St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries was housed in an old department store building that was relatively small on the outside.
Inside, it was much larger, and thanks to Harry's donations, much newer The crowded reception had been upgraded. Rickety wooden chairs had been swapped for gleaming easy-clean leather. Brightly colored toys sat in a chest in the corner, being fought over by the kids.
Harry admired the plaque above the reception triage. The Potter Foundation Lobby.
A woman in a lime-green robe rushed up to it as soon as she saw him. "Lord Potter, forgive us, we weren't expecting you, d-do you need medical—"
"It's okay," He took note of her name-tag. "Janice. I'm just here to visit an old family friend."
"Oh, of course." The mousy brunette nurse blushed. "W-we wanted to thank you for your generous donation."
"It's still very little compared to the debt wizarding Britain owes you." He smiled. "But I'm glad it seems to be going to some use—"
"Oh yes! We've got a whole new potions room, new beds and we've even hired a Potions master to brew potions in-house—!"
"I'm glad to hear it, Janice. I'm sorry, I have to be going back to Hogwarts soon."
Her eyes widened. "So sorry! C-can I point you in the right direction?"
"The Janus Thickey ward for irrevocable spell damage?"
The light in her eyes dimmed. "Of course, those poor souls. Level four, take a left."
"Thank you." Harry strode forward, not making eye contact with the many Healers hurrying through the reception, scrawling on their clipboards as they reviewed the odd patients.
A witch hiccuped fiery sparks, looking mortified. One wizard had his hands sprouting from his crotch, his arms mere stumps.
Harry shook his head — wizards did stupid things with magic, even more so when they were horny.
On the stairs, he almost bumped into a familiar figure. A man with wavy blond hair and bright blue eyes, and a smile that almost blinded him.
Gilderoy Lockhart wore a long lilac dressing gown and a vacant expression. "Hello there! Why, who'd have thought today would be the day to meet a famous figure?"
Harry winced. The man had never recovered from the memory charm he'd cast from Ron's malfunctioning ward. "Thank you, Professor, but I have to be going, sorry—"
The man frowned. "But don't you want an autograph?"
Harry blinked. Did he think he was the famous one?
"That's okay, really—"
"Gilderoy, stop wandering out of your room, I keep telling you — oh, Harry." It was Susan Bones, clad in a lime-green robe that clashed horribly with her fierce red hair.
"Susan?" Harry said, bewildered. "What are you doing here?"
She scowled as she turned Gilderoy by his shoulders. "I volunteer here on some evenings, trying to do some good. Although they only really trust me to bring Gilderoy here back from whoever he's trying to give an autograph to and to cheer up the patients."
Harry shook his head. Susan was genuinely nice — the hospital staff probably didn't know what to do with the pureblood noble who volunteered her time away.
"That's really good of you, Susan…I, uh, mental health is so important."
She shrugged. "Yeah, I guess. Come on, hurry it up, Gilderoy. Someone wants an autograph in your room."
"Oh, really, I mustn't keep them waiting—"
"You're so kind, Susan, I don't know how you do it," Harry tried again. "Especially with what you must be going through."
She scowled at him as she led Gilderoy away. "I don't want your pity, Harry." She snapped.
"I'm not—" He couldn't even reply, as she disappeared through the double-doors, which flapped with the force of her push, like they were applauding another failed attempt to chat her up.
"Fuck me." He muttered to himself. "What did I say wrong?"
It didn't matter. He had other targets, hopefully easier ones than the Bones girls.
He waited until Susan was out of sight and then followed her into the ward. The Janus Thickey ward was for long-term residents, people with permanent spell damage.
It showed in their personalized beds — Lockhart's was covered in papered with autographed photos of himself, and Harry could see that Susan held a fresh batch of photos for him to autograph as she helped him into bed.
Harry kept moving through the beds of mournful wizards and muttering witches until he saw the end beds. These beds had more plants than any of the others, lush and green — climbing vines entwining with the bed curtains. Potted pink petals on the windowsill.
The bookshelf next to the bed had no books but several cauldrons, holding not potions but plants, rare ones that Harry could half-identify.
Tending to them with a knife and humming softly, Neville was bent over with his head half in the cauldrons.
"Hi, Nev."
Neville jumped as if he'd been startled by a Hippogriff.
"H-Harry!" His plump face flushed a dull purple. "What are you doing here?"
"I was just doing the rounds to see that my charity's donation was going where it needs to go." Harry lied. "Sorry to intrude."
"N-no, it's fine." Neville stammered. He gestured to the two beds. "They're sleeping now, or I'd introduce you." He looked down at his feet. "Not that they'd remember you, anyway."
Harry studied the two figures in the bed. Alice and Frank Longbottom. Her worn face was tickled by wispy white hair. She looked a different woman than the vivacious beauty he'd met in the past.
But that was why he was here. The reason he didn't want to tell Neville.
It would have been a difficult explanation. I'm going to look inside your mother's brain for clues to seduce her in the past, so I can revive her in the future, bringing back her sanity and her beauty.
The guilt felt like rotten Butterbeer in the back of his throat, but he needed an easy Whorecrux and Alice had seemed so lonely, ignored by her husband…
"You come here often?" Harry said conversationally, conjuring up a chair. Maybe, with Neville here, he could get his clues a different way. "Sneaking out of school, huh? I'm so proud of you."
Neville crossed his arms defiantly. "As if I would. Professor McGonagall lets me use her Floo when I want to visit them." He scratched his ear. "I just, y'know, like to keep the plants nice. T-they seem to like that."
