, cleaning his cock with her long tongue. "I 'ate to tease, but you tease me, I tease you, zis is fair, non?"
She twisted between his groin and ended up on her back, arched like she was playing a game of limbo, all in order to rub his balls over her lips. "I will beg like ze filthiest 'ore. You can stuff all my 'oles. What more do you want?" She batted her eyelashes up at him from between his legs, her hands kneading her tits. "What more do you want, 'Arry?"
He had to think about it, his resolve tested. He wanted to throw her onto his childhood bed and fuck her so hard that Aunt Petunia had to throw all the sheets away.
But in this room was where he'd had only Hedwig, fantasies and letters. Letters from good friends like Ron, who'd been one of the many boys Fleur had humiliated last year.
Harry remembered all the cock teasing. Fleur's gasp of faux-dismay when her skirt caught on a thorn in Herbology, her little blue panties displayed for all to see.
The broom rides in the weekends, flashing glimpses of her pussy mound in her white knickers as she flew over the students enjoying the lakeside.
The theatrical productions; fixing her shoelaces, adjusting her stockings, dropping her bag. The endless complaining about the cold castle while she was wearing a thin satin blouse, her nipples poking through.
How she'd called him a 'leetle boy'. Her disbelief that he could even be associated with the champions.
And then, when he'd proved her wrong, even when he'd rescued her sister, she'd hugged him tightly by the lakeside. He could still remember the mix of shame and thrill when he was pressed against her wet body, in that ridiculous undersized swimsuit, his cock hardening into/against/through her cameltoe, just millimeters of gleaming spandex away from fucking her.
She'd felt it, noticed it, because how could she not? The finishing blow was when she'd withdrawn and given him such a look of…amusement, derision, mockery, all at once. That look was imprinted into his mind, even if it hadn't stopped him from wanking at the memory.
Harry didn't want her to beg, he realized. He wanted her to break.
In his mind, he thought all the things he wouldn't say. 'I want you drooling like Alice fucking Longbottom. I want you mindless and panting like a bitch in heat. I want you to imprint my dick on you so deep that it feels like the fucking Dark Mark.'
He wasn't proud of it. It was a base misogynistic desire.
But that didn't mean he wasn't going to follow through.
Fleur's long tongue slithered over his balls, making out with his drained nutsack, the girl effortlessly comfortable bent over and upside down.
"Let's get out of here." He ordered. "I'll take you home, since I'm guessing you're not hungry anymore."
Fleur made a little moue of disappointment, but she didn't argue.
"I…I haven't finished cleaning up." She blushed — Harry was always surprised at what embarrassed her, given that she was happy to be fingered in the opera and suck his cock in the toilets, not to mention her loud dirty talk and cock-slobbering gurgling while his family was downstairs. But her addiction to his cum was, somehow, still humiliating to her.
She hadn't even really started cleaning up — her silvery blonde hair drenched with thick jizz strings, her face plastered from eyelash to chin, her tits spackled white like the time Uncle Vernon had tried doing his own plastering. Her long black leather leggings were coated in slimy cum running down her thighs.
"Don't bother." Harry decided. "You can do it when you get home."
He opened the bedroom door for her.
"A-aren't we going to Apparate?"
"Can't Apparate in the house." He shrugged. "Blood wards." He wasn't sure the wards were still up, since he'd barely spent any time here that summer, but he wasn't going to miss the chance to show off Fleur.
Fleur bit her lip, took a deep breath and then broadened her shoulders, taking his proffered hand.
Harry led his teenage topless bukkake'd not-girlfriend down the stairs. He wasn't ever going to be able to bring a girl home to meet the parents, but this was a damned good substitute.
Fleur threw her hair back, her heels clipping on the stairs, her eyes seductive — she was treating this like a model's catwalk.
His family was waiting downstairs, red-faced from a long hour arguing, their yells petering off as Harry and Fleur appeared. Aunt Petunia held a landline phone threateningly, like she was going to call the police. Dudley was trying to hide a Polaroid camera behind his back.
As they descended, Uncle Vernon choked. Aunt Petunia paled, her hand shaking as she tried to steady herself on the wall.
