"Harry Potter!"
Dumbledore's shout made him almost curse out loud, but he held back, doing nothing more than stare ahead. He could feel the eyes of each person in the Great Hall on him, but his eyes were fixated on the small piece of parchment in Dumbledore's grasp.
He could not believe it. He had been having this sinking feeling all day long, that something wrong would happen. It always did on Halloween, and how could this year be any different?
Dumbledore was looking at him imploringly, asking with his eyes for him to get up and walk over to the chamber where the other three students had gone. However, his brain had frozen, and it failed to transmit the signal to his legs.
Listlessly, he walked forward. His mind was numb and his legs felt like jelly, often threatening to give away as he somehow reached the headmaster. Wordlessly, he took the parchment from the old wizard's hand, feeling his curious gaze on him. He was acutely aware of the hisses that erupted from all four house tables, somehow knowing just what would follow.
He pointedly ignored the looks the teachers gave him and felt McGonagall pat his back in a show of awkward consolation as he passed her. The noises of disgruntlement slowly rose as Harry crossed the threshold of the Great Hall, and the shout of 'CHEAT!' was the last thing he heard as the staircase became visible.
His mind was replaying the scene over and over as Harry walked down the stairs. He saw them standing alone – the three champions.
Cedric Diggory – the seeker for Hufflepuff and the only one who had managed to defeat him in the past three years, albeit with a little help from those Dementors. The young man had at least tried to have the match replayed, proving to him that he had more honor in his blood than most.
Diggory was well respected among the student populace apart from Slytherin. But then, those snakes were condescending toward everyone not from their house. At least that was the outward impression he had of the house as a whole. Any lack of personal interaction was bound to create such an image, and by the looks of it, they did not seem to do anything to contradict such a sentiment either.
The second figure standing by the fireplace was a bona fide celebrity. Viktor Krum – the seeker for the Bulgarian National Team and the Champion for Durmstrang. At first glance, there was nothing extraordinary about the young man. He was stocky, with short-cropped hair and a burly face that made him look older than he truly was, but Harry knew outward impression meant nothing. The fact that he had been chosen by the Goblet of Fire stood as a testament to his proficiency as a wizard.
The final champion representing Beauxbatons was a woman. Unlike the other two, Harry had no idea about her. All he knew was that she was a veela – having the unconscious ability to turn almost every male – and quite a fair share of females – into drooling simpletons. He recalled Dumbledore announcing her name – Fleur Delacour.
It had been only a couple of days since the contingent of students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang had arrived, and Harry had already seen numerous students from all three schools bending over to garner her attention. Even those pureblood supremacists who were so keen on portraying themselves as the superior breed of wizarding folk were not spared.
He did not feel that urge to impress her though. Granted he felt an odd sort of attraction toward her – the same attraction he had felt for those veela cheerleaders at the Quidditch World Cup final this past summer – but it was nothing like what the others experienced.
For her part, the veela would just look at the spectacles her admirers would enact in hopes of impressing her before she would give them condescending glances – the ones specifically reserved for the filthiest of vermin that crawled the surface of Earth, as if they were some disgusting slugs that she had stepped on, and with an upturned nose, she would turn away and leave. Simple as that.
Harry had noted those spectacles a few times, and he would have found her response to them amusing, if not for it to remind him of a certain blonde ponce from Slytherin. The expression on her face was oddly similar to how Malfoy would look down on people, and it made her a bit less attractive in his eyes. Although she gave those looks to people who harassed her while Malfoy was just inherently cruel, so perhaps he was a bit hasty to judge her.
Try as he might though, he could not fault those people for drooling around her, for she was most definitely drool-worthy. Her silvery-blonde hair framed her heart-shaped face that sported high cheekbones, giving her an aristocratic look. She had the most enchanting pair of radiant blue eyes that glowed like the Swiss blue topaz gemstone he had seen in a jewelry store once. She had a body most muggle supermodels would kill for – a tall, fit, and willowy figure with curves in all the right places. The Beauxbatons uniform was not as restrictive as Hogwarts', and her assets were showcased beautifully in that blue attire. He had checked her out, more than he would care to admit, and even though they were mostly hidden, he somehow knew she had the most killer pair of legs he had ever seen.
Right now, as he looked at her frowning face, he could not help but take a glance at her unblemished face and those full, pink lips, and he wondered just how it would feel to taste them.
Shaking his head, Harry brought himself back to the present.
Diggory was the first to notice him, and with a frown, he pushed off the wall and asked, "Potter? What are you doing here? Do they want us back up?"