"That's good of you." Harry fingered the blooming pink petals on Alice's bedside table. "Are these her favorite?"
"Chrysanthemums." Neville confirmed. "She loved them, Gran says."
"Well, she's lucky to have a master herbologist as a son, then. I feel like I'm in a rainforest, not a hospital."
Neville bit his lip, sitting on the edge of his mother's bed. "I…the nurse says that if I surround them in good memories, of…" His words trailed off. "You won't say anything to the boys, will you?" He said faintly.
"Of course not. Not a word."
"The nurse says I should surround them in love. They need a big tug on their heart to be pulled out of their mind." The chubby boy let out a long exhale. "Sounds dumb, right?"
"Not at all. I know more than anyone the power of love. My parents sacrificed themselves for me, remember? Stopped a Killing Curse."
"Right." Neville cheered up. "So I keep lots of plants here. They get, like, remedial potions too, but maybe one day they'll wake up? Like, the smell of her favorite flowers will spark something?"
"One day." Harry nodded. "There's been crazier things that happened in the magic world, right?"
"Right!" Neville nodded enthusiastically. "Like surviving a Killing Curse!"
"So," He clapped his hands. "What else did she love? We need it all." Harry said slyly.
Neville grinned, pulling out the drawer of the bedside table. "Mr. Spindle's Lick "O" Rish Spiders." He held up a packet. "From Honeydukes. Gran says these liquorice spiders would crawl all over the kitchen table — Mum would sneak them after dinner if she didn't like Gran's cooking, which was often."
Harry snorted. "I bet your Gran loved that."
"I don't let them out much." Neville confessed. "The spiders eat my plants, see."
"What else?"
The Gryffindor boy pointed to the ceiling. A poster of a Quidditch team grinned and waved down. "Puddlemere United — Gran said that one time she thought Dad was going to take her for her birthday. But he pulled out tickets to the opera instead." Neville laughed. "She got so mad that she cursed his toothbrush so he blew out bat bogeys!"
"Like Ginny's favorite curse." Harry chortled.
"Right? That's what made me—" Neville slammed his mouth shut suddenly.
"Like her?" He wiggled his eyebrows. "I thought you went to the Yule Ball as friends."
"Don't say anything." He pleaded.
"I won't." Harry promised. But his insides were roiling — Ginny was yet another girl who was clearly interested in him, despite what her Christmas letter had said.
Could he really take Neville's mother and his crush and still call himself a friend?
"Thanks, Harry. You're the best."
Harry changed the subject, staring at Alice as she slept. "It must be really hard to have a mum like this. At least I can, y'know, move on. I've got closure."
Neville shrugged. "I dunno 'bout that. I'm just happy I can still see her. And, like, she'll still smile or recognize me, once in a while." He fidgeted. "That's priceless."
Harry looked at him seriously. "What would you do to bring her back?"
His pudgy friend frowned at him, silent for a long minute. "Nothing can do that, Harry."
"I know, but…if it could."
Neville reached for his mother's hand, caressing it gently. "Anything."
"Anything?" Harry leaned forward eagerly. "Even if she's not the same as she was?"
The Longbottom heir stared blankly at the wall. "Just to see her out of this hospital, with a light in her eyes. That'd be a miracle alone." He shook his head, wearing a bitter smile. "A silly dream."
"I hope you'll see it, one day." Harry said quietly.
He could make it happen, he thought. He could fuck and bond Alice of the past, seal her bond into a Whorecrux. And in the future, he could break the Whorecrux to awaken the all-encompassing love they'd have for each other, bringing her out of her destroyed mind into reality.
But even if Neville wanted it, even if Alice would walk out of here on her own two feet, able to hug her son and see the man he'd become, it felt like the wrong thing to do.
He'd bring her soul back to her, but wouldn't he lose a bit of his own?
###
Hogwarts was warm.
"Too warm." Harry frowned. The castle had to be perfect, even in their shared mindscape that they'd pull Lord Chang into. "Lord Chang will have been here many times, even if he wasn't a student. It has to be perfect."
"Hold on." Hermione murmured, closing her eyes.
"Better."
"You think it'll stand up to the real thing?" She said nervously, hand in hand as they walked up the Grand Staircase. "I've reworked it, put in some traps, just in case. If you put your foot on that trick step, you'll fall into greenhouse outside."
"Smart." She'd been a quick learner — Harry suspected that their bond was helping her learn at an exponential pace.
Hermione's Occlumency and mindscape training developed far quicker once she'd heard about Hannah. Hannah had told them she'd done accidental Legilimency on Susan, but the way she'd described it, it sounded like she'd been pulling his power to do it. It was another reminder that their bond, their love, it went both ways.
Some part of him, perhaps the Voldemort part, found the thought abhorrent. But overall, he was grateful — it was a little way he could pretend that he wasn't just taking.
"You sure you want to do Hogwarts?" She asked.
"He'll feel safer in secure places. Hogwarts, Gringotts, the like."
Hermione ran her hand over the stone railing, testing the texture. "But we want to bring his sexuality and aggression out. A school isn't exactly the right place for that." His bushy-haired friend gave him a rueful look as he squeezed her bum in reply. "I get your underhanded point, but you're a deviant, Harry."
Harry grinned. "Every guy in the world looks back at themselves from five, ten, twenty years ago and shudders at what a loser they were."
"I don't get it."
"When a guy fantasizes about being a hero, it's not about being heroic in front of strangers. It's about being a badass at work, or school, or in front of your dad—"
"Or a beautiful woman at the school." Hermione realized.
"A teacher, perhaps."
"A French teacher with big breasts." She sniffed. "Men are so simple."