Dudley swallowed loudly, his hips jerking three times — he'd just came, Harry realized, with a touch of disgust.
"Merry Christmas, everyone." He said softly. This would be the last time he saw them, he imagined. "I…I wish you would have treated me like family. I know it wasn't easy, having a child you didn't expect, one that could never fit in. But," His hand tightened around Fleur's. "I was just a kid." He shook his head, exhaling a hard breath, a breath that expelled a release he'd needed. "I was just a fucking kid."
Harry and Fleur walked between them to the door.
"You have a lovely 'ome." Fleur attempted brightly as she passed Aunt Petunia.
He thought that would be it. But when he opened the door, Aunt Petunia's hand grabbed his own, her nails digging into his skin.
"W-we put a roof over your head and we fed you." She glared. Her eyes wavered from his hard gaze. "Maybe we weren't perfect, but you weren't easy, changing your teacher's hair color, talking to snakes! You don't know what we had to do to hide your freakishness!"
"You only ever had to choose, just once, to be kind." Harry said quietly. "And you never were." He unpeeled her sharp talons.
"W-we'll still be safe here, won't we?" She asked.
"I…probably. I really don't know." He had Tom's mind in his — and Tom had never known of his Muggle home.
"My sister will be grateful, even if you aren't! She'll know what we did, what we sacrificed!" Her shrill voice carried after him, into the driveway.
Harry didn't turn back, but the anger swelled over him. "You let me believe my mother died in a car crash and let me sleep in your cupboard, cooking and cleaning and working every free minute. I don't know much about my mother, but she knew about love and sacrifice. I can't imagine a world where she forgives you."
Uncle Vernon pushed past his wife angrily. "Now, see here boy, I won't have you spreading rumors that we abused you just because we taught you the value of discipline—"
"The last Christmas I had with you, Uncle." Harry turned, his voice silky and low, like Voldemort's. "I was locked in my room. I listened to you three dine on a turkey bigger than Dudley. I brushed my teeth five times because I was so hungry and then, when you'd all gone to bed, I stole a stale hot cross bun from the bread bin, because you'd locked the fridge with a padlock."
Vernon's jowls wobbled as Aunt Petunia's giraffe-neck swiveled both ways, fearfully looking for any listening neighbors.
"The only thing you ever taught me was loneliness." Harry's hand trailed down Fleur's bare back to her bottom. "And the things I've done out of that loneliness…" He took a short, sharp breath, his gut hurting. "I don't know if my mother will forgive me either."
He walked away, leaving them behind forever.
Fleur, taken aback, looked at him and then back at the Dursleys.
"For goodness' sake, girl, cover yourself up before someone sees!" Petunia hissed.
"Y-you can hide in here, if you want." Dudley said from behind his parents.
"No, she bloody well cannot—" Petunia growled.
"C'est bon." Fleur winked at them. "I shall take care of 'Arry where you failed, d'accord?" She sashayed away, swaying her hips behind her.
She called over her shoulder. "I too will give him buns for Christmas."
THWAP! Fleur spanked her ass, making her supple buttocks wobble under the leather as she walked away.
She smiled thinly as she heard Vernon groan at the sight and the subsequent yelp as his wife elbowed him. They began arguing loudly.
"They'll never be happy." She told Harry as she joined him. "Zat is ze ultimate revenge, non?"
Harry was silent. It wasn't a revenge Tom would ever settle for — he preferred pulling intestines out and measuring their length against his victim's relatives.
"Because it's Christmas?" He decided. "It'll do." He took a handful of her plump asscheek and squeezed. "It'll do."
###
Harry waited at Florean Fortescue's Ice-Cream Parlour. He edged his seat closer to the patio heater which made the outside seating bearable in the winter cold, glad that Cissy had dressed him in the warm thick robes she'd bought for him, complete with a fur trim hood.
He fidgeted with the note he'd received after he'd scribbled a note identifying his riddler as Padma. Even with her mystery busted, the note still held another riddle, but this one was much easier.
What am I?
I 'm frozen but I don't need a blanket
I can be licked but I 'm not an envelope
Meet me tonight in the place where the flavors you can pick
Cone or spoon, come give me a lick.
