I updated the R-18 scene at the end.
Chapter 36:
– Harry –
I sat there for a moment, blinking at the empty chair across from me.
One second, Odin—the Allfather, the ruler of Asgard, the one-eyed god of wisdom and war—had been sitting there. The next second, he was gone. It was simply as if reality had decided he was no longer necessary in this specific coordinate of space and time, and so he had ceased to be here.
Even the half-eaten sundae and the silver spoon he'd been holding had vanished with him.
"Show off," I muttered under my breath, leaning back in my chair. The magical barrier of silence he'd erected around our table dissolved the moment he left, and the ambient noise of Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour came rushing back in—not that there was much since most customers ran away once Lilja's older sister started bawling her eyes out...
I ran a hand through my messy black hair, exhaling a long, heavy breath.
Two favors.
I had just promised two open-ended favors to a literal god in exchange for the location of a dead man's body. It was a steep price—maybe the steepest I'd ever paid—but as I thought about Ginny's face and the hope in her eyes when she asked me to find her father, I knew I didn't regret it. Even if that hope was going to be crushed once I told her the news.
I pushed myself up from the table, my chair scraping softly against the floor tiles.
Arthur Weasley was dead. Murdered. His body dumped in a graveyard near Little Hangleton. Before I could go tearing off to that graveyard to retrieve him, I had one loose end to tie up here.
I spotted the corner booth where I'd left Lilja and her sister.
The scene hadn't improved much.
Rossweisse was still a mess. The silver-haired Valkyrie—supposedly one of the strongest warriors in Asgard—had her face buried in her hands, her shoulders shaking with racking, dramatic sobs. Her pristine secretary outfit was rumpled, and I could see her back heaving with every wail about being a "leftover woman."
Lilja sat beside her, one arm wrapped around her sister's shoulders, speaking in low, soothing tones while stroking Rossweisse's hair. She looked up as I approached, her emerald eyes meeting mine across the room.
I stopped a few feet away from their table, shoving my hands into my robe pockets.
When Lilja saw the look on my face—her expression shifted instantly from sisterly concern to sharp alertness. She could read me well enough by now to know that whatever Odin had told me, it wasn't good news.
She glanced down at her sobbing sister, then back up at me, biting her lower lip. Her expression was apologetic, her eyes pleading for understanding. I can't leave her like this, her look said.
I gave her a small, tight nod. It's okay. Stay.
My gaze drifted from Lilja to Rossweisse. Even with her face red and blotchy from crying, even with mascara likely running down her cheeks, I couldn't deny the objective truth that Rossweisse was hot as fuck.
She had that mature, voluptuous build that drove me crazy—curves that strained against her blouse, hips that flared perfectly in that tight pencil skirt, and long silver hair that spilled over her shoulders like liquid moonlight. Seeing her next to Lilja—my fierce, fiery redhead with her own incredible body—did things to my imagination that were entirely inappropriate for the current situation.
For a split second, the "man" part of my brain took over. I could easily picture it—the two of them, sisters and Valkyries, naked and tangled together in my bed. I imagined Rossweisse's cries changing from sorrow to pleasure, her legs wrapped around my waist while Lilja rode my face. The thought of breaking the "spinster" Valkyrie, of showing her exactly what she'd been missing, sent a jolt of heat straight to my groin.
But then Rossweisse let out another loud, wet sniffle and wailed something about "discount vegetables" and "lonely dinners," and the fantasy popped like a soap bubble.
Yeah… no.
She was gorgeous, but she came with a freight train's worth of emotional baggage that I did not have the bandwidth to handle right now.
I caught Lilja's eye one last time and mouthed, I'll see you later.
She nodded, mouthing back a silent Be careful, before turning her attention back to soothing her inconsolable sister.
Stepping out of Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, the cool evening air of Diagon Alley hit me. The sky above was a deep, bruised purple, the sun having dipped below the horizon while we were inside. I moved quickly, keeping my head down. I didn't want to be recognized. I didn't want to stop for autographs or photos or questions about the tournament.
I needed to get back to Hogwarts.
