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"Peppermint Toads." Tonks tapped her foot impatiently as the shadowy gargoyle rumbled to one side. "Can you not move any faster?" She muttered.
The gargoyle stared down imperiously.
"Of course not." She pushed open the door.
"Ah, Nymphadora." The twinkle in the Headmaster's eyes died as she marched in the room. "You bring news?"
Tonks was too worked up to sit down, pacing back and forth. "You were right." She bit her lip. "There's something odd going on with Harry."
"Go on." Dumbledore steepled his hands. "You were at Lord Chang's Lunar New Year party?"
She blew the pink hair from her fringe. "Got a plus one from a creepy Ministry guy that works with Chang's wife, but I left him after ten minutes to work as a waitress. You know how hard it is to morph this into a background Chinese cutie?" She blabbered, pointing at herself. "I'm not meant to get that short."
"Admirable talent, I'm sure."
Tonks stopped suddenly and gripped the back of the wooden chair. "They disappeared into the cigar lounge after dinner, he and Narcissa."
The Headmaster wrinkled his nose. "Standard etiquette, I understand."
"Yeah, yeah." Tonks waved her hand dismissively. "I've heard the rumors, sounds like a real den of grossness. Whatever, my point is, an hour or two later, what do I see?"
Dumbledore waited patiently.
"Daphne Greengrass, sneaking that Hermione Granger girl in, and get this?" She crossed her arms. "The mother of that Veela girl, the slutty one from the Tournament."
"Apolline Delacour?" Dumbledore frowned. "You're certain."
"Dead certain. I've seen her before." She sniffed. "You don't forget a face like that. Or, y'know, her chest."
The Headmaster looked troubled, stroking his beard. "This may be worse than I thought, then." He sighed loudly. "Oh, Harry, what have you done?"
"What'd you mean?"
Dumbledore stood and walked to the window that watched out over the lakes and grounds. "It beggared belief that Lady Malfoy would submit to become a Mistress of young Harry's, but I wrote it off as a power hungry witch clinging to Harry's growing power."
"Gold digger finds gold." Tonks summed it up.
"Aptly put, though I wouldn't say it quite like that." Dumbledore fidgeted, his hands behind his back. "A discerning woman choosing the winning side early enough to benefit."
"That's more charitable." Tonks muttered.
"Miss Granger's affections have long been obvious." He continued. "And Miss Greengrass's presence can be explained by a marriage offer, one supposes." He turned, his gaze piercing. "But Apolline Delacour?"
One MILF, fine. Two MILFs, no chance. Tonks thought absurdly.
Dumbeldore shook his head, his beard swaying with him. "A sophisticated Veela, a powerful player in France, a woman who's already married into power, throwing her family and life away for a teenager?" He tutted. "Harry, my boy, what have you done?" He repeated.
Tonks frowned. "So I'm right, right? It's shady. You think he's gone to the dark side? Are they under the Imperius or, or—" She snapped her fingers. "They are gifts from the Dark Lord!"
The Headmaster took his glasses off and rubbed at them with a rainbow-colored cloth. "I believe he's on our side." He paused. "I misspeak. He's on his side, which thankfully happens to be overlaid over our own." He reached out to stroke Fawkes' plumage, who gave a mournful cry.
"But his astonishing power," He said quietly. "The change in his behavior…the affection of these accomplished women?"
"It's not natural." Tonks finished.
"It can't be. It just can't be." Dumbledore murmured.
A chilling breeze of fear filled the young Metamorphmagus from seeing the Headmaster so devastated. Just how powerful was Harry Potter? Dumbledore looked like he'd taken a lethal blow.
Tonks shivered. Even with the fear, it felt like there was a potion bubbling in her stomach, excitement tinged with churning acid. She'd discovered this, just like she'd been asked to. She was working with the Albus Dumbledore on a conspiracy that she'd unturned.
"So what are we going to do?" She heard herself ask.
The Headmaster slowly walked to his chair and sat down heavily, looking very much like an old man. "I fought a war once, Nymphadora, and I won."
Tonks stared uncomprehendingly. Everyone knew that Dumbledore had stopped Grindelwald — it was the reason he was famous.
He looked at up her through his half-moon glasses. There was no twinkle in his eyes. "Do you know how you win a war, my girl?"
She stayed silent, her throat dry.
He gave her a pained smile. "You ask good people to do terrible things. To throw their lives away, to put themselves in danger, to enter situations you would never put yourself." His fingers rubbed subconsciously onto the circular tea stain on his desk, but it was a stain left long ago, one he couldn't remove. "One of the unspoken horrors of war."
Tonks cleared her throat. "I-I believe in you, Headmaster. You don't ever need to ask, you know? I've seen what that bitch L-Lestrange has done to people, what seeing her fall did to my mum."
Dumbledore looked at her plaintively. "I need to know what Harry's done. The source of his power." He took in the paintings around his office, the great wizards and witches of old. "All power comes at a cost and I fear his cost comes slowly, corrupting him, changing him. If I know how he has it, I can counteract it, I can help him."