Harry barely heard him, and without paying them any mind, he walked over and stood with his back against the wall at the far corner, furthest from them.
His mind was filled with various scenarios, trying to think of how his name could have come out of that goblet. His fist clenched around the parchment and he lifted it. It was his name in his handwriting, alright.
There was a sudden commotion at the front, and Harry looked up, only to find his arm grabbed by the exuberant announcer.
"Extraordinary!" The man cried out, squeezing his arm. "Absolutely extraordinary! Gentlemen… Lady," he added, walking ahead and taking Harry with him. "May I introduce — extraordinary as it might seem — the fourth champion?"
Harry saw an instant shift in their demeanor. Viktor Krum straightened up, his surly face adopting a deep frown. Diggory looked surprised as if he could not believe what had just come out of the man's mouth. Fleur Delacour, however, tossed her silvery hair over her shoulder and with a condescending smile, said, "Oh, vairy funny joke, Meester Bagman."
'Too haughty, but not any less attractive,' Harry thought to himself.
"Joke?" Bagman blinked, before smiling widely. "Oh no, not at all! Harry's name just came out of the goblet!"
Krum's eyebrows furrowed, Diggory still looked confused, and Delacour looked at him with a frown.
"Surely zair 'as been a meestake?" She said with barely hidden contempt. "'E cannot compete. Eet is ze Triwizard, meaning three champions."
"Well… this is surely a surprising turn of events," Bagman said, rubbing his cleanly shaven chin and smiling at Harry. "However, as you know, the judgment of the Goblet of Fire is absolute. And as the name came out of the goblet… there is a magically binding contract in place. Three champions or four, what does it matter? More excitement, that's for sure. Harry here just has to do the best he can to—"
The door behind them suddenly opened with a bang and Harry quickly stepped to the side, leaving the other four standing in the middle. He saw Professor Dumbledore walking at the front, a visibly anxious Professor McGonagall right beside him. Following them were the heads of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, Mr. Crouch, Professor Flitwick, Professor Sprout, and Snape.
"Madame!" Fleur said at once. "Zey are saying zat zis leetle boy is to compete also!"
Despite the confusion and profound numbness that had clouded his mind, Harry couldn't suppress a ripple of anger at that.
'The fuck do you know about me, you spoiled brat? I'd love to see your feathery ass go toe-to-toe with a thousand-year-old Basilisk!'
Madame Maxime drew herself to her full, considerable height and stared everyone down.
"Dumbly-dorr, what is ze meaning of zis?" She asked imperiously.
"I would like to know that myself," Karkaroff replied with a steely smile. His stare seemed to freeze Harry in place. "Two Hogwarts champions? I don't seem to recall the host school having the provision of two, or did I not read the rules carefully enough?"
"'Ogwarts cannot 'ave two champions," Madame Maxime frowned. "Eet ees most unjust."
"You assured us the age line will keep underage students away, Dumbledore," Karkaroff said contemptuously. "Otherwise we would've brought along a wider selection of candidates from our own schools."
"It is no one's fault but Potter's, Karkaroff," Snape's soft voice cut in, his eyes glinting with malice as he glared at the student concerned. "Don't go blaming Potter's penchant of rule-breaking on the headmaster. He has made a habit of crossing the line ever since he's arrived—"
"Thank you, Severus," Dumbledore's firm voice cut him off. The man went quiet, although his black eyes still glinted malevolently through the curtain of his greasy hair.
Harry looked up and he found himself face to face with none other than the headmaster of Hogwarts.
"Harry," Dumbledore said calmly, and he was immediately put at ease. "Did you put your name in the goblet?"
"No, headmaster."
He heard Snape give a derisive snort and glanced at him with utter loathing.
'Oh what I wouldn't give to strangle you with that greasy hair, you cunt.'
"Did you ask any older student to do it for you?"
"No."
Dumbledore stared at him with a sharp gaze, and Harry stared resolutely right into the aged wizard's eyes. Finally, Dumbledore sighed and pulled back.
"Of course 'e ees lying!" Madame Maxime cried as Snape's lips curled in distaste.
"He couldn't have crossed the age line!" McGonagall said firmly. "I'm sure we all agreed on that —"
"Zen Dumbly-dorr made a meestake wiz ze line," Madame Maxime said with a shrug.
"It is certainly possible," Dumbledore nodded politely as McGonagall bristled.