He hadn't exactly needed Hermione to solve it, though that hadn't stopped her from giving him the answer. Her fetish seemed to be helping him solve problems — he was pretty sure she'd had a mini-orgasm just by buttoning up his jeans the other day.
Harry then had to wrench free of Apolline, who had been enraged and apologetic at her daughter's act of disobedience, and eager to make up for it.
He'd made it to the ice cream parlour in time, but Padma was late. The chocolate ice-cream in his bowl didn't make the wait any easier — Diagon Alley was no longer the relaxed jaunt that it was once was, after the election day attacks.
Finally, Padma appeared, looking nervous. She was stunning — dusky-skinned and slender, her hazel brown eyes made smoky by deep kohl eyeliner.
The Patel twins were regarded by Dean as the best-looking girls in their year for good reason, and Harry knew they were often thought the most fashionable.
Padma was dressed in the Indian-style robes that only she and her sister wore, delicate pastel pink that lengthened to a swishing dress skirt, embroidered with very elaborate patterns of swirls and florals in real silver metal. Her wrists looked small in gold bangles.
"Ordered some tea for you. I was going to get you ice cream, but I no longer think you're a vanilla girl." Harry quipped.
Padma's lips twitched as she sat down gingerly. "I don't like ice-cream that much, honestly."
He snorted. "So we're meeting here why? Nice and public, for your safety?"
"It's not that I don't trust you—"
"It's smart, don't worry." Harry waved her off. "But I'm not threatened so I'm not threatening."
The Indian beauty blushed. "I wasn't trying to threaten you either, Harry. I just wanted your attention."
"Well, you've got it." He frowned. "Couldn't you or Parvati have just sat down at breakfast with me?"
Her eyes narrowed. "My sister and I have learned the hard way that your proximity doesn't equal your attention. Sis still moans about the Yule Ball, you know."
He winced. That had been a poor move. "I'm sorry. I did apologize to her."
"A date with Harry Potter is a big deal to a girl, Harry." She chided. "She spent six hours getting ready and then got ignored for longing stares at Cho Chang."
Harry took the blow with good nature. "Top ten stupidest things done by a guy, with Ron ignoring you just above it."
Padma wrinkled her nose, amused. "It's quite alright. Boys are silly, even the handsome ones."
"Is that why I'm here?" Harry poked at his ice-cream. "A re-run of a bad date?"
"If only." She smiled, shaking her head. "It's business, I'm afraid."
Harry considered her. The Patels didn't exactly have British aristocratic heritage, but they were pureblood, wealthy and known, even if that didn't make them respected. The Patels, like the Changs, were condemned to be outsiders, regardless of their wealth or power.
"I didn't realize you were doing House business, given your mother and father are still well, I understand." Harry said cautiously.
Ice-cream mischief was one thing, but House business? He wished he had Cissy on his knee. Or Daphne, even — he'd have to warn her off getting the twins for him, if House business was involved. Merlin knew what the ambitious and malicious girl would do to Padma otherwise.
"Father isn't as young as he once was, so I step in where I can." She said delicately, taking a sip of her tea. She was all grace, even if British nobility hadn't accepted her.
He hesitated. "What's your industry again, remind me? Retail, right?"
"Father uses the same rhyme to everyone that asks. Butchers, bakers, clockmakers." Padma smiled fondly. "Groceries, really, and supplements too. The witches that think their little baby boy won't grow tall without Essence of Dittany all the way from Bangalore."
"Smart business. Good money, I'm sure."
"We do alright." She deflected. "We do a lot of business with the Changs, because the Brits don't trust either of us. They give us their potent magical black snow from a valley in Sichuan, we give them plants that only grow in West Bengal, and we don't ask each other what we're going to do with it."
"Black market imports? I best call the Aurors." He joked.
"I haven't even started on the off the books money yet." Padma promised.
"I'll pretend to be suitably shocked."
"If I thought you would be, I wouldn't even mention it. But that sight of Narcissa Malfoy and you, way back then, made my family realize that you might be willing to get your hands a little dirty."
"Very dirty." Harry agreed. "I'm an orphan so nobody ever told me to wash myself."