"And if that doesn't work?" Tonks said, her voice so low that she thought for a moment he hadn't heard her.
The reply came after a long pause. "Then I can use the knowledge of his power to defeat him, if it comes to that." He stared at her with unflinching intensity. "With your help, it won't ever come to that."
"He's…" She fiddled with her hands in her lap. Sitting in front of the Professor, she'd become a child again. "He's that important? He's worth all this?"
The Headmaster leaned forward, peering over his long crooked nose. "Allow me to be clear. Harry Potter is the most important figure in this war, more than the Dark Lord, more than me. It is absolutely imperative that he does not fall, in health or in morality."
Tonks studied him and saw the truth in his words. This was it — the one true mission she'd been waiting for. The chance to do good on a world-changing scale. "You're asking me to get close to him? There's no other way to figure out the source of his power. You know that."
His soul-piercing eyes looked down, hidden. "I am too ashamed to ask it of you, Nymphadora, so I will say nothing at all."
Tonks trembled. She knew what he wanted. She knew what she needed to do. It'd been something she was afraid of, ever since she joined the Ministry.
Use your body.
Use your powers.
A Metamorphmagus was unique from other witches in only one important way.
Her body could become any body so her body could attract anybody.
She'd done undercover work in seedy places, but she'd never been asked to do this.
Under the covers work. The other Aurors had joked about it.
"You need do nothing, and I would still think of you the same." Dumbledore said quietly. "You can walk away and we will never speak of this again."
"You don't need to say anything." She replied hurriedly. She smirked at him. "Leave it to Tonks, yeah?"
"I've always preferred to call you Nymphadora. It's a beautiful name. Your mother named you for a reason." The old man said, his smile limp.
Tonks thought on that for a moment. Behind the Headmaster, a cloudy Foe-Mirror was angled just enough that she could see her own blurry reflection.
A pink-haired schoolgirl, skirt to her knee, her chest as small as it could go, because she didn't want a backache, because she didn't want the Headmaster thinking poorly of her. Outside this office, she'd become Dora Tomkins again, clumsy and popular, long legs, curvy in all the right places, glossy hair a rainbow of mauve and teal and peachy-pink.
She clenched her hands and she became that girl on the spot. Her breasts grew to strain her buttons. Her heels pushed through the carpet as her legs grew, the skirt climbing dangerously.
Tonks made herself fuckable, because that's what the mission was. She made herself fuckable because Dumbledore had asked it of her, in his own way.
The Headmaster looked bereft, head in his hands. "My girl…"
"Don't worry, Professor." She stood and straightened her skirt. Her lips twitched. Her spirit was unbreakable — she'd fought through Hogwarts, through the Auror academy. She'd get through this too, with a smile on her face. "Like you said, there's a reason my mother named me Nymphadora." She cocked her hip out and tossed back her hair. "And some things are best done by a woman."
"He's…be careful, please." He said quietly, unable to look her in the eyes. "You'll be okay, won't you?"
Tonks shrugged as she made her way to the door, tottering on high heels. "Dark wizard, chosen one, boy-who-lived — he's still just a man. And men all want the same thing. And old Tonksie? I can become that thing. I'll find out where his power is coming from." She promised.
She closed the door behind her. The gargoyle shut and left her at the top of the cold, dark, stairwell. Alone, her bravado suddenly seemed silly.
"You can do this." She murmured to herself. For a second, she wondered if Harry would even want her. "Pssh," She snorted. "Who am I kidding? They all want the same thing."
###
Harry wasn't sure what he wanted. He could tear Hannah's struggling white blouse off and pump her tits until they were covered in his load. But then there was Daphne, cross-armed and scowling — he could spin her round, bend her over the bed and bury himself in her hot puckered-tight asshole.
But Hermione looked so inviting too, her velvet red Victorian skirt down to her ankles, ruffled and heavy. He could make her hold it up for him, both hands holding it by her chest while he took her against the wall, long hard pumps into her tiny creamy pussy.
That was why he'd brought all three of them to the Room of Requirement. He wanted it all.
Their escapades into Chang's dreamland had affected him a lot. He kept hearing voices he didn't know, seeing memories not his own. A lady whispered meaningless Cantonese when he put his head on the pillow, and when he woke up, he understood something of her cries.
He stared at his dinner in the Great Hall, a steak and ale pie, and wished it were something he remembered eating. Ants climbing a tree, they'd called it, mince beef and bean noodles, the tiny bits of meat stuck to the noodles, like ants climbing a tree.
But Harry had never eaten it, and he didn't know who they were who named it such.
The mind-world was creeping up on him. To escape it, to bury himself in reality, he'd buried himself in his girls.
Literally.
He'd demanded Helena call sick from Durmstrang and spent hours fucking her hard on the living room chaise, from behind, from below, on top, everywhere. Her enticing little ass had turned a lovely rosy red, so hard were his thrusts, his thumb nudging her new buttplug whenever he wanted to hear her whimper.