"Nonsense!" She shouted. "Dumbledore! You know perfectly well you made no mistake. Potter could not have crossed the age line himself, and Professor Dumbledore believes that he did not ask an older student either. That should be enough for everyone else!"
She cast an angry look at Snape, who promptly looked away.
"Mr. Crouch… Mr. Bagman," began Karkaroff. "You are the objective judges here. Surely you could see that this is most… irregular?"
Bagman straightened up slightly as he smiled, while Crouch was looking a bit worse for wear. He was standing outside the circle of witches and wizards, his face half-hidden in the shadow. He looked eerie. However, when he spoke, it was in his usual curt voice.
"The rules are clear. The person whose name comes out of the Goblet of Fire is bound to compete in the tournament. As such, Mr. Potter has to compete."
"Well, Barty knows the rule book back to front," Bagman replied with a shrug as he turned his back toward Maxime and Karkaroff as if the matter was closed already.
"Then I insist on resubmitting the names of our students once again," Karkaroff said, dropping his simpering tone and his smile now. "We will select a second champion from both the schools. You will set up the Goblet of Fire once more, and two more champions will be selected. It's only fair, Dumbledore."
"But it doesn't work like that!" Bagman replied with a frown. "The Goblet of Fire has gone out already. It won't light up until the next tournament—"
"— in which Durmstrang shall certainly not be participating!" Karkaroff exploded, spittle flying from his mouth toward Fleur who recoiled, glaring at the man. "In fact, I have half a mind to leave with my students now!"
"Empty threat, Karkaroff!" A deep voice growled from the entrance. "You cannot leave your champion now. He has to compete. They all have to compete. Binding magical contract and all that. Convenient, eh?"
Mad-Eye Moody entered the room, limping toward the fireplace with a loud clunk every time he took a step.
"Convenient?" Karkaroff sneered, and Harry was surprised to see fear in the man's eyes. "I'm afraid I don't follow."
"No? Someone put Potter's name in the goblet knowing he would have to compete if it came out," Moody said softly.
"Clearly someone 'oo wished to give 'Ogwarts two bites of ze same pie!" Madame Maxime said immediately.
"Is that so?" Moody asked in amusement. "Why Potter then? He's only a fourth year. Why not someone from the seventh year?"
Everyone went silent at that.
"Well, I don't care why it's Potter and not someone older," Karkaroff blustered. "I'll be lodging a formal complained with the International Confederation of Wizards for the injustice—"
"This is rich!" Moody laughed, interrupting Karkaroff who glared at the man. "If anyone should complain about injustice, it's Potter. But funny thing… I don't hear him saying a word…"
"Why should 'e complain?" Fleur Delacour cried out and everyone turned to look at her. "'E 'as the chance to compete, 'asn't 'e? We 'ave all been 'oping to be chosen for weeks now! Ze 'onor to compete for our schools! A 'undred thousand galleons prize money! Eternal glory!"
There was a sudden laugh, and everyone looked over to see it was none other than Harry Potter. They all stared at the boy who continued to laugh mirthfully, his hands on his knees, before they looked at each other in surprise.
His anger was brimming, and he had to utilize the full might of his Occlumency to keep it under wraps. The way they all were discussing him… he didn't like it at all.
There was no way they could just trample over him as if he were a common nobody.
"You are a funny one, Delacour," Harry remarked, trying to control his laugh. "I have no need of everything you just talked about. You can have it all if you want."
Looking around, Harry saw everyone staring at him. He continued, "I did not put my name in that goblet. I did not ask anyone else to do it for me. I never wanted to be a part of this tournament. All I wanted was to have a quiet year. Should've known I'd get nothing of the sort," he sighed. "Galleons? Eternal glory? Give me a break."
"You are dismissing eet all, but zere are ozzers 'oo would die for even a leetle of eet," Fleur burst out passionately.
"Maybe someone is hoping I would really die in this tournament," Harry exploded finally, the dam that was keeping his anger in check breaking violently. Wide-eyed, she stepped back and stared at Harry whose chilling gaze fell on everyone. "This tournament is a death trap, and my name came out without my consent. It doesn't take a genius to figure out what the motive is here."
There was an extremely tense silence that prevailed in the room as everyone stared at Harry.
"Three years at Hogwarts, and I've had to fight for my life in each of those. How could this one be different, right?" He asked sarcastically. "I told you, headmaster, didn't I? About what I saw?
Dumbledore stared at Harry who shook his head. "And you better believe he is somehow involved in this."