"C'est la vie."
"That's not going to work again."
"What?"
"Speaking other languages just to get me—"
"Horny?"
"—stimulated." She blushed, giving him a light push as his hand started wandering. "So you'll make him a hero in our fake school. You sure you can give that job up?"
"Hey, I'm not the Harry of a year ago—"
"You still have a hero complex." She said flatly. "You just have a horny complex too, gerroff—" She squealed as he attacked her neck with kisses, hands under her skirt. "People will see!"
"Dream people." Harry reminded. Hermione shuddered as the students on every floor turned to look at them, their expressions blank.
She pushed him away.
"What's wrong with them?"
"They're sensing we don't belong. This is Hannah's mind, remember? The more we act oddly, the more they'll react."
"They look scary." She whispered. She stood up and straightened her skirt and the dream people looked away, continuing their day.
"They can be." Harry confirmed. "Remember, even subconscious magic can be powerful. I once blew my Aunt Marge up with accidental magic, so why would magic in my mind be any less powerful?" He saw the look on her face. "Only if they think we're a threat." He assured.
"We are a threat." She pointed out.
"Not at first. We're just trying to make the bull show his horns."
"We just need him to want Apolline, right? That's easy. She could make me want her."
He shook his head. "It's not enough for him to want to fuck her. We need to figure out what makes him tick sexually. And at his most vulnerable, we'll be able to hit him with another Legilimency. Descend deeper, to the next level of his defenses."
Hermione frowned as they walked towards the Gryffindor Common Room. "We can't plant the seed at that point?"
"We can try." Harry said skeptically. "But I doubt it. We can't convince him to abandon his sex trafficking business without going deeper, without figuring out why he wants to."
Hermione made her cute little humming sound in the back of her throat, the one she made when she was thinking — he loved that sound. "Padma already told us — he wants to go clean."
He snorted. "What pureblood House runs a clean shop? I call dragon dung on that one. Going clean won't help his House, especially since the Patels wont have any incentive to keep their mouth shut."
Hermione made an 'oh' shape with her mouth. "A secret reason."
"One that we'll have to go deep to figure out. And…amend."
Hermione let out a trill of glee, bouncing on her feet. "This is so exciting."
"Yeah?"
She beamed at him. "Doing something completely new with magic, with you. Just us two." She paused. "And I'll get a deeper look into you, too, right? Since it's a shared mind-dive."
"And me into you." Harry winked.
Hermione gave him a raised eyebrow. "I think you've gone deep enough into me." She said, a twinkle in her eye.
Harry stopped short at the Common Room entrance. The Fat Lady painting had been replaced with an oil painting of Hermione, glorious and naked, astride a white horse.
She elbowed him. "I was practicing making changes."
"Look at you, Lady Godiva." He admired.
"I've never been horse-riding."
He pinched her ass. "From first hand experience, you're great at it."
"Harry!"
"You set me up for that."
Hermione clasped his hand, resting her head on his shoulder. "I suppose I did—"
Harry flinched, his skin cold. The castle grew colder and colder. His mind felt heavy. And from the walls, there was a voice, silky and smooth.
Not a basilisk's rumble.
It was Tom Riddle's soft tones. "I have so missed this school." He murmured.
"Harry?" Hermione frowned.
"Not now." Harry muttered, holding his arms. "Go away."
"Who are you talking to?" She said quizzically.
"I never thought you'd come down here, Harry." Tom murmured. Harry looked around wildly, but there was nobody there.
Footsteps in the corridor. Drops of sweat pooled down Harry's forehead as he shoved Hermione behind him, but it was only a student.
A Hufflepuff.
Cedric Diggory. The handsome boy scowled as he walked towards them. "Letting me die so you can fuck my girlfriend, Harry? That's not House Potter behavior."
"I…what? I didn't put him here." Hermione exclaimed. "He's not in my mind or Han—"
"He's in mine." Harry confirmed. This was what he'd suspected. All his demons would come out to play.
The horse in the painting swirled like a melting marble, and so emerged a flash of red hair. A familiar red.
Lily Potter scratched at her own skin with bloody fingernails. "You can save me, Harry!"
"Fuck this." Harry muttered, grabbing Hermione's wrist and pulling her along, down the Gryffindor tower.
But all of the students had changed.
"It's you!" Hermione pointed at one black-haired boy.
The boy sneered. It wasn't Harry, but James. "I'm so disappointed in you, son. What you've done to these poor girls."
"Get out of my head." Harry snapped, stumbling away, down the staircase.
There was no escape. From each railing, a new face peered over.
Neville with tears running down his face. "I thought you were my friend."
Ron scowled. "I was your first and only friend, but now you're too good for me?"
Sirius spoke to Lupin at the bottom of the stairs. "What will we say to James? How did Harry turn out like this?"
The buzz of voices mixed into a deafening echo in his head, overlaid with the continual sound of Tom's laughter.
"Harry, you're hurting me!" Hermione squealed, trying to pry his fingers from her wrist.
"S-sorry, I didn't, I would never—" He stared at the bruise on her skin, suddenly cold.
The cold only grew, his breath catching in his throat. A cold that swept through his skin, freezing his blood.
He knew this cold. A cold that came with a thick fog, a mist, and a rattling breath.
The Dementors came through the walls, emerging out of the stone, gliding toward him. They extended dead slimy hands, their hoods hiding their hoods in a black void. Only their rotting fingers lowered their hood, and their faces were revealed.
His girls, all of them — Narcissa. Apolline. Marie. Hannah. Hermione. Helena.