I bypassed the Leaky Cauldron entirely. Instead, I ducked into a narrow, dimly lit side alley between a cauldron shop and a robe emporium.
I checked to make sure I wasn't being followed, expanding my senses outward. Satisfied I was alone, I raised my hand. The blue Sitri clan crest flared to life on the back of my hand, glowing with a soft, pulsating light in the shadows.
"Teleport," I muttered, pouring my demonic energy into the seal.
An instant later, the cool, fresh air of the Scottish Highlands filled my lungs.
I materialized in a secluded alcove near the edge of the Forbidden Forest, just outside the main wards of the castle. My mum, Serafall, had set up this anchor point specifically for the devils here at school.
I broke into a jog, heading straight for the main gates.
I needed to talk to Dumbledore.
…The stone gargoyle guarding the entrance to the Headmaster's tower leaped aside the moment I approached, almost as if the castle itself sensed the urgency rolling off me in waves. I didn't even have to utter the password.
As I reached the heavy oak door at the top of the stairs, voices drifted through the wood. They were raised.
"—absolute madness, Albus! Madness!" It was Professor McGonagall, her voice pitched high with that distinct Scottish lilt she only used when she was truly losing her patience. "Bringing nesting mothers this close to the school? After everything that happened with the Dementors? After the basilisk rumors? We are inviting disaster onto these grounds once again!"
I hesitated for a fraction of a second, my hand hovering over the brass knocker. Nesting mothers?
"Minerva, please," Dumbledore's calm, placating baritone rumbled in response. "The precautions are absolute. Charlie Weasley and his team are the best in Europe. The students will be perfectly safe, provided they don't wander into the enclosure."
"Safe? What type of school do you think we run here? We have a bunch of hormonal and reckless teenagers and young adults. That's the opposite of safe," McGonagall snapped back. "And you want to put six fully grown dragons in the Forbidden Forest? The noise alone will keep the castle awake, let alone the fire risk!"
I pushed the door open and strode inside.
The office was as cluttered and eccentric as ever, filled with whirring silver instruments emitting puffs of smoke and portraits of snoozing former Headmasters lining the circular walls. Fawkes the phoenix let out a soft, musical trill from his perch, greeting me, but the atmosphere in the room was thick with tension.
Professor McGonagall was standing by the desk, her posture rigid, her lips pressed into a thin, severe line.
Dumbledore sat behind his desk, looking weary, his fingers steepled in front of his face.
Both of them froze as I walked in.
McGonagall whipped around, her eyes widening behind her square spectacles. She looked from me to Dumbledore, then realized exactly what she'd just been shouting about. Her hand flew to her mouth, a flush of embarrassment creeping up her neck. "Mr. Sitri," she gasped, quickly smoothing down the front of her robes. "I… we didn't hear you knock."
That's because I didn't knock…
Dumbledore cleared his throat, shifting in his chair. "Ah, Harry," he said, his voice carrying a note of awkwardness I rarely heard from him. "Do come in. Although… I must ask, how much of that did you overhear?"
I stopped in the center of the room, looking between the two of them. "Enough," I said flatly. "Dragons, is it? Nesting mothers?"
McGonagall let out a sharp hiss of breath, closing her eyes briefly. "Albus…"
Dumbledore held up a hand, offering me a strained smile. "Harry, my boy, I must ask you to pretend you didn't hear that. The details of the upcoming task—are supposed to be strictly confidential. It wouldn't do for one champion to have an unfair advantage."
I looked at the old man, then let out a short, humorless laugh. I shrugged, rolling my shoulders to work out some of the tension that had been building since I left Diagon Alley.
"Don't worry, Professor," I said, my tone dry and laced with cheekiness. "I have a terrible memory. Dragons? What dragons? I've already forgotten all about them…"
McGonagall let out a long, suffering sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose.
Dumbledore's smile grew a fraction more genuine, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Thank you, Harry. I appreciate your discretion." He gestured to the empty chair opposite his desk. "However, I suspect you didn't come here at this hour to discuss magical creatures. Your arrival feels… heavy."