"That would be enough for now, Harry," Dumbledore said firmly, and Harry gritted his teeth.
"Looks like you've managed to impart your habit of seeing things to your student in only a few weeks, Mad-Eye," Karkaroff snarked, earning a glare from Moody.
"Seeing things, eh?" Moody growled. "Let me tell you what happened, Karkaroff. A powerful Confundus Charm around that goblet, tricking it into thinking there were four schools competing, and then submitting Potter's name under that fourth school to make sure he was selected—"
"You seem to have given this a lot of thought, Mad-Eye," Karkaroff said coldly. "A very ingenious theory, I must say."
"There are those who would use innocent events to further their vile intentions," Moody retorted menacingly. "It's my job to think the way pathetic dark wizards such as Death Eaters did, Karkaroff — you ought to remember very well…"
"Alastor!" Dumbledore said warningly. Moody glanced at Dumbledore before glaring at Karkaroff who had gone a deep shade of red.
Harry had only heard of Alastor Moody in passing, but he could tell that he liked the man a lot more than most of those who were present in the room right now. He had a no-nonsense attitude.
"Professor Moody is right, headmaster," Harry said in a faint growl, earning everyone's attention. Glaring, he looked at two men who he suspected of having a hand in this farce. "We have two Death Eaters right here in this room. Who's to say they truly changed their ways? After all, this is the best way to get rid of the person who offed their precious master without directly doing the deed."
It seemed as if a sudden chill had invaded the room as Harry glared at Karkaroff and Snape who looked shellshocked. Slowly, everyone turned to look at them.
The other three champions' eyes bugged out at that declaration. The ministry officials looked uneasy. McGonagall and Maxime were staring at him, ashen-faced. Moody's eyes had an approving glint to them. And Dumbledore… the old wizard was giving him what he recognized as a disappointed look.
Harry did not care though.
"Why Karkaroff and Snape, don't you think I'm on point here?"
Slowly, the two wizards' faces morphed into truly murderous as they glared at Harry with utter loathing.
"Harry!" Dumbledore shouted, grabbing his shoulders tightly to prevent him from escalating the situation. Enraged, Harry shrugged off Dumbledore's arms and marched off toward the exit.
"Potter! A hundred points from Gryffindor for—"
"Choke on a dick, Snape!" Harry hissed, not even looking back at the Potions professor who looked livid.
For three years, he had been a target in this school. Deathtrap after deathtrap. Situations always out of his control. He could only scoff at the injustice of it all.
Ignoring everything behind him, Harry twisted the knob and walked out, slamming the door behind him.
-Break-
The Great Hall was empty, and it was a small mercy. Uncaring of everything, he rushed up the stairs toward the Gryffindor tower.
His emotions were a mess. Anger that he had tried to keep under wraps was boiling over the surface, making his thoughts more chaotic than ever before.
For a moment, he wondered if he had crossed a line back there before he quickly discarded that notion. His life was on the line, yet again. Mere words meant nothing compared to that.
He knew he had a temper, but it was uncharacteristic of him to get so enraged.
He tried to recall just what had triggered it.
It had started when that French bint started to disparage him. Calling him a little boy in that condescending manner coupled with the bullshit about eternal glory. As if he cared about any of that.
Malfoy and his cronies, and even Snape had said more heinous things to him that would make Delacour's words pale in comparison, yet she had gotten under his skin more than anyone else.
She was a female version of Malfoy, and perhaps the first female to insult him like that. Remarks from other males like Malfoy and Snape were still tolerable. He could take the former down easily, while the latter was often ignored.
But being insulted by a woman… and one so exquisitely hot as her… his male pride had not taken it well, and he had let her get under his skin. Harry chided himself for the lack of his self-control.
Delacour was a bombshell of a woman, and even though he was unaffected by her allure, her beauty was not something he could so easily dismiss. It was not an overstatement to say that she was the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on, and he would be lying if he said he had not fantasized about her ever since he had seen her.
However, she had an abhorrent personality. He could ignore the way she treated those admirers for they were nothing short of harassers, but what he had seen of her in the past hour did not endear her to him.
Harry sighed as he walked. He was trapped in this tournament, and he knew there was no way he could back out. He had felt it deep within his very being when his name had popped out of that goblet, signifying the enforcement of a binding magical contract, which meant he had to compete.
Suddenly, there was a flash of fire in front of him and he watched as none other than Dumbledore emerged from the flames. The headmaster's eyes, somber, stared at him.
"Walk with me, Harry," Dumbledore instructed and turned around. Harry sighed.