They stared at him with empty eyes, their faces gaunt. "You forced us." They chorused as one. "You forced us to love you. You're sick."
"It's not, it's not like that." Harry muttered, looking for a way out, an exit. But there was nothing. Hermione was frozen in fear.
He careered towards the Entrance Hall oak doors.
Dean spit at his feet as he passed. "Just another traitor."
Seamus laughed shrilly. "You thought you could buy friendship with a broom?"
The doors opened before he could reach them.
It was Tom, his dark eyes amused. "Mental health is so important, isn't it, Harry?"
Harry snapped his neck back. Surging pain burst through his nerves and suddenly he wasn't in Hogwarts but above it, soaring through the clouds, staring down at the tiny castle below. He blinked and he was being pulled into a dark tunnel, like an ant drained into a sink.
Pop.
"Aaargh!" He opened his eyes and it was Hermione on top of him, the red agony of the Cruciatus fizzling from her wand and into his every nerve.
She tossed her wand away, crying. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. You said it was the only way to wake you from a mind dive!"
Harry coughed and spluttered. Where was he?
Hannah on his left, Hermione above, Daphne to his right.
The Room of Requirement. Empty vials on the bedside table, the vials they'd used to initiate their shared dreaming space.
Hermione had tortured him to free him from the torture of his mind.
"It is." He said shakily. "Y-you did the right thing." He breathed heavily.
"What was that?" Daphne looked angry. "You were screaming and sweating. I couldn't wake you so I woke Granger."
Hannah couldn't even speak.
He couldn't do this, not in front of all of them. "Daphne, Hannah, leave us." He ordered.
"But that's not fair—"
"But I want to stay." Hannah begged.
"Out." He growled. "Now. I won't ask you again."
Daphne seethed, her fists balled up, but she followed Hannah out the door.
When they were alone, Hermione looked at him expectantly — would she have gone even if he'd ordered it?
"My monsters." He explained, unable to meet her eyes.
She recoiled. "That's really how you think?"
"No." He said firmly. "Not most of the time." He tapped his temple. "Tom's in here and he's a real wiz at bringing out my deepest fears."
She bit her lip. "We're going to have to deal with all this in Lord Chang's mind?"
He tugged her onto his chest as he collapsed back. "That's why I'm bringing you, sweetheart. To design puzzles to escape any unwanted demons."
Her fingernails dug into his bare chest. "And what if I hadn't woken you up, huh?"
Fuck.
"I would have been fine." He said unconvincingly.
"What would happen, Harry?"
"Wizards that get lost in their own mind — they go mad. Unable to figure out if they're in reality or in their mindscape." He toyed with her hair, lost in his memories. "That's why you usually learn Occlumency with someone that hates you."
"What?"
"Someone that loves you won't be able to deliver the pain needed to wake you up. Only serious pain will bring you back to reality." He sighed. "Ironically, serious pain sends you into your mind, too, like Neville's parents. So much agony they retreated into their own mind, their own world, and never came back."
"Jesus Christ, Harry." Hermione muttered.
He snorted. "That makes a change to swearing with Merlin's name."
Her head snapped up. "Is this really worth it just for the Patel twins?" Anger blazed through her beautiful brown eyes. "For fuck's sake, Harry, we can get other girls. Indians, twins, whatever. You have to be satisfied with what you have!"
He stroked her hair. "For once, I'm actually not thinking with my Nimbus Ten Inches."
She glared. "You want to make jokes now?" Her fingernails made red indents in his chest.
"I'm serious." He wrapped his arms around her and hugged her, his personal body pillow. "I'm the only one in the world that sees Voldemort's plans in my head, the scale of his ambition."
"He wants to sit on the throne, who doesn't know—"
"Not of Britain." Harry interrupted. "People don't get that. France doesn't care. Germany doesn't even headline his crimes." He brought her chin up to meet his gaze. "He wants to rule the world, Hermione, Muggle and Magical."
His head flopped back onto the pillow. "But you're right, that's not the scary part. The part that should have every wizard and witch in the world practicing their Killing Curses? I know, I know, he is the only person in the history of humanity that has the power to do it."
Hermione scoffed. "He's not the first Dark Lord or madman in history, Harry."
He blew out an exasperated breath. "Every magical Dark Lord, every muggle Dictator, every empire from China to Rome to the Brits, even. None of them have had the power Tom has, the sheer capability."
The colour drained from her cheeks. "But you and the Headmaster, you can stop him. You have stopped him."
He rubbed her back. "Dumbledore's the only one he's ever feared, they say. But the thing that keeps me up at night is that nobody knows Dumbledore is scared of Tom, too."
Hermione blanched. "But he's so powerful."
"Inside Hogwarts, yes." Harry conceded. "Close to Hogwarts, yes. The castle grants the Headmaster power, that's why Dumbledore guards that position so closely. He can pull on Hogwarts like I pull from you girls." He held her tightly. "But a duel between them elsewhere? I'm not sure…"
Hermione was silent for a long minute, her head rising and falling with his heartbeat. "What does this have to do with Padma?"
"She's the bonus, Mione, not the prize. Don't you realize? That far deep into Lord Chang's mind, we can make him give Cho to us without a wedding ring. The prize is the opportunity to take two leading magical families of China and India, two huge pieces off the chessboard."
Hermione leaned up to look at him, soft fingers caressing the stubble on his chin. "Voldemort's only attacking British families, Harry. He's not even looking abroad yet."