"A explanation you have to make to many girls, I'm sure." Padma said dryly.
"Padma!"
She smiled without embarrassment. "I can be a little dirty, too. Onto business?"
"Let's."
"Let's say you're a respectable man who wants to treat a girl with very little respect for a few hours or a night."
"It's a stretch, but I can imagine it."
"I thought you might." Padma's lips twitched around the rim of her teacup.
"I'll use my Mistress—"
"You don't have one, or you want something new."
"I'll chat up a Muggleborn witch, or I'll hit up one of the brothels."
Padma snapped her fingers. "But you're a very respectable man and you're rich. You don't want to go to the brothel and end up with Rita Skeeter getting a picture of you, red-faced and sweating all over some tart, before she gives a tell-all interview, with the quotes dangled into the public's eager beak, day after day, for two weeks."
"I see you're familiar with Ms. Skeeter." Harry grinned. Padma was fun.
"And you don't want to be blackmailed by Lucius Malfoy, may he rest in peace—"
"In pieces." Harry added solemnly.
Padma continued like she hadn't heard it. "So what do you do?"
Harry twisted his lips. "I'm guessing you're going to tell me."
The gorgeous Indian girl leaned forward — her kohl-darkened eyelashes were longer than any he'd seen. "You come to us." She whispered, despite the charms they'd both cast around the table.
"I'm listening."
Padma stared at him firmly, gathering her courage. "My family and the Changs. We source girls from China and India, giving these stuffy Brits what they want; the ability to let loose on their 'little bit of exotic'." She said with mild disdain.
Harry almost choked on his ice-cream. "I can do some dirty business, Padma, but I'm not really interested in teaming up on your sex trafficking work."
"Except there's no trafficking." Padma's big brown eyes gleamed. "We don't bring the girls here. We take the guys over there."
"Impossible with any volume." Harry declared. "International Apparition is tiring even for me, so you'd need a chain of Floo's, or carpets, or Portkeys. Portkeys would be easiest, but you'd need Ministry…" He trailed off.
"Ministry stamps and Ministry Portkeys." Padma said smugly.
Harry pinched the bridge of his nose. "And Cho's mother is high up in the Department of International Magical Co-Operation." He remembered. "Sino-British relationship management."
"She has to greenlight Portkeys all day long, so who's going to notice?"
Harry whistled. It was a money-maker that would be difficult for anyone to uncover, since they had Ministry insiders. "Where do you send them?"
"Macau, mostly." Padma shrugged. "The Las Vegas of Asia, so they say."
"All that work for a quickie?"
She shook her head. "This isn't about sex, Harry. This is a VIP escort for a long weekend of freedom. Two girls on your arm while you walk in the front door of the casino, no papers or cameras. And when you're done, you go to shop at the…less regulated markets of China or India, for curse-layers, illegal potions, mercenaries. Even exotic pets."
Harry thought, sucking on his spoon. "Foreign country with foreign girls and only one way home? Seems dangerous."
"For a weekend of anything goes and the knowledge that it won't follow you home?" Padma exhaled. "It's lucrative."
"What are you guys bringing to the table? Sounds like House Chang could run it solo."
Padma tapped her temple.
"Oh, wait, don't tell me." Harry winced. "India, the origins of the arts of mental magic."
She nodded at him appreciatively. "Knew you were smart. It's in our blood, after all — Indians invented meditation thousands of years ago. We have more Legilimencers than any other country."
The cogs turned into place. "And some of them are even pretty girls that are good in bed?" He figured.
Padma smiled. "So when our customers, far from home, plied with drink, collapse onto the girl they've finished with…"
"Your girls really get to work. Legilimency at their weakest and drunkest. That's beautiful." He offered.
"Thank you." Padma crossed her arms, her chin high.
"I'm guessing this isn't an invite to try it out."
"I imagine you're not in need of our services, with Lady Malfoy's charms." Padma said, shaking her head. "Couldn't believe what I was seeing at first."
"Neither did I, in the beginning." Harry admitted. "She's changed, though."
"I'll take your word for it. Where you come in is…we have a problem. Lord Chang—"
"Wants to do it all on his own—"
"Wants to give up the business entirely." She corrected. "He's trying to go legitimate — he finally thinks he can be accepted into British nobility after all these years. Maybe by marrying his daughter off to you — I bet she's been after you this year?"