"No," I said quietly. "I didn't." I walked over to the chair but didn't sit. I gripped the back of it with both hands, my knuckles turning white as I looked at the Headmaster. "I've just come back from a meeting," I began, choosing my words carefully. "I was consulting with a certain source. Someone very old, very powerful, and very knowledgeable about things that happen beyond the veil of the living."
Dumbledore's eyes sharpened instantly. He sat up straighter, the air of the eccentric grandfather vanishing, replaced by the powerful wizard who still lurked underneath. He didn't ask who the source was. He knew better than to pry.
"And what did this source tell you, Harry?" he asked softly.
"I was looking for Arthur Weasley," I said. "Ginny… she's been worried sick. He's been missing for over a week. No letters, no word, nothing. She asked me to find him."
McGonagall took a step forward, her expression softening into concern. "We assumed he had simply taken a leave of absence from the Ministry despite how frantic Molly has been as well…"
"He wasn't working," I cut her off, my voice cold. "And he isn't missing anymore." I looked Dumbledore dead in the eye. "Arthur Weasley is dead, Professor. He was murdered."
McGonagall let out a sharp, strangled gasp, her hands flying to her chest as she staggered back a step, bumping into a bookshelf. "No…" she whispered, her voice trembling. "Not Arthur. He's… he's such a good man. He has seven children, Albus!"
Dumbledore closed his eyes. He didn't look surprised, not exactly. He looked like a man who had been expecting a blow and had finally been hit. He let out a long, tired sigh that seemed to deflate him, aging him ten years in a span of seconds. "I feared as much," Dumbledore murmured, opening his eyes again. They were filled with a profound, ancient sadness. "When he missed the last Order meeting… I feared the worst. But to have it confirmed…" He looked at me again. "Do we know who? Do we know why?"
"My source told me he was used," I said, my voice tight with suppressed rage. "He was sacrificed in a ritual. A dark one. I don't know more than that."
"A ritual…" Dumbledore repeated, his gaze drifting to the side. He looked back at me. "Voldemort."
It was a statement, not a question.
"That would be my guess," I nodded grimly. "The snake-thing I fought in the Chamber… that was a clone at best, not the real Voldemort."
McGonagall let out a small sob, pressing a handkerchief to her lips. "Albus… if You-Know-Who has returned… if he killed Arthur…"
"Then the war has truly begun again, Minerva," Dumbledore finished for her, his voice grave.
"There's more," I said, interrupting their moment of despair. "I know where the body is."
Dumbledore's attention snapped back to me. "Where?"
"A graveyard," I said. "Near a village called Little Hangleton…"
Dumbledore stood up slowly. He moved, rounding the desk to stand before me. "Little Hangleton," he murmured. "The Riddle House. Of course. That is where his father lived. That is where he killed his muggle family." He looked at me, his expression hardening into resolve. "Thank you for bringing this to me, Harry," he said, placing a hand on my shoulder. His grip was firm, grounding. "This is… terrible news. Arthur was a good friend, and a better man. He did not deserve this. But because of you, we can at least bring him home. We can give his family closure, terrible as it may be."
"I'm going with you," I said instantly. Dumbledore opened his mouth to object, but I cut him off. "Don't try to stop me, Professor. I promised Ginny I'd find him. I'm seeing this through. Besides, if Voldemort is there, or his followers… you might need the backup."
I let a bit of my demonic aura leak out, just a fraction, enough to darken the room and drop the temperature by a few degrees. It was a reminder. I wasn't just a student. I was a Sitri.
Dumbledore held my gaze for a long moment, then nodded. "Very well. I suspect I could not stop you if I tried." He turned to McGonagall, who was wiping her eyes, trying to compose herself. She looked pale, shaken to her core. "Minerva," Dumbledore said gently but firmly. "I must ask you to stay behind."
McGonagall took a shaky breath, straightening her spine. She was a Gryffindor through and through, like us, she would do her duty, no matter how much it hurt. "Of course, Albus," she said, her voice regaining some of its usual steel. "I will… I will secure the castle. Go. Bring Arthur home to his family."