Eventually, she'd escaped back to Durmstrang, bow-legged and exhausted.
Cissy had required a lot of comforting, upset over having to cast the Cruciatus at him to wake him from the mindscape. She'd rode him to completion in the bathtub, splashing the water over the brim with each needy rock of her hips. Then, she'd insisted on baking him a 'Welcome back to reality' cake.
He left his handprints in the flour on her asscheeks, and gave her a deep deposit of frosting for good measure.
But even in the pleasures of sex, he found his mind wandering. It came suddenly and without warning. He'd been graciously allowing Apolline to worship his cock and balls, enjoying her slow languid licks up and down his shaft, before gurgling one ball and then the other.
The next second, he'd started screaming at her in Cantonese, before roughly snatching her hair and using it to face-fuck her, until her tears mixed with her running eyeliner and his precum, a cosmetic cum cocktail. When she'd recovered from his choking thrusts, she wiped the cum from her eyes, snorted the jizz from her nostrils, and told him he'd been smirking like Tom Riddle.
Apolline had been quite thrilled with the rough treatment — but he wasn't. Not when it came on like a light switch, flicked by a stranger's fingers. Whatever he'd accomplished in Chang's mindscape, his mind was even more of a mess than before.
The only way out of it, Harry figured, was more power.
More girls.
He'd set up a meeting with the Patels — Cissy had said he needed to do a meet-the-family dinner before he started demanding his reward. She was probably right, but he was eager for the twin cunts of the two beautiful Indian girls.
What man did not wish for the fantasy of twins? He wondered who'd scream louder. Parvati was loud at the best of times, but Padma had hidden depths.
Marie had asked to come over to satiate his beastly lusts, but Harry had reluctantly declined. Fleur was on a strict no-Potter diet, a complete cut-off for the jizz fix she craved, and he didn't even want her getting a sniff of his load dribbling down Marie's thigh.
With Helena escaped to the continent, Cissy and Apolline already thoroughly besmirched, that left only his Hogwarts girls.
Which was why he'd called all three of them to the Room of Requirement, though none of them looked particularly pleased to have competition.
Completely naked, Harry stroked his cock as he took them in. He wasn't in the mood for messing around.
Hannah held her hands behind her and thrust her impressive chest forward. "I could relieve you much more easily without these smaller witches, Harry."
Daphne glared. "I thought you'd called me here for an emergency, Harry. I'm not a Knockturn Alley whore you can just snap your fingers at, you know."
Hermione's bushy brows drew together. "You don't know I don't feel comfortable sharing you, Harry, and this is hardly romantic—"
"Enough." Harry snapped. "I don't care. Do I look like I need to hear from the whole theatre? I need to get off, now."
The girls were stunned into silence. The only sound in the room was his own heavy breathing.
He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'm sorry. I…there's a lot going on in here." He tapped his temple. "And the only way I can escape the chaos is with you."
Hannah looked at Daphne. Daphne looked at Hermione. They said nothing.
Daphne cleared her throat, her chin raised high. She looked more beautiful than ever today, her golden hair in a princess braid, elaborately decorated with pink petals. Everything about her was arch — arched eyebrows, arched cheekbones, straight back, perfect posture.
The pureblood princess, but for the taint he'd left inside of her — with just a wiggle of his wand, he activated the vibrating rune on the emerald plug inside her ass. And just like that, her pristine visage fell away — she bit her glossy pink lips, her cheeks matching the hue.
Daphne, the dichotomy. Pleasure and propriety fighting for control. Dominance and submission.
She looked at the other girls dismissively. "Well? Harry has asked for you. Such disobedience. When I'm his wife, I'll have to instill more discipline in them."
Hannah gaped. "You literally just said the same thing we did—"
Daphne tutted, swishing her wand to cast a neat localized Flipendo that simply pushed forcefully against the back of Hannah's knees, forcing her to the floor, her head lining up with Harry's cock. The Slytherin girl roughly grabbed Hannah's high pigtails to force her forward onto his shaft.
Harry exhaled in pleasure as he was enveloped in her hot tight mouth and down her throat. Hannah choked and spluttered, but Daphne was unrelenting.
"Oh, look, Harry," she said. "This one comes with handles." She yanked Hannah further down his cock, ignoring the girl's suffocating gurgles and bulging eyes.
"Oh, really!" Hermione huffed. "Harry, you know I'm more than happy to assist you but I really don't feel comfortable with her—"
"Have you ever thought about not offering your opinions?" Daphne suggested idly.
"Harry values what I have to say, not just my body. I realise that's unusual for you—"
Daphne snorted, her wand at work again. Hermione's knees clapped onto the carpet of the bedroom the Room of Requirement had conjured.
"No, stop—mmmph!" Hermione gasped as her bushy hair was grabbed roughly and she was forced onto Harry's spit-glistening cock. Hannah spluttered for air, holding her throat.
"Look, he's valuing you." Daphne taunted.