"Isn't he? Lucius was sent to Switzerland in the summer to talk to the trolls, but probably the bankers too. Voldemort's not torturing Muggles in his spare time. Think, Mione." He urged. "While I'm trying to convince teenage girls to drop their panties, where do you think he is, each and every day?"
"Putting the foundations in." Hermione shivered. "Building relationships. But the Headmaster, the Wizengamot, the international council, there are—"
"Know what Padma told me when I asked about how fast India is growing?" Harry interrupted. "She said whenever a Wizengamot member comes to India, they get a lecture. Whenever a Dark Lord comes, they get a vault load of money and a library of rare books."
"You think countries are already joining him?" She rubbed her arms anxiously, her big eyes inches from his, her breath tickling his nose.
"They're taking gifts and I can't blame them. It doesn't cost them anything. Everyone thinks Tom's a madman who rules with Crucio's and Avada's." He swallowed the bile in his throat. "His mind in mine taught me that he's once in a generation smart and just as determined."
Hermione frowned. "There's other ways into India. We—you have money too."
"My money is your money too, love."
"Daphne told me off for buying rare books the other day."
He snorted. "That girl. She needs a spank."
"She needs a collar and a leash, more like." She said darkly.
"There are other ways." He admitted. "But House Patel is an insider in their society, a backdoor into their highest powers. And since we're going into Lord Chang's mind, a backdoor into China too."
Hermione squirmed on top of him, placing his hands firmly on her tight rounded ass. "You've really got a thing for backdoors now, huh?" She smirked. "Is there no tool of misogyny you won't pick up?"
He swatted her bum. "What? What tools of misogyny do I use?"
"You cover my face all the time."
"That's not misogyny."
"It's literally treating women as lower, in this case, as a glorified toilet bowl or tissue paper."
"That's—" Harry paused. "Okay, but you did ask for it last time."
She blushed, pinching his hip. "My own personal adjustments to maintain our relationship does not affect the overall problematic nature of the wider social issue." She sat up on his lap. "In fact! The fact that I—I mean, women, have been conditioned to find it arousing is because all pornographic material contains it, making it even more evidence of the misogynistic patriarchy."
"You're looking at porn?" Harry blinked.
Her face went even redder. "I'm studying for you. I mean, us."
"Are you saying this is my fault?"
"Clearly."
"So you don't want me to put a buttplug in you, for you to wear all day, even in class, in the library, under that little skirt, your secret—"
"Stop!" She wailed, trembling. "You know that's not fair."
"I'm just saying," Harry took a firm handful of her asscheek, enjoying the wobbly flesh. "You're not exactly Elizabeth Bennett."
"I'm adapting to what I have, which is no Mister Darcy." She scowled.
"Mister Darcy didn't have a mad and dangerous scheme to get two exotic twins into his bed?"
She giggled at the thought, wriggling on his lap, her hand slipping underneath her to reach for his growing cock. "Harry, it's racist to call all non-western girls exotic."
"Oh, here we go."
Her hand pushed his cock against her panties. "It reinforces a Western-normative and superior worldview of South East Asia, and by calling all non-white girls exotic, it treats them as indistinguishable from each other."
"I mean, in this case, they're literally twins—"
"You'd call Cho exotic too."
Harry hesitated. That was probably true. "I'm glad I've got you to keep me on the straight and narrow." He patted her bottom.
Hermione gazed at him fondly as she slowly rocked on his cock, letting him feel the friction of her cotton panties. "It's very difficult to be your progressive social compass and inflame your primitive teenage libido." She complained.
"It is?"
She bit her lip as she shifted her panties to one side, so his cock could slide through her lips without entering. "If I was less principled—"
"I can't imagine—"
"—I would say something like 'would you like to see my milky skin between the twins' darker hues. Would you sandwich me between Padma and Parvati?" She moaned as she ground her hips slowly, holding his angry red cock against her pelvis.
Harry tutted. "Comparing non-Western girls to food, making them seem like mere bread fillers to the main meal of a white western girl?"
Her eyes flicked open. "You are so right. We'll have to change the power dynamics. They could tie me up and spank me while you watched, Harry?" She giggled. "Revenge for the British colonialism."
Harry groaned as she lifted herself up and sank down on him, his hard cock slowly enveloped in her wet hot cunt, as tight as ever. "You think Parvati can even spell colonialism?"
Hermione gasped. "Don't make me laugh, not with a Nimbus Twelve Inches inside me."
They both spluttered laughter as they met each other's eyes.
Her smile faded. "You scared me, Harry."
His heart clenched. "I'm sorry, Mione."
"None of us girls would ever think that, let alone say it." She said firmly. "I loved you before the bond. I'll love you when you rule the world, or when we're lying in the debris of our failure. I'll always be there."
"I know, sweetheart." He let her kiss his thumb at her lips.
She gave him a mischievous smile. "I don't know Mandarin or Hindi, but I do know your love language." Hermione whipped her white blouse off, revealing her perfect perky tits.
She placed his hands on her hips that twisted in perfect circles, a slow spiral up and down of grinding and rocking, enunciated with whimpers and moans.
Hermione palmed her own breast, squeezing it in shivering pleasure. "This is me being your Lady Godiva, but — oooh — once you've got your energy back," Her smile became a smirk. "You can show me that I'm no lady."
Harry grinned up at her. That sounded like a plan. And while his demons would only grow when they stepped into Chang's mind, he knew he could do anything with her at his side.
###
"Almost there." Apolline murmured, resisting the urge to touch herself. "Do it together, now."
There was a little audible pop. And there it was. On the edge of the sofa, between four sky-pointing creamy legs, Narcissa and Helena's fingers trailed over their newly inserted gem-plugs. A lilac pink for Cissy, a reflective white for Helena.