Dumbledore put his hand on my shoulder right as Fawkes flew over to us. Flames that didn't burn wrapped around our body as Fawkes let out a sad sounding trill, and we were teleported out of the castle!
We materialized in a burst of flames at the edge of a rusted iron gate.
The air here was stagnant, heavy with the smell of damp earth, rotting leaves, and old death. A thick fog clung to the ground.
Little Hangleton graveyard. It was a miserable place. The darkness was absolute, save for the faint sliver of moon struggling to pierce the cloud cover.
Dumbledore drew his wand. He moved with silent, practiced steps, his eyes scanning the darkness. "Stay close, Harry," he whispered, his voice barely carrying over the wind. "This place reeks of black magic."
He was right. I could feel it—a greasy, cloying residue that clung to my skin. It felt like the aftermath of something foul. There was a big difference between dark magic and black magic. One of them couldn't be done without desecrating souls.
It was the latter, of course.
We moved through the rows of graves, stepping over tangled roots and fallen headstones.
"There," Dumbledore murmured, pointing with his wand.
In the center of the graveyard, the fog seemed to thin, revealing a patch of trampled earth near a massive, grim-looking angel statue. And there, lying on the cold ground, was a body.
Even though I knew it was coming, seeing it was different. We approached slowly.
Arthur Weasley lay on his back, his eyes staring sightlessly up at the dark sky. His skin was waxy and pale, drained of all color. His robes were torn and muddy, and his expression…
I clenched my fists. He looked terrified. He looked like he'd died begging.
Dumbledore knelt beside him. He reached out and gently closed Arthur's eyes, his hand trembling just slightly. "I am so sorry, Arthur," Dumbledore whispered, his voice thick with grief. "I failed you." He waved his wand over the body, muttering complex incantations under his breath. Ribbons of golden light spun from the tip of the wand, analyzing, searching. "The Killing Curse," Dumbledore said softly, reading the magical signature. "But before that… torture. Extensive torture."
My jaw tightened until my teeth creaked. "Cruciatus?"
"Yes," Dumbledore confirmed. "Repeatedly." He stood up, looking around the clearing. "And look here." He pointed to a large cauldron overturned nearby, and the blackened scorch marks on the ground. "A ritual circle. The grass is dead in a perfect ring."
He walked over to a specific grave—a large, ornate headstone bearing the name TOM RIDDLE. The earth in front of it had been disturbed, looking like a grave had been dug up and then hastily filled back in.
"...Bone of the father, unknowingly given," Dumbledore recited quietly, his face grim. He turned to look at a spot where the grass was stained dark. "Flesh of the servant, willingly sacrificed." He looked back at Arthur's body. "And blood of the enemy, forcibly taken." Dumbledore's face was a mask of cold fury. "Voldemort has returned, Harry. He used Arthur's blood to anchor himself back to this world. Arthur was the enemy… a blood traitor in their eyes, a man who stood against them."
"He killed a good man just to play dress-up in a new body," I spat, the demonic energy inside me flaring hot, reacting to my anger. The air around me shimmered.
The silence that followed my declaration was heavy, broken only by the wind whistling through the cracked headstones.
Dumbledore turned his gaze from the desecrated earth. "We cannot simply leave this place as it is, Harry," Dumbledore said, his voice low and grave. He gestured vaguely to the blackened scorch marks of the ritual circle and the disturbed earth of the Riddle grave. "The residue of such evil magic... It is a festering wound on the world itself. If left unchecked, this saturation of necromantic energy will seep into the soil. Before the next moon, this graveyard would be crawling with Inferi spawned from every resting corpse here."
My eyes widened in surprise upon hearing that. Even after months of knowing about magic and my true heritage, the concept of zombies literally rising from their freaking graves was scary as fuck! Especially considering there was a small town nearby…
I knelt in the damp grass, sliding my arms carefully beneath Arthur's shoulders and knees. He was cold—unnaturally so—and his body had already begun to stiffen with rigor mortis. I gritted my teeth, ignoring the twisting knot of guilt in my gut as I lifted him. I held him close to my chest, trying to offer some small measure of dignity to a man who had died terrified and alone.