Harry barely listened to the girls fighting. He just needed this. The balm of sexual pleasure to quieten the chaos in his head. Hermione's throat was vice-tight, gripping his cock firmly. And as she choked, she milked his cock. Her tongue accidentally licked his flesh as she reached for breaths.
Even angry and choking, she was beautiful, dark eyes flashing. He couldn't help but thrust, her head held firmly by Daphne's hand in her hair, mindlessly searching for the closing tightness of her gullet, for the sensation of her lips against his groin.
"I think you should get deeper." Daphne insisted, pushing Hermione's face even forward.
"Gagh—" Hermione sputtered.
Harry took it all in, his balls heating up.
The glurk-glurk-glurk as her throat was drilled, her lips stretched obscenely, strings of saliva flowing from the sides of her mouth. Hermione's eyes were wide and shocked, because he usually let her suck him slowly, lovingly.
This was rough, fast, wet. Her dribble mixing with his frothy precum, his balls slapping against her chin, his pace unrelenting.
Harry probably would have fucked her face to completion, but Daphne had other ideas.
She let go of Hermione's hair and stalked to the bed, laying down on her back, propped up on the pillows. Her satin blouse unbuttoned to show a lacy black bra, pushing up creamy breasts. She shimmied her skirt down, tugging it down past her heels.
Harry stared at her lower half — she wore sheer, shining black pantyhose, from her waist to her toes. Daphne looked incredible.
The tearing sound was loud. The blonde beauty looked at him through lidded eyes, her hands holding each side of the hole in her newly crotchless pantyhose.
"Thank you for warming him up." She said, her voice low and sultry. "But Harry really needs his wife now."
Hermione and Hannah stared back at Daphne, then looked at each other with incredulous eyes. They had an unspoken conversation in a single second, but Harry was already moving past them.
He needed more.
He needed to get off.
Hannah brushed his side. "Here, I'll line him up for you." Her hand stroked his dripping cock, keeping him hot and hard.
Daphne sniffed, somehow still imperious even lying on the bed, her fingers gently working through her lower lips, her plug glinting in the light between her cheeks. "It's all you're good for."
Hermione rushed to the bed. "I'll hold your legs open for him." She said nicely, spreading Daphne's thighs.
The manipulative Slytherin fluffed her hair behind her. "You can clean up, if I decide to be nice." She said snottily.
Harry knee-climbed onto the bed, led by Hannah's firm stroking hand.
Daphne stroked her pussy with a long, manicured finger. "Come take me, Harry. I know you need it."
His cock throbbed at the apex of her thighs, ready to pound her into oblivion.
Hermione smiled mischievously. "From what I hear, Greengrass, this isn't your favorite position."
"What?" Daphne snapped.
It happened in a flash. Hermione grabbed Daphne's plug and wrenched it free, as Hannah pushed Harry forward.
Into Daphne's open asshole.
All the way.
Her scream was loud and shrill, her ass suddenly full of his massive thick cock, buried up to the balls.
Harry groaned in pleasure — her ass was so hot and tight, and her wriggling squirms made it all the more. Hannah and Hermione held her down as she shrieked and quivered.
"Oof, that looks painful." Hannah said idly, examining the gaping stretch of Daphne's extended rosebud.
Hermione smirked up at Harry. "Let out all your stress on her, love."
He didn't need telling. He took hold of each of her long hosiery-clad legs and began using her, hard. The bed shook, her thick assflesh clapping loudly with the sheer force of his thrusts.
Daphne cried and squirmed, but she was pinned. Not just by the girls, but by his huge dick, balls deep up her tight teenage asshole.
"Oh, fuck!" She groaned. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."
Hannah took hold of the girl's peachy, otherworldly, asscheeks, and held them tightly, keeping her in place for Harry's unrelenting cock. "Look, she comes with handles." She grinned.
"So fucking good." He muttered, his eyes half-closed.
"I think you should get deeper." Hermione quipped. She took Daphne's high legs and folded them back and over, until they were next to her ears.
Daphne was folded in two and beautifully helpless. Hannah yanked the girl's black bra down, so her tits jiggled for him, pink nipples hard.
"Yes—" Harry muttered, roughly groping Daphne's tits. He used them as a handlehold to start hard, powerful strokes, his groin slapping against her asscheeks.
"So full!" She screamed incoherently, her eyes dazed. She was a quivering mess - toes curling, ass clamping down on his cock, as if to stop him from thrusting so powerfully.
Her pussy squirted clear juices, high and flowing, splashing against his chest.
"Merlin, she loves it." Hannah said in amazement.
"And she acts so high and mighty." Hermione added. She dipped her head down for a closer look. "It's so…stretched." She observed. "It doesn't look like it should be possible, because Harry has such girth. It's very—"
"Hot as fuck?" Hannah suggested.
"Lewd." Hermione finished. She pursed her lips. "I know we've talked about those little plug things, Harry, but I don't think I can go any further." She wrinkled her nose as Daphne's cunt creamed once more. "Not all of us are built for such shamelessness."
Daphne's head rolled around limply. "I can't, I can't, I can't—" She cried.