"Ouch. You mean she's not just after my pretty green eyes?"
"Difficult to believe, I agree. This business," Padma pursed her lips. "It's more money, more necessary, than I want to admit. We can't let him destroy it and we can't run it ourself."
"I'm…not really keen on getting involved between your two Houses." Harry said slowly. "Especially with the rumors about House Chang and House Patel."
There were many that thought the two Houses were propped up by their country's government or backers at home, countries eager to make inroads into the notoriously insular British society.
Angering Chang or Patel — it could be akin to pissing off China and India.
"You don't believe all those silly rumors, do you?"
"I don't believe anything but even without the rumors, I can't help you, sorry. I couldn't change Lord Chang's mind, even if I wanted to. I don't have the power."
Padma snapped her head up, her gaze locked on his. "But you do, don't you?" For a moment, he was lost in her hypnotic hazel eyes, and then he was in his mindscape, feeling her featherlight touch creep across his brain, searching back through his day.
Harry growled and pushed Padma from his mind just in time — before she got an image of Apolline, her huge creamy tits straining at the top of a leather corset he'd made her wear.
"Not a good idea!" He snarled, his wand above the table, glowing red.
The Ravenclaw girl held her hands up in conciliation. "I only wanted to see. Those are some mighty Occlumency defenses — I'm sure your Legilimency is just as good."
Harry breathed heavily, caught off guard by the sudden intrusion. "Don't do that again, or we're going to have trouble." He snapped.
"Sorry." Padma said genuinely. "You kicked me out before I got anywhere, as I knew you would."
"Your people have the mental arts, why are you testing mine?" He said, irritated.
She leaned toward him. "We have powerful Legilimencers, yes, but this is beyond that. We don't want to just see what Lord Chang is up to. We don't want to move against him at all or we'd be moving against his Chinese backers, whoever supports him. We don't need that type of bad blood. He needs to abandon his plans all by himself, if you know what I mean."
Harry looked at her in dawning realization. "You don't want to know what he's thinking, you want to make him think it. To make him want to stay in the business of his own accord."
Her deep brown eyes gleamed. "To plant a seed that grows to become an action."
"Planting an idea is…" Harry lost himself in thought. This was beyond Legilimency. The concept was theorised, fantasized, but he only knew of it being done once.
And the man that did it was merged into his mind.
"Dangerous work." Padma accepted. "Which is why we're coming to you. The most powerful wizard we know."
"The most powerful wizard in reach, more like." He muttered. "What's in it for me? Let's not pretend that whatever you saw with Cissy is leverage enough for this."
"Cissy, now, is she?" Padma arched an eyebrow. "She must be working hard." She teased. "I still see the little boy staring up at the Great Hall stars, you know."
"Maybe I can change that." Harry said challengingly.
"That's the offer." She leaned back in her chair, rubbing the long gold necklace that descended into the valley of her cleavage. "Me and Parvati."
To her credit, she didn't look away, her eyelashes fluttering seductively.
Harry grimaced. "With respect, as lovely as you two are, I'm not looking to marry either of you. Or both of you."
He didn't elaborate — marrying the Patels wasn't good politics. Cho Chang was arguable, since even the most racist of British nobles recognized the benefits of Chinese power and money. But the Patels?
It wouldn't help him, as attractive as the twins were, and as smart as their family business seemed to be.
Padma's tongue darted out over her deep burgundy lipstick. "Here's the Beater's bat, Harry. Both of us…as girlfriends. House girlfriends, yours without the need of a ring. A connection to India, our wealth, our knowledge, our unique…industry. All without having to wed us."
Harry whistled. "That's a lot to give up, isn't it?"
Two Pureblood daughters forever unwed. They'd have a certain acknowledgment as his girlfriends, but it was hardly the same respect or power as a wife. An unkind tongue would have said they were the same rank as concubines.
Padma tilted her head. "If Chang's plans go ahead, we stand to lose it all anyway. We see where the wind is blowing — we're happy to tie ourselves to your flag." She looked down demurely. "And personally, I'd be…eager."