There were a few seconds of tense silence between them when Dumbledore spoke, "Before you say anything, I believe you. I do not think you put your name in."
Harry merely inclined his head stiffly. Dumbledore sighed.
"You created quite a scene back there, Harry."
"I hope you don't expect me to apologize to them, sir. Because I won't."
"I didn't expect you to, either," Dumbledore replied. "Still, you created quite a headache for me. I had to convince the others not to spread any rumors about what happened in there."
"I'm sorry you had to deal with that," Harry replied curtly.
Dumbledore kept looking ahead as they walked through the corridor.
"Tell me, sir," Harry said in a forlorn voice. "Why did you not take my words seriously?"
They stepped on the balcony that overlooked the Hogwarts grounds, the moonlight illuminating their faces.
"I told you what I saw. Wormtail was there, along with another man with dark hair and this big snake. They were talking about me. I fully believe they have something to do with my name coming out of the goblet."
Before Dumbledore could reply, Harry continued, "And then we have two Death Eaters walking around freely in the school. Any of those two could've done it."
"Severus has my full trust, Harry. That should be enough assurance you need. And Igor, for all his faults, would not do something like this. He has committed too many sins to be welcomed back into Tom's ranks. The man is one who values his life too much to take a step like this."
Harry had to scoff at the remark about Snape. However, he refrained from commenting, knowing there was nothing he could say that would change Dumbledore's mind. The old man might trust those two not to do anything, but he surely didn't.
"Then I believe there is nothing I have to say, sir."
Dumbledore frowned.
"What happened to you, Harry?" The headmaster asked gently. "When you came to Hogwarts, there was this excitement in your eyes. You were so ecstatic when you were sorted into Gryffindor. I heard from your professors… how you were such a curious and exceptional student – a perfect mix of your parents. I may not know everything, Harry, but I do know that they would've wanted you to be happy."
Harry stayed silent for a long moment, staring out at the glistening surface of the Black Lake from the distance.
"You expected me to stay a jolly little child after I had to kill, headmaster?" Harry asked softly. "The cheerful Harry died when he blew Quirrell's head off. The same head that was housing the parasite of the man who killed my parents. He died again when he almost lost his life fighting the monster of Slytherin in that chamber. Any semblance of that Harry died yet again when he lost his godfather – a man he had known for only a few hours and yet who he considered more of a family to him than them. The Harry you see now is one who lives to become the best damn wizard he can… to survive for as long as he can. If it comes with happiness, then it's fine. If it doesn't, then it's fine as well."
Dumbledore did not miss the derisive way he addressed the Dursleys as stared sadly at the young man who had suffered so much at such a young age.
"And your friends, Harry? I have not seen you with young Mr. Weasley and Ms. Granger for over a year now."
"Life happened, headmaster. People drift apart over time for different reasons. Ron chose to live an easier life in the company of like-minded people. He preferred easy grades while I chose to challenge myself. He preferred fun and games with Dean and Seamus while I chose to immerse myself in advanced studies. Good thing I did. It would all come in handy in this tournament I wanted no part in.
"As far as Hermione is concerned… she doesn't like being outperformed, and I knew I would keep her friendship only if I held back. I refused to do so, and the results speak for themselves. She started resenting the fact that I was better than her. It's not as if we had a confrontation or something… we just stopped talking. It did not take much longer for it to become the new normal. Also, you have to consider that they have not had to face any hardships. They were not there with me when I, like an idiot, decided to just charge ahead after the Stone in our first year or the Chamber of Secrets in our second. They have been normal students, and it makes sense for them to stay like that… away from any risk that associating with me would've surely come their way."
Dumbledore stared at the young man in profound sadness. He had indeed failed him so many times.
"Harry…" the headmaster sighed. "You are arguably the most capable student I've ever seen walk these halls. Not even Tom had so much potential. It would be a massive shame if you let the adversities consume you like it has done to so many wizards in the past. Don't wallow in anger and don't give up on looking for happiness in your life, Harry. What kind of life is it if you're not happy?"
Harry stared at the old wizard who was stroking Fawkes' plumage. The phoenix trilled softly.
"You strive for power, for greatness, and it is an admirable goal. But what is the endgame in all of this? You intend to prepare for some inevitable confrontation with Tom. But what would you do when you eventually defeat him? Have you thought about what you will do after all is said and done? Your life's sole purpose cannot be to focus on preparing for the danger, Harry. If it is, then you are nothing but a slave to the prospect of a threat that might never come to pass."