Harry wasn't listening to any of it — pistoning furiously into her asshole, reaming her out with no quarter given.
Hannah snapped her fingers. "It reminds me of Neville trying to Transfigure that teacup into a rat."
Hermione grimaced at the memory. "That thing got skewered by the whole handle."
Daphne moaned, her hair stuck to her skin.
"You hear that, Daph?" Harry groaned, bending over her as he rammed her. "You still in there?"
"She hears us." Hannah said with satisfaction. "She can hear us laughing about her getting skewered. What did Apolline call her? An anal slut?"
"Maybe it's a Slytherin thing." Hermione wondered. "A predisposition towards sexual masochism, because of the displays of dominance and power dynamics inherent in that House."
"Or maybe…" Hannah sang. "She's just a whore." She smirked as she used her fingers to swipe up the frothy cum seeping out of Daphne's plugged asshole and fed it to the girl's open mouth.
Hermione wrung her fingers. "S-she does deserve this, doesn't she? She's so mean!"
The Hufflepuff squinted. "Really, Hermione? I heard her telling McLaggen that Harry was renting you out for ten Galleons."
"What?!" Hermione's face went red. "This b-bitch!" She reached out and gently slapped Daphne's breast.
Hannah looked at her pitifully. "Oh, girl…"
"What?" She said defensively. "I can be meaner." She hesitated and then took hold of Daphne's hard pink nipple before twisting it hard. Daphne shrieked, her body arching up, her pussy squirting more. "She likes everything!" Hermione huffed.
"Shut her up, she's so shrill." Hannah complained.
"With what-oh." Hermione realized she was still holding Daphne's plug in her hand. "But, I mean, that can't be hygienic—"
"Do it!"
"Okay, okay!" She jammed it into Daphne's mouth, who gurgled and glared but could do nothing. "You deserve this." She told her firmly.
Harry grunted, pounding lustfully. The girls sensed he was getting closer. Hannah slid to his side, pressing her chest against him, pulling her blouse down to reveal her mammoth milky tits. "Fill her ass, Master." She whispered. "She's such a mean snake, she needs to be taught a lesson, doesn't she?"
He groaned in agreement.
"She told me that she was going to install stocks at your new manor, so I could be milked every morning." She pouted.
Hermione came to his other side, her hand dropping to knead his heavy balls. "She told me that she was going to train House Elves to read, so I wouldn't be needed." She growled. "Fuck her so hard she can't walk for a week."
Harry didn't think he could go any harder. Daphne's stretched ring was gripped around the very base of his dick. He had to grip her arms and pull her close to stop her from being pushed away with the sheer force of his pumps.
Her eyes rolled back and then returned, unfocused gaze returning to shock, as if realizing she was still getting fucked in the ass.
"Yesh, fuushck." She said around her plug-gag.
"Make him cum, snake-whore." Hannah bit out, reaching out to thumb Daphne's clit.
It was a live wire chain reaction. Daphne came with shocking intensity, her whole body arching fiercely. Tears dripped from her blue eyes, her braid came undone, saliva dribbling from her plugged mouth. Toes curled against her ears, her legs shook, her gooey cunt quivered and spurted a flood of her honey, her asshole twitched.
The twitch undid him — he unloaded deep inside her, unleashing a torrent of cum. He filled her with more cum that he thought possible, riding the wave of pleasure, until his jizz seeped from the sides of her stretched asshole, her stomach distended.
He collapsed on top of her, breathing hard.
Hermione peered over his shoulder. "She's still alive, right?"
Hannah slid open Daphne's eyelid. "I think she's breathing."
"Wow." Hermione shivered, rubbing his back. Her tone had a tinge of awe. "That was…you're never like that with me."
"I think that's what you call a hate-fuck." Hannah giggled.
Harry moaned senselessly and shakily pulled out of the poor girl. A gush of fluids followed his cock.
"I probably shouldn't have done that to her." He murmured, looking down at his Daphne and her gaping asshole. It wasn't her fault she was a scheming, mean snake. It was in her nature.
She was a good girl for taking his cock in her behind like that. It can't have been easy.
And with his cum oozing from her behind, it reminded him that his other girls hadn't been so brave, not yet.
He'd have to get them used to the forbidden hole…he wanted them all, in every way. That was love, wasn't it?
"She deserved it." Hannah crossed her arms. "Can you believe she thought she could lever me around with my pigtails? I mean, the nerve—"
Harry reached out and took a firm hold of one pigtail.
"Harry, what—"
He brought her down onto the bed and strongarmed her into Daphne's stretched hole, pushing her mouth into the river of thick cum.
"Gaaa—" Hannah said, but that was a mistake, because now her mouth was open, taking in his seed, his taste on her tongue. She began to slurp noisily, her fingers spreading Daphne's cheeks. The drooling girl didn't even react, dead to the world.
"Harry!" Hermione admonished gently. "What's gotten into you?"
Harry glanced at her and grinned. It was what had gotten out of him that mattered — all the voices in his head, the memories of China and food and family, the things he didn't understand.