"Diamonds are a girl's best friend, non?" Apolline giggled.
"Oh, Merlin." Helena squeezed her eyes shut. "I feel so full."
Narcissa just whimpered.
"It is so 'ot to see a mother and daughter." Apolline smoothed down her skirt, resisting the urge to pull it around her waist.
"It's so wrong." Cissy moaned.
"If Harry likes it, it can't be wrong." Her daughter countered.
The two older women snorted in unison. "Harry likes a lot of wrong things." Cissy said.
"Merlin, salope, you're absolutely drenched." Apolline admired. Narcissa's pussy was swollen red and glistening with dew.
Her manicured fingers teased down her slit. "Harry promised that if I keep this in and train myself, he'll take my bottom." She blushed. "I can think of little else."
"Mother!" Helena snapped her thighs shut, her cheeks red. "I don't think he'll fit in me."
Her worries weren't for nothing, Apolline mused. The girl's tight puckered rosebud had barely taken the little plug.
"Harry makes it fit." Narcissa said confidently.
"His magic has changed you already, non?" The French woman asked.
Helena bit her lip. "My breasts are more full. And m-my bottom, it's thicker—"
"Ze boys at schol must be all over you."
Helena rolled her eyes as she brought her legs down gingerly. "Since the Prophet revealed I'm actually rich and noble." She sniffed in contempt. "There's this new transfer student who I could swear is stalking me." Her eyes met Apolline's. "Stop staring at me!"
Apolline shook herself. "Sorry." She said genuinely. "I just can't wait until 'Arry has my daughter." She huffed. "I cannot believe she denied 'Arry's orgasm."
Narcissa blew out a long breath. "We know. You've said it a hundred times."
"Spoiled cow." She growled. "Désolée, it is my own fault, non?"
"I don't know why Harry doesn't just take her." Helena put a hand between her own legs to stop herself from staining the cushions, her ears red with embarrassment.
Narcissa stuck her nose in the air. "She's like a hippogriff. Sometimes, bowing to them isn't enough. You need to break them."
Helena shivered at that — she obviously liked the thought. "You're still dosing her pillow?" Her tongue ran along her pink lips. "And Marie is still—"
"Feeding her?" Apolline smirked. "Non. I told 'Arry to cut her off."
"Cut her off?"
"When she was a little girl, my 'usband would buy her everything. Ponies and Puffskeins, cosmetic potions and a new owl every year." She pursed her lips disapprovingly. "But when my Gabrielle was born, she wouldn't let her play with any of them! So we took them away. What is the phrase, Cissy?"
"Cold turkey."
"Oui, cold turkey." Apolline repeated. "I do not know why you like zis phrase in Britain. Turkeys are dry and tasteless, like all British food."
"Not again." Helena groaned.
"I am just saying!" She sniffed. "Ze only British food that is edible is Harry's cum." She smirked at her own quip.
Apolline's long fingers tapped on the armrest in satisfaction. "My Fleur will go mad just like she did as a girl. Her owls sent with no reply. 'Arry won't see her. Marie won't tell her anyzing. She won't be able to smell him, taste him, feel him."
Helena shivered at the thought. "I almost feel sorry for her."
"I don't." Narcissa said firmly. "Silly French whore trying to tease my Harry." She harrumphed. "Girls should immediately bend over for him when he enters the room."
"Ok, mother." Helena giggled, sharing a glance with Apolline. Apolline knew why.
Cissy has become quite the fanatic.
The Malfoy daughter tried to stand up and failed, her fingers clutching the sofa cushions tightly. "I feel so…Merlin!"
Cissy teased her own large breasts. "It's his gift, my darling, inside us all day." She crooned. "A token of his love."
Helena vibrated, her eyes wide, caressing her diamond demise. "M-Mother, I need, I need—"
"Ssh, beloved." Narcissa leaned against her, rubbing her foot along the leg of her daughter. "Mother will take care of you."
"But first," Apolline interrupted. "For 'Arry."
Four legs went up. The camera flashed and began smoking with an acrid scent.
Harry would be pleased — the photo would show what Apolline saw. Two obedient platinum blonde beauties with their legs high and spread, on their backs, fingers parting wet petals, and below, their swaying asses, punctuated with their Christmas gifts.
"Now?" Helena pleaded.
The fireplace sparked with green flames.
Narcissa scowled. "A visitor wants to enter."
"Tell them to come later." Her daughter begged.
"It is Daphne Greengrass." She said grimly.
All three women straightened up. The soon-to-be Lady Black had not made a good first impression. They dressed quickly.
When Daphne came through, she met with three terse faces.
"Such hostility." She mocked, throwing her hair behind her. "My, my, Harry does like his blondes, doesn't he? I hope he'll still find time for you all once we're wed."
Narcissa's cold face didn't alter. "What do you want?"
"What do you want, my Lady?" Daphne corrected.
"Not yet."
"Suit yourself. I come with an olive branch." Daphne smiled sweetly.
"Or a poisoned apple." Helena muttered to herself. Hermione had warned her about Daphne.
"We are listening," said Narcissa.
"In the summer," The blonde Slytherin examined her fingernails. "We'll have our big wedding. There'll be the big public event, of course. But in private, I could organize something. The Witch's Devotion."
Narcissa flinched.
Helena looked at her mother. "What's that?"
"The Witch's Devotion," Narcissa said slowly, her eyes not leaving Daphne's. "Centuries ago, amid the witch-riots and the subsequent witch-burnings, us women of magic were not trusted to perform our duties. There was even talk that noble wizards should marry Muggles to avoid witches that may have denied Morgana's teachings."