Harry stifled a spark of anger at the 'slave' remark.
"Why do you fight for? Self-preservation? Revenge? Do you believe those are the healthiest of motivations? Or would you want to fight for something else? Something more tangible? Perhaps to protect someone you hold dear? Alienating people is not something to be desired, Harry. If you have no one to live for, then what is the purpose of such a life?"
Harry saw Dumbledore look over in the distance with sorrowful eyes.
"This quest for power and excellence which alienates you from those you hold dear brings nothing but eternal suffering, Harry. Take it from someone who has seen a lot in his old life… when you have done it all and are sitting all alone, you will think back on everything that has happened in your life and the only thing you would want is time with someone you hold dear.
"I always say love is the most powerful magic of them all. You can tap into a source of unfathomable strength if you have love. It was love that gave your father the strength to face down Voldemort. It was love that gave your mother the strength to place herself in front of you that night. It was love that gave Sirius the strength to stand between you and the horde of dementors. And it was love that saved your life, not once but twice, and even repelled the killing curse. Always remember, Harry. A person is the strongest when they have something to protect."
Dumbledore stayed silent, leaving Harry to contemplate everything he had said.
"Now," he began after a few moments. "Since you did not stay there for the instructions, it falls upon me to relay the information about the first task to you."
-Break-
When Harry arrived back in his dormitory, he saw everyone was sound asleep. Changing into his nightwear, he went to bed. Try as he might though, his sleep eluded him. Dumbledore's words ran around in his mind. However, they were often clouded by the anger he felt at everything that had happened that day.
Annoyed, he decided to go ahead with the last resort that would help him blow some steam and consequently let him sleep. His wand was in his hand in an instant and he quickly cast privacy charms around his bed. Putting his wand to the side, he closed his eyes and envisioned the sights that had not left him since the moment he had first seen them.
It was depraved, and something many people considered abnormal. Yet, to Harry, it was exciting. He had only seen it once, and since then, he had developed such a preference for the art that he had only gone to search for it again. For the past two years, he had been harboring those desires in the confines of his mind, unleashed only when he called upon them.
A woman, naked and bound to a chair. Her legs affixed to the arm with cuffs. Her legs parted wide, showing her slick folds dripping with her arousal. Her hands cuffed above her head, hanging by a thick rope. Her eyes hidden behind a blindfold and her mouth open in desire. Her large, teardrop tits, heaving.
He began to harden.
The image morphed in his mind, now showing the woman tied to an X-cross, with her legs parted wide and her arms tied up. The woman's attire was made of leather and was held precariously over her curvaceous frame. One small flick and it would come undone.
He pulled his boxers down and freed up his cock, grasping and stroking it as his mind conjured another image.
The woman was bent over a man, her hips on the man's thighs that left her plump rear exposed and high in front of him. Smacks rang out in tandem with the woman's moans and cries of pain intermixed with pleasure as her ivory skin started turning pink and then a shade of angry red. The woman was nothing but a naughty bitch in need of some tender discipline.
He spat on his palm and started to stroke himself, running the images around in his mind. He envisioned himself turning the woman's face around.
Her eyes were blindfolded, and Harry willed himself to remove the black silk fabric, desperate to see the pleading look in her eyes. He was stroking himself furiously now, his manhood slick with his spit and his breathing rugged as he longed to see the intense emotions of lust, passion, vulnerability, fear, submission, anxiety, and excitement – all rolled into one in her eyes.
However, as he started to furiously pump his shaft, chasing his release, the woman's face and body transformed. The blindfold came off and suddenly, he was staring into a pair of familiar topaz eyes – shining a radiant blue in a mix of all the emotions he longed to see... but with one more addition.
It was the emotion that described her pure submission.
The defiance, the arrogance, the dismissiveness, the haughtiness. None of those were to be seen anymore. All he could see in front of him was the beautiful veela with her silvery-blonde tresses matted with sweat and her soft, pink lips open as her eyes begged him.
Her pale skin looked incredibly enchanting as it glowed in the faint light that came from the ceiling.
Harry imagined himself grabbing the bubble butt and forcefully turning around in his lap and right into his arms, thrusting his massive length into her in one firm push.
By the time he was done, there was nothing but a hot, sticky mess over his belly and pelvis as he breathed heavily.
His hand closed around the grip of his wand and he vanished his seed off his body. With a sigh, Harry closed his eyes. His frustrations vented, sleep did not elude him this time.
TBC.
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