Harry looked at her doubtfully. "This business of yours is really worth so much? You can't do it without Chang?"
"Even if we could find alternative transportation than Chang's Portkeys, the customers like Macau." Padma sighed. "And if we lose this income, we lose our wealth and our ability to…"
"Get info on British power players, some of whom are Ministry connected, no doubt." Harry finished dryly. Info that they gave back to the Indian government for blackmail and leverage, no doubt.
Padma pressed her lips together, unhappy. "We'd probably move back to India and Father would marry sis and I to some old fat guy with the right connections. We really, really don't want that. We grew up here, remember?"
"We?" Harry crossed his arms. "You're sure Parvati wants this, too?" Parvati could be a giggling gossipy mess at times, but they'd always been friendly.
"I speak for my sister." Padma confirmed. "She doesn't speak for the family like I do, though — loose lips sink ships." She gave a long suffering sigh. "And Parvati does like to talk."
Harry hummed in thought.
Padma eyed him nervously. "I…we'd be good girls for you, Harry. Even without a ring on our fingers, we'd be so proud and honored to belong to House Potter." She toyed with her necklace. "Parvati and I would be very grateful, together."
The Ravenclaw girl reached out to finish his melted ice-cream, lapping at the creamy spoon as she locked eyes with him.
"I…I'll need to think about it." Harry said, distracted.
She licked her lips, smiling. "Do."
###
Harry settled down on the wooden chair in Hogwarts' kitchen, watching as Daphne gathered things on the table for him. The kitchen was free of house-elves, thankfully, allowing them to talk through Padma's proposal.
The blonde Slytherin gathered an assortment of biscuits, cakes, fruits and jams, everything he might desire for their late night rendezvous. Then, without an order, she lifted her skirt and settled down his lap, wiggling her bare plugged bottom into his crotch.
She rested back against him and placed his hands firmly under her blouse — Daphne had been none too pleased that he hadn't seen her for Christmas, especially since the other girls had seen plenty of him.
"Tell me again." She ordered authoritatively.
"She wants me to plant a thought deep, deep, inside Lord Chang's mind. So deep he thinks — not thinks — he knows it came from him. A thought that grows into an inescapable idea that he can't ignore."
Daphne turned in his lap, frowning. Her lip gloss gave her lips a rosy shine — she was expecting he'd fuck her face, Harry thought. "That could go wrong in a thousand different ways."
"You know something about it?" Harry said, unsurprised. The Greengrasses were the type.
"Just that it's near impossible." Daphne said firmly. "Father's experimented with it. I told you, didn't I? We do…re-education, sometimes. Tracey is undergoing a type of this. But Father realized it's too dangerous. You go that deep, you lose the sense of yourself, of who you are. You can't tell which part of the mind is you, or even remember who you are. It's not like a memory modification."
"It's been done."
"Has it?" Daphne jolted, causing his dick to shift between her warm cheeks.
"Once. The Dark Lord did it just once." Harry said quietly. Lord Voldemort had been desperate for tutorship by Gellert Grindelwald, to learn his secrets, to know the mysteries of the Dark Arts that Grindelwald had spent decades researching and experimenting with.
Grindelwald refused to teach him and even if he had, the man's cell in Nurmengard was one the Dark Lord could not break him out of.
Instead, Tom had descended into the man's mind. He couldn't Legilimens his secrets away, but weakened and atrophied by prison, the Dark Lord had planted a thought.
I wish I had a son to continue my legacy and experiments.
A thought planted so deep that it became real, promising enough that Tom continued to sit on a little wooden stool outside the man's cell, wearing a guard uniform, day after day.
Until one day, Grindelwald had looked at him and entered his mind. Grindelwald taught him the darkest of magic in the space of Voldemort's mindscape.
"It wasn't easy." Harry said slowly. "He never did it again. It scared him, I think."
"Scared him?" Daphne asked, her eyes wide.
"The brain…it begins to attack you when it realizes you don't belong." Harry tried to remember what Voldemort had done. "It doesn't matter how powerful you are when you get trapped in another man's mind."
"It's not worth the risk." She decided. "Especially because you'd need to…have a sealed and calm mind yourself." She said hesitantly.