Helena's eyes widened. "Impossible. Purebloods?"
"So a tradition grew," Narcissa's voice was steady and emotionless. "For the newlywed wife to submit in front of a public audience, gifting her husband all of her…entrances, for all to see. A promise of loyalty, to show that this was a devoted wife. And for wizards to show that they could handle their wives and stop them from rebelling and rioting like the cursed and hunted witches."
"Us Veela did even more than that, to stop from being hunted." Apolline muttered. "But zis ceremony is impossible today."
"A wife can't be seen like that anymore." Daphne agreed. Her smirk grew. "But a Mistress can."
Narcissa froze. "Harry wouldn't like to showcase me."
"Wouldn't he? You'll be used in the cigar rooms of after parties, won't you?"
"That's different." She insisted, crossing her arms. "Those are nobles, not Muggleborns and half-bloods."
Daphne settled down gracefully on the opposing sofa, fingers plucking at the fabric to examine it. "Hmm. So he wouldn't agree, even if it was to show off his might to potential new ladies?"
"What?" Helena looked between her mother and Daphne. "What does she mean?"
Narcissa's skin had paled. "Those that aren't nobles, they'll be taking offers soon. With the war, few will be waiting until after Hogwarts. Offers from Houses — research roles, accountancy, enforcement, potion brewing. They'll be wanting to know their money allowance each week, where they'll be living, what rooms they'll have."
"Their freedoms." Apolline chimed in.
"And what their sexual lives will look like." Daphne finished, smacking her lips.
"Clever." Apolline admitted.
"What?" Helena looked even more confused.
"Even Mudbloods will want a well-endowed lover." Daphne stroked her hair. "If we were to invite those nerdy Ravenclaws girls to see Harry take you, Lady Malfoy, they might well join us over other Houses."
Helena sniffed. "What girl wouldn't choose House Potter?"
"Many." Narcissa murmured. "Because you could be a girlfriend or a 'favored consort' of House Macmillan, but Harry can only offer them a role as concubine or researcher."
"It's just a name—"
"It's not. It's a big difference. Some restaurants won't allow Muggleborn researchers or concubines. Some shopkeepers won't even speak to you. Your friends will be encouraged to associate with their own ranks. You go from being a guest at the society party to serving drinks at it."
"Can't Harry just say they'll be girlfriends, or whatever?" Helena frowned.
"Flooding the rank devalues the House." Narcissa explained. "A House with ten girlfriends and no concubines? It means a Lord who is weaker than his women — his reputation plummets."
Helena shook her head. "I didn't know all this rank stuff was so important."
"It is and it isn't." Narcissa said. "But there are some girls who wouldn't even consider Harry, because they know they'll be bottom of the barrel, whatever he promises, because he'll have so many options. A different House, they could be more respected."
Daphne clicked her fingers. "But a Witch's Devotion ceremony, where I introduce you…"
"A presentation of what House Potter has to offer." Narcissa muttered, gnawing on her lip.
"His sexual prowess." Apolline teased.
"Granger or someone can show off the wealth she has, how well treated she is." Daphne said dismissively. "How many books she has access to."
"You're only offering this to further diminish me." Narcissa accused. "So even the fucking peasants can see what I've become."
"Yes." Daphne admitted, smiling wickedly. "Isn't it unfortunate that this is best for Harry, too?" She shrugged. "I could spend my wedding night alone with him, of course. Perhaps he'll breed me, so we can start rebuilding his house."
Narcissa's cold blue eyes flashed dangerously. "You know I'll do what's best for him."
"As will I." Daphne cocked her head. "Why do you think I'm here? As the future Lady Black, I didn't appreciate being sidelined at Christmas. I'm here to integrate," Her lips twisted sourly. "If I must. This is me, showing you what a wife can offer."
"A sex show for Mudbloods." Narcissa spat, the slur slipping from her lips.
"I'll leave the invitation list to you." Daphne rose. "I'll see myself out."
The flames sparked green as she vanished.
"Snake whore." Narcissa spat.
"We don't need to do it, Mother." Helena said worriedly.
"Ze serpent is not wrong." Apolline said. "'Arry would benefit, oui. The girls will see him in all his glory. They'll see he is an unmatched lover. They'll see 'Ermione being well fed and wealthy. They'll see a luxury home."
Cissy put her head in her hands. "And they'll see that I'm not a threat to them. Not a wife in all but name, but a well-collared whore." She groaned.
"'Arry would have to dominate you in front of them." The French witch agreed amiably. "All of your holes, non?"
Narcissa squirmed. "You are such an irritating whore, Apolline." Her insult had no bite, so the Veela only giggled.
"You would like zat, Cissy. Your derriere being fucked in front of everyone."
Narcissa bit her lip, her fingers sliding up her leg, hesitating on the hem on her dress.
"Mother!" Helena said, shocked. "Really?"
"This is the fate of a Mistress." Narcissa told her daughter resignedly. "But I must admit, while I don't want the public humiliation, Harry would enjoy my downfall…"
"But Mother, everyone will see!" Helena whispered.
"It's not right, or proper." The Malfoy matriarch agreed, looking listless. "I don't know how it came to this."
"Harry." Apolline and Helena said together, snickering.
"Where is he, anyway?" Narcissa grumped. "I miss him."
"If he's not exploring a shared mindscape in preparation for Chang, he's messing around in the past." Helena explained sourly.
Narcissa poked at a loose thread on her dress, scowling. "I don't like all this time business. It makes me think there's a timeline out there where I'm not his, where all this didn't happen."