"Sorry about treating you like a toy." He said earnestly. He pulled her closer, wrapping in a half-hug. "You know I love you, right?"
Hermione slapped his chest, exasperated. "I do know. After all, I've been in your head." She said, cheeks glowing. "I'm your safe place, aren't I?"
"You are." He agreed. "And my sexy place, too." He looked down at his filthy cock, practically white. "Clean me up?" He said hopefully.
Hermione grimaced. "But it's been inside her—"
"Please? Pretty please with a Fizzing Whizzbee on top?"
She sighed and kissed his cheek. "Harry James Potter, you are officially spoiled. I do expect better, you know."
"I'll be better." He promised instantly.
"No, you won't." She nuzzled his nose. "But I'll love you anyway." She sank to her knees. "This is disgusting, really." Despite her words, she began tentative laps of his cock.
Harry stroked her hair affectionately, her laps turning to licks, then slurping to sucking. Hannah guzzled away at the waterfall of jizz from Daphne's slowly-closing asshole, making delightful whimpers and moans along the way. Daphne, for her part, drooled into the pillow.
He grinned to himself. It was good to back. Why live in the mind when the reality was so fucking good?
###
Voldemort was ready for another reality. The reality of the past, decades ago, before he'd made the mistakes which had disfigured him and wasted so many years.
The hourglass was full of men's blood. Many men, it turned out — experiments never worked the first time.
But the hourglass had been pleased, finally — it recessed into the sandstone pedestal, and once recessed, it opened.
The ley line. Access to magic most pure, enough to power anything.
Any spell would break past the limits of its construction, while he stood in the power of the ley line.
But the Dark Lord only needed one spell. He'd visited the memory a thousand times, watching his duel against Harry Potter underneath the Ministry.
He'd watched the boy's lips form, reading the movement of his mouth to understand the incantation he'd used. Clearly, it had to be a spell inversion.
It was risky, but all avenues to power were. If he used the same spell the boy had used, standing in a equivalent ley line, and held the spell for the exact same amount of time as the boy did…
His wand came up as the brilliant river of white dust poured into him. "Hatshepsut alhayaa altarjie ankh-sut."
His eyes narrowed in concentration. Thunder in his ears, sparks in his vision. He could taste blood on his lips.
One second.
Someone was screaming.
Three seconds.
His head pounded, split. He had the image of a watermelon cut in two, suddenly, strangely.
Nine seconds.
The pain was unprecedented.
But it was time. He cut the spell. He opened his eyes…and saw out of four eyes.
Two visions of the same space. But in one, the tomb was dusty, empty, cold. And crucially, it held none of the blood-drained husks of his other visions.
He'd gone back in time. And yet he still remained in the present. Was this what Harry Potter had done?
Was this failure or fortune?
One step with four feet. He was unsteady, shaking. The stone tomb became his walking aid.
He had to know.
Had he gone back in time?
This could be his greatest achievement. The ability to fix his mistakes in the past, to eliminate his enemies, and enjoy the fruits in the future. He would be indomitable.
The magic he could research with his stolen years returned to him. The power he could attain.
All his dreams suddenly seemed so close he could touch them, as sure as the rough sandstone, thousands of years old.
He had to know.
He was drained of power and energy, but had enough for this. One Apparition, to meet the one person who could tell him for sure what year he was in and whether a green-eyed stranger had appeared recently.
His greatest supporter.
His eardrums were forced into his skull, his eyeballs pushed back in his head. Apparition hurt without his usual amount of magic to fuel it, and international Apparition all the more so.
But he appeared where he wanted. The blades of grass were cut short, because Narcissa kept her home maintained. He could smell the freshly-cut grass even now.
In front of him, the glorious truth. The Abraxan stables were still being built, a pile of lumber being stacked up. In the distance, across the garden pond, Lady Malfoy herself, the picture of youthful beauty, in a blue and gold sundress. With her wand, she drew sparks in the air, red and blue to amuse the little dragon himself. The baby on the blanket in the grass.
He'd done it.
"Yes." He said to himself, the coil of ecstasy growing within him. He'd done it.
He'd not just conquered magic. He'd conquered time.
It was better than the immortality of the Horcruxes. That granted him a forever, but this? This ensured a forever of power, of victory, of domination.
There was no enemy he could not conquer. There was no mistake he could not undo. His most loyal would not suffer in Azkaban. Lily Potter's sacrifice would not cost him his greatest years.
He dropped slowly to his knees, overcome with the magnitude of it all.
Harry Potter was the greatest thing to ever happen to him, the beacon to become greater.
He sucked in a deep breath of the brisk air. Even the air felt crisper, like magic itself was congratulating his achievement.
"It's so good to be back." Voldemort said to himself slowly. It had been humiliating to be humbled after his revival at the Tournament. To look so ugly when he'd once counted his face as one of his many weapons. To see the boy escape the revenge that was owed to him. To battle the boy and realize he fought like a man, and to be wounded for all eyes to see at Hogsmeade.
But no more.