He pinched her bottom. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Daphne went red. "Only that, I mean, even an idle observer can see that you act as two people, sometimes."
"Oh?"
"Like, you'll kiss me like a loving husband one second, and then you'll be—"
"Fucking you like a cheap whore?" Harry finished, grinning.
Daphne blushed, not meeting his eyes. "Yes, well. It's more the…desire for domination, it seems to come and go, with you."
He grimaced. She wasn't wrong. He must have looked ashen, because Daphne placed a hand on his cheek as she straddled his thighs. "You can talk to me, you know." She lifted her chin arrogantly. "I am to be your wife, not like the others."
Harry stroked her back as he thought. "My…I mean, Voldemort isn't part of me."
"What?"
"He is me. And I am him. We aren't two different people. I'm one person with two moral compasses that both point different ways, most of the time. Two compasses, two memories, two sets of values."
Daphne softened. "A violent potion in a cauldron."
"It's more like…the end of a broom part of a broomstick. So many twigs and some are Harry and some are Voldemort. I can identify the parts, until I start flying, and it all becomes a blur." Harry said bitterly. "And the more I bond with you girls, the more of your memories I take, too." He pointed to his temple. "It's a fucking mess in here."
Daphne thought for a long moment. She rocked on his lap, gripping his cheek firmly, her stormy blue eyes inches from his. "We could do it together, couldn't we? If you had us there, we could help you identify yourself, if you get lost."
"I will need help." Harry admitted. Even Voldemort had needed a team to accomplish it. "Potions, to weaken his mind, confuse him."
"You have your potion-maker." Daphne flipped her long hair back and thrust her chest out. "My family is well-versed in mind-fucking potions. We just brewed a batch for Tracey. What else?"
Harry held his future wife close as he descended into his memories. "I need a team, one person for all three layers. To get that deep, we need to bypass all of the parts of the personality. The id, the ego, the super ego."
Daphne frowned. "What is that? Muggle psychology?"
"Adapted from it." Harry tried to remember. "It's not so much the accepted psychology of the mind, but the best way to break Occlumency layers, to go as deep as possible. It's like you're robbing Gringotts — you don't brute-force it."
"Explain." Daphne said firmly.
"The id is the pleasure principle. You have to break through the layer that contains all sexual and aggression energy, the primal self." Harry hesitated. "I'll need to bring Apolline with me."
Daphne sniffed. "I suppose a Veela will get Chang thinking of pleasure, certainly."
"Then, the ego."
"Like, pride and arrogance?"
"No, like the part of the personality that expresses desires in an acceptable way, a realistic way."
"I don't get it." Daphne frowned.
"Like, I wanted to flip your skirt over and fuck your ass the moment I saw you on the train at the start of the year."
Daphne flinched. "Harry!"
"But instead I came up with a plan to get you to need my protection, my wards, convincing you to jerk me off. That's the ego."
"The asshole side of you, I get it." She growled.
"Haven't we come so far?" He kissed her forehead, amused at her grumbling. "I'll bring you, for that part."
"What?!"
"You're my realist, my pragmatist, my sexy manipulative witch."
"Thanks, I suppose." She griped, but he could tell she was pleased.
"Lastly, the superego. The moral conscience that makes us behave acceptably, responsibly. We'll need to convince that layer of Chang that it's moral to continue their sex trade business."
"Please don't say we need—"
"Hermione." Harry confirmed.
"Ugh."
"She can argue anyone around."
"She'll hold us back with her goody two-shoes bullshit." Daphne muttered.
"She'll do as I say." He swatted her ass firmly, making her squeal. "Just like you. We'll need her to devise the environments, too."
"Huh?"
Harry explained patiently. "We need to make Chang think he's living his real life while we're digging through his brain. Hermione will need to make our mindscapes look just like real life."
Daphne looked doubtful. "Is that possible? To put that much detail into a mindscape? Mine is…unrealistic."
"I know yours. It's very dirty. So many dungeons." Harry teased.
"Stop it," She smacked his chest.
"Yes, it's very possible."
He stood them up from the chair and bent Daphne over the kitchen counter, putting her face and chest first into a marble surface of white flour.