"If there is, 'Arry would change it." Apolline assured. "He loves you, zat is obvious."
Narcissa gave her a grateful smile. "You're still an irritating whore."
"And you are still a stuckup putain." Apolline had a sparkle in her eyes.
###
Lucius Malfoy entered his family manor with a sigh. Above the front door, he tapped the plaque for good luck, as he did every time. The plaque inscribed the family's motto. Sanctimonia Vincet Semper. Purity Will Always Conquer.
Every time he tapped it, he remembered his cause and his mission. The promise he'd made his dear departed Father.
Purity will always conquer, but not, Lucius reflected, without a lot of hard work. It was worth it, but the stress was serious, from the many orders that his Lord gave him and the never ceasing pressure from his fellow Death Eaters, all eager to climb the ranks.
His home should have been his salvation from the work, but not with crying children and a cold wife. Narcissa had done her child-birthing duty and, her obligations complete, had abandoned any attempt at marital affection.
That was fine.
It was easier, in a way.
Lucius didn't need to pretend to be a good husband either.
As he'd commanded, a house elf greeted him with a pop. An ugly thing, tennis ball green eyes peering out of his pillowcase uniform.
"Sir, sir! Dobby welcomes you back."
Lucius resisted the urge to kick it. Last time, he'd hurt his own foot. Instead, he looked at the creature expectedly.
"Sir, the Lady is in the garden, Master. The children are asleep in their cots." Dobby hung his head.
"Good." Lucius grunted. "Fetch me some wine."
Dobby gave a frightened sort of giggle.
Lucius sighed. "Yes, Dobby? What is it?"
The elf's glassy orbs shined, his bat ears quivering. "Sir told Dobby to notify him of s-strange things in the home."
"Something happened? Someone…came?"
Dobby clutched his pillowcase tightly, shuddering. "A wizard, so strong, so mysterious!" He let out a keening wail.
Lucius fingered his wand. "At the ward's end?"
Dobby's eyes looked at him mournfully. "In the house!"
He frowned. "My wife invited another—"
"No!" Dobby hit himself in the face. "Stupid Dobby isn't explaining right. H-he came through the wards, Dobby saw it all. He came through the wards — so powerful, so strong — and he threatened the Lady."
Lucius felt his blood run cold. This was what he'd feared. The other Death Eaters were after his position. "D-did you get a good look at him? His name?"
Dobby shook his head wildly. "Dobby did not, Dobby is sorry." He let out a wail. "And the Lady is so upset and scared, she ordered Dobby not to speak about it." He hit himself. "Bad Dobby!"
"Get me the wine." Lucius said softly.
A man in his home. How dare he? His ancestral home, invading the space of his wife and children.
A man so powerful he could penetrate the wards. New wards. How he could defend against such a thing?
His feet walked softly on the carpet as he walked through his manor to the room they'd set up the baby's cots. There they were, sleeping softly, holding hands with one another, fingers so small and pale that you could almost see through them.
The little dragon.
And the little princess.
Lucius clutched onto the wooden cot so hard that it creaked. His head was thundering. He swallowed repeatedly, because something threatened to rise from his throat.
His children lay below, but he saw only what could be.
The Death Eaters were competing for their Lord's favor, and there were no rules. There was only power and weakness.
Carrow had fucked Karkaroff's girlfriend when the man was on a mission, purely to irritate him. Rosier had planted disgusting young pornography in Jugson's home, and then called the Aurors, just for his own amusement. Avery had booby-trapped Yaxley's home to try and sabotage him — Yaxley's wife had her leg mauled by a bear trap.
The Dark Lord approved of it all — his minions fighting for his favour appealed to his ego. Lucius hadn't kept his hands clean — he'd done terrible things to become his Master's right hand.
But his Lord's temperament was fiery, his favour fickle. He was recruiting heavily, plying pureblood powerhouses with money and magic, promises of power and freedom. He'd already recruited the Lestranges, but Lucius knew he was trying for Bellatrix Black.
He stared down at his son and daughter.
"I won't always be his favourite." Lucius murmured. How could he keep them safe from the sick minds of his colleagues? His Lord and he walked the path of the righteous, the pure path, but the tools they had to use…
They were sick. Murder and rape to instill fear, because radical change required such tools.
Draco cooed up at him, a smile with no teeth. His son would be safe — they wouldn't dare touch his heir, not when they had heirs of their own.
Helena blinked through startling eyes of gray and blue. Like her mother, she'd be a beauty.
A target - for Rosier or Carrow to take, taint, threaten. Or would it be Greyback? He knew what the wolf liked to do to children.
Who among them could penetrate wards?
Lucius bent over, holding his stomach, willing the contents to stay down.
"I'm sorry, little princess." He murmured. "But I can still keep you safe. I'll put you in a good school. One day, it'll be safe to return. Purity will always conquer, in the end."
Helena giggled.
He heard the garden doors slide open and closed. The clink of the plastic watering can. The exhale of breath that Narcissa did to blow away the hair that stuck to her face.
She wouldn't understand.
He'd have to visit the others, anyone that had come to the home. The house elves too.
"Lucius?" Narcissa called out. She'd be easier than the others — he'd left a mind-weakening rune on the inside of her wedding ring. Malfoy tradition, so the husband could ensure a wife would forget his indelicacies.
This was the right course of action, he told himself again.
"I'm in here!"
He counted her steps.
She wouldn't understand.
But a Malfoy does what he has to for power.
Her shadow in the doorway.
He turned, wand in hand.
"Obliviate."