"The child will never see me coming." He laughed darkly.
"Oh?" A shadow stretched over the grass, over him.
Voldemort smiled at the feeling of the man's magic. He would not admit it, but he had missed his efficient right hand. "Lucius, I have news—"
"I don't know how you got through my wards again, but it is a foolish man who returns to the scene of the crime, stranger." The man said dangerously.
Voldemort struggled to his feet. "Lucius, it is I—"
"And you will never come near my son again."
"No, wait!"
"Avada Kedavra!" The green glow smashed into him.
Green dissipated to a void of black, and for a long moment he was weightless, nothing.
He was a wisp, a soul without a body.
He blinked.
Through two eyes. He was once more in the tomb of dead, drained bodies. Once more in the present.
His heart pounded. Like a child, he held his hand to his chest, willing himself to control his emotions. His body was in agonizing pain, his magic torn in two, like his parchment in the hands of his bully at Hogwarts.
But he was alive.
"I'm alive." He said to make sure it was true. The fool Lucius had killed him in the past, but he wasn't finished. His everything was in agony, like he was hit by the reflected Killing Curse in Godric's Hollow again. But he was alive.
He crumpled next to the hourglass for a long time, holding his head.
It was painful to admit but he, Lord Voldemort, had made a mistake.
Time was a dangerous thing. He had no allies, none who'd recognize him. Could Harry Potter really be messing with it?
He'd seen no changes. His Death Eaters still served. Bellatrix obeyed. Nagini grew everyday.
Was the past a fountain of possibilities or an opportunity to make mistakes so grievous they could not be healed?
What had been his plans? If he'd seen the younger Voldemort, it would have changed the path he'd walked. Merlin, the younger Dark Lord probably would have killed him, accepting no equal, not even himself.
He smiled thinly to himself. He had been an arrogant young man.
Voldemort cycled his breath. He centered his mind and descended into it, entering a state of meditation.
Think. What do you want?
I want to conquer my foes.
That had been his mistake. He was so desperate to conquer the boy, to end the possibility of the foretold prophecy, that he'd been reckless.
Playing with time, the one thing that all wizards knew not to play with, on the chancing whim that the boy had done it too.
There was no need for it. Harry Potter was powerful, but far from invincible. Voldemort had watched his duel back, again and again.
The boy hesitated with every spell, his incantations exaggerated and careful, like he was performing them for the first time. Merlin, he looked like a Kneazle who'd awoken a Nundu half the time.
If Harry was in the past, Voldemort would find himself losing allies. Bellatrix dead, Nagini too.
The Dark Lord took a long, steadying breath. The ley line had closed. The pyramid was rumbling as it moved stone to stone, shifting tombs in an endless puzzle.
He could reopen it again, with enough blood. He could attempt once more to traverse time itself.
But his death had rattled him. Weakness — how he hated it.
Perhaps this time travelling was an avenue better explored in the future, when the boy was dealt with.
Harry Potter had already shown his source of power — and it wasn't time, but the conquest of the weaker sex.
His source of power…and his weakness.
The boy had his mother's faults — he loved.
It was exploitable.
In that love, he would plant a seed. A seed that would grow to poison and decay.
When he'd gathered his strength, he Apparated back to his stronghold. He swept over the stone floors, holding his head high.
He was weak and pained, but none could see it. Bellatrix bowed her head. Pettigrew squeaked. The other Death Eaters murmured respectful greetings.
The Dark Lord settled onto his throne. In the evening, he'd send for Severus and have him brew an array of healing potions.
But for now…
"Pettigrew!"
"Y-yes, my Lord." Pettigrew scurried over.
Voldemort grabbed the man's wrist and slid the sleeve up his arm. The Dark Mark glowed a glittering green, and when he pressed his wand to it, the snake in the skull's mouth hissed. "Amycus and Alecto." He ordered.
Pettigrew darted away, as if burned. Why were his servants so pitiful? It embarrassed him.
Soon, the Carrow siblings answered the call of the Dark Mark.
Amycus was an ugly squat man, his face doughy and pig-like. Alecto was little better, her shoulders stocky, fingers stubby. But Amycus had two daughters…
They knelt obediently. As they'd been trained, they looked up at him.
Voldemort slipped into the man's mind with practiced ease.
"Is it true, Amycus?" He said silkily. "That your daughters are of some beauty?"
Amycus paused, his mind whirling with confusion and fear. What could his Lord want with his daughters, he wondered?
Voldemort only wanted to see. The image of two girls in his mind. Twins of auburn hair, reddish brown or brownish red. They were fair indeed, undeniably beautiful. Theirs was a sharp beauty — sharp intelligent eyes, sharp sloping nose, sharp cheekbones that could cut a man, and a sharp chin to match.
They stood up straight and coiffed themselves as pureblood girls are wont to do. Slytherins in green-and-silver tartan skirts, knee-high white socks, shiny black buckled shoes, because ambitious girls at that age searched for any power they had, and quickly realized that their flesh was their greatest.
And, enticingly, there were two of them.