"Harry!"
"Sssh, you." He flipped her skirt up and, with two hands dipped in the flour, coated her ass in the powder. He spanked her, just to see his handprint in white, to make her squeal and shiver. "Hermione will need to make sure that even when Chang's face is right against it, like your face is in the flour, he can't tell it's not real."
"Is this all worth it?" She looked over her shoulder at him, biting her lip with unintentional sexiness.
"You tell me, wifey."
"You said you wanted twins and they are powerful and wealthy."
"You're only saying yes because they won't be wives, equals." He said knowingly, swatting her perky cheekss.
Daphne shuddered, squirming her thighs together. "That's a bonus. But they're a big house with a lot of resources. India's no joke, too. Ten years from now? They could be something."
"Not growing as fast as China, though. If we fuck this up and piss off Chang and China, it'll be like giving Voldemort an ally on a silver platter. Imagine if they funded him?" Harry's face twisted. "That's why I was thinking about marrying Cho."
"She's not right for you." Daphne said instantly. "You can't trust her or her House's backers."
Harry sighed. Maybe she was right. "I can't decide. I don't even know how possible she is anyway."
"Oh?" Daphne said.
"She seems eager, but I heard she had some sort of Cedric memorial in the library just before Christmas." Harry wrinkled his nose. "It's not a good look for me."
"Hmm." Daphne said quietly.
Harry frowned. It wasn't like her not to offer an opinion. "What do you think?"
"If we're all together, we can — ooh — we can do it." She said breathlessly, face pressed against the counter as he clapped her flour-covered ass.
"We'll try." Harry declared. "The twins are a prize too good to ignore."
"I still don't think Hermione can make mindscapes that will fool him into thinking it's real life, though." Daphne worried.
Harry smirked. "No? Did we Apparate here, by the way?"
"What?"
"It's Christmas break, still. How did we get into Hogwarts? Where are the house-elves?"
Daphne flinched, her mouth dropping. Slowly, she stood up. "I'm…I'm in my mind."
He tugged her out of the kitchen…and straight into the corridors by the Slytherin dungeons. "This isn't Hogwarts. She can design it as a puzzle, to help us navigate and escape any dangers his brain sends at us."
Daphne was slack-jawed, her fingers reaching out to feel the texture of the cold stone wall. She scowled at him. "You went to Hermione before you came to me?"
"Sorry." He said genuinely. "It'll take time, but I want to include you. Hermione's my go-to when I need a sounding board, though."
His blonde beauty sighed, touching her own skimpy uniform. "None of this is real."
"Nope."
"The pain's real."
"Yes."
She blushed. "The pleasure is real."
"It is."
"We're really doing this, then?"
Harry stiffened as he felt Hogwarts around him. The pipes were rumbling. In the walls, he heard a voice: "… I smell blood… I SMELL BLOOD!"
Students walked by the next corridor. "Dippet looked worried at breakfast, did you see?" One asked.
He clenched his fists. This was the problem. His mind was not his own. Tom Riddle lived there too, with his own memories of Hogwarts, his own Headmaster, his own memory of the basilisk.
Tom himself was here somewhere — and probably wasn't friendly.
No matter which girls he brought, no matter the environment Hermione designed, it would still be his mind and Chang's, connected through a spell.
That was the danger and the prize, he thought. The chance to fight his own madness, to go deep enough to define himself, to control the rifts in his mind.
"Harry?" Daphne looked at him anxiously, hugging herself.
"We're doing it."
She gave him an uncertain smile. "It's sort of exciting, isn't it? A whole new field of magic, in a way. It's not Legilimency, is it, really?"
"No." He murmured. "It's not looking into minds, but entering them. This magic doesn't have a name. At its core, it's just me and Chang, connected. Two minds, one wand."
More than two minds, potentially, Harry thought. The basilisk rumbled through the pipes in the wall. The castle trembled.
A painting fell to one side, askew.
"It'll be dangerous. There'll be some things you recognize in there." Harry said. "Some sexiness, some dueling, some things you've seen before, some you haven't."
He wiggled his eyebrows at her. "But it's going to be an adventure like none other."