What man did not wish for the fantasy of twins?
Flora and Hestia Carrow.
"They have become beautiful young women, yes, my Lord." Amycus said hesitantly.
"It is time for them to join our cause, then, if they are now women."
Amycus paused for a long time. Alecto held herself very still. "As you wish, my Lord…I, so early, though?" He said quietly.
"They do not believe in our cause, then?"
The blood drained from the man's face. "I-I have raised them well, my Lord, they know what ails this world and how we'll fix it. I only mean, w-well, the Dark Mark…at Hogwarts, with Dumbledore?"
Voldemort smiled to himself. His magic lashed out within. His mind was splintered. His soul itself felt pained. But he had a plan…one that wouldn't risk anything of himself.
"Worry not, Carrows both. The stench of guilt still weighs heavy on you both, I see. For thirteen years, you two never came to the aid of your master, to whom you swore eternal loyalty, did you?"
The two siblings shivered.
"But now I, your merciful master, will offer you redemption. Your daughters will not take the Dark Mark. I have a very particular job for them, one which requires a slyness and wit that one must hope they received from your wife, Amycus." The Dark Lord said slowly, enjoying the delightful range of emotions that funneled across their Legilimency link.
"Ensure their obedience and success in this matter and you two will be well rewarded." He instructed. "Am I understood?"
"Yes, My Lord. Thank you, my Lord." The two scraped across the floor, prostrating.
"Begone."
When he was alone, Voldemort stroked his chin. Flora and Hestia remained in his mind — English roses, noble in blood.
Perfect.
Harry would enjoy them, until he got pricked by their thorns.
###
Mei Chang hummed as she plucked the dying petals from the flowers. Why, when she had a newborn baby, did people gift her flowers? Flowers could not help her sleep. Flowers could not stop her Cho from crying.
Flowers were useless.
And Mei Chang was a pragmatist at her core. It was why her country had chosen her, at such a young age. She did not dream. She did not cry. She simply dealt with the situation.
Many situations, it had turned out. The local official who liked children a little too much — Mei had created all the blackmail necessary.
The foreign dignitaries who were happy to speak English in the presence of the petite dim-witted girl who carried the fruit platter — the British Ministry never signed a worse trade deal.
The man sneaking dragons into Hong Kong and selling them to the Brits — they could not identify him by the ashes that were left.
Mei rose quickly and left when she could. She'd made a deal to protect the family she'd left behind. She'd paid her dues, earned her retirement, even if she was younger than most even started.
She had a new life now. And her new life included a husband who liked her to…prune flowers.
Wear perfume.
Dress like a woman.
And do all the other things expected of a wife.
It wasn't Mei, but it was love, of a sort, of the only kind she knew. Her husband was her salvation, a man from a powerful family. He'd keep her safe, in case her country ever came calling once again.
She cut a browning petal from the roses in the vase.
She was a pragmatist, after all.
An owl pecked at the window, a bouquet of white lilies in its talons.
"Oh, not another one." Mei sighed. She slid the window open. "Bit late, aren't you?"
The owl screeched in discontent and flew away.
This bouquet had a note with it.
Lady Chang,
It 's so important to protect one's family, especially when they are so far away, back home. If you ever get any pressure from the motherland, if you're ever worried about them, if you need some leverage, there is an owl waiting at Eeylops Owl Emporium. It is snowy and striped. Simply give it a note and it will find me.
I will give you freedom.
My price is low. It is not paid in Knuts or Galleons. It is not paid in eternal blackmail or tears, or funds funneled away from your back account.
My currency is nights, and I ask for only one.
Mei Chang swore, turning the note over and over. There was no clue as to who wrote it.
She glared after the owl that flew into the horizon. Who was this man? Who dared to propose such a thing to Lady Chang?
She ground her teeth together, her muscles tense.
Was it a trap set by her motherland? She'd always known they'd come back for her one day. An agent never got to live a free life, no matter what deal she'd made.
But she'd hoped for more time.
No.
This wasn't their style. This was someone else.
Footsteps on the kitchen tile behind her. She palmed the note into her bra as her husband came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist.
She smiled demurely as he kissed her cheek.
"Who are these from, bǎo bèi?" He rumbled.
"Oh, they didn't leave a note. Someone who forgot how long ago Cho was born, it seems." She laughed.
"Hopefully that's the last of them." He quipped, reaching past her to close the window.
"Keep it open." Mei said quickly.
Her husband looked at her knowingly. "Feeling the breeze of sweet freedom before the baby cries once more?"
She rolled her eyes, smirking. "She's in the crib, but we're in prison."
He chortled, patted her backside and left.
Mei took a heavy breath. The note was burning a hole against her heart.
Freedom.
That was what he offered.
She'd probably never need it.
It was probably a hoax.
But before she took the note out and burnt it with the tip of her wand, she recorded it to memory all the same.
Freedom was what her motherland would take away. Hers and her two families, back home and here.
She'd give anything — and do anything — to keep it.
She was a pragmatist, after all.