"Let's go," I murmured, turning away from the center of the graveyard. We walked to the rusted iron gates at the edge of the cemetery. I stood there, holding Arthur's body, while Dumbledore stopped a few paces back, turning to face the rows of graves and the gruesome angel statue that loomed in the darkness.
He raised his wand—that strange, knobby wand I had noticed earlier—and held it high above his head. "For the desecration forced upon this resting place," Dumbledore spoke to the empty air, his voice projecting with a power, "I offer my deepest apologies to those who sleep here. May this fire cleanse the corruption and grant you peace once more."
My devil instincts suddenly screamed in alarm!
I took an involuntary step back, clutching Arthur tighter, as the tip of Dumbledore's wand ignited.
It wasn't the orange of normal fire. It was white-gold.
"Sanctus Ignis Purgatio!" Dumbledore roared. A torrent of golden flames erupted from his wand, expanding outward like a tidal wave of liquid sunlight. It washed over the graveyard, roaring with the sound of a breaking storm.
I hissed, turning my head away and shielding my eyes.
Holy magic!
I didn't even know wizards were capable of wielding the Holy element, especially since they were basically barred from Heaven! Yet here was Albus Dumbledore, a mortal wizard, summoning a fire so pure it made my demonic blood recoil in my veins.
The golden inferno didn't just burn; it obliterated. The fog burned away. The oppressive, oily feeling in the air evaporated, replaced by a searing, sterilization heat.
The light faded as quickly as it had appeared, leaving the graveyard silent again. But it was a different silence now—clean, empty, and final. The grass was gone, the headstones scorched white, the dark magic utterly purged.
Dumbledore lowered his arm slowly. I saw him sway on his feet, his hand trembling violently as he tucked the wand back into his robes. He let out a long, ragged exhale, his shoulders slumping with exhaustion.
I walked back toward him, careful with Arthur's body.
"That..." I started, my voice sounding rough in my own ears. "That was really impressive, Professor. I didn't know human magic could touch the Holy spectrum."
Dumbledore looked up at me. Sweat beaded on his forehead. "Thank you, Harry," he wheezed softly. "Though I must confess... it was mostly the wand."
I glanced down at where he had stowed it. "The wand?"
"Yes," Dumbledore murmured, patting the pocket of his robes. "This wand is... very special. Unique, one might say. It amplifies, it facilitates... it allows for feats that might otherwise be beyond a wizard's reach."
I narrowed my eyes, thinking back to how it looked. It wasn't smooth or polished like the wands the other students used. It looked ancient, crafted from pale wood with clusters of berries carved along its length, resembling a piece of bone more than a tool. It radiated a subtle, heavy pressure that I hadn't noticed until now as well.
"I've never seen one like it," I admitted. "Though, considering I don't use a wand myself, I suppose I'm not the best judge of wandlore."
Dumbledore chuckled weakly. "Perhaps that is for the best. Some knowledge is a heavy burden." He straightened up. "But that is a story for another time. Tonight, we have a duty to the living, and to the dead."
He raised a hand into the night air. A moment later, a burst of flame heralded Fawkes' return. The phoenix swooped down, trilling a soft, mournful note as he landed on Dumbledore's shoulder.
"Hey Fawkes," I gave the bird a nod as I moved close with Arthur's body.
Dumbledore placed a hand on my arm, his grip firm despite his exhaustion. "Let us go home, Harry."
Fawkes spread his wings, and in a swirl of warm, comforting fire, the graveyard vanished, leaving the ashes of the dark ritual behind us.
….
The next afternoon…
I ducked instinctively as a jagged, spear-like icicle whistled past my ear, missing me by mere inches before shattering against a tree trunk behind me.
"You're lagging, Harry," Sona's voice cut through the clearing, cool and composed, though I could hear the strain of exertion underneath.
I didn't have time to retort. To my right, the air shimmered and warped ominously as a crimson sphere of pure annihilation hurtled toward me. Rias wasn't holding back. That was a blast of her Power of Destruction—small enough not to kill me, but potent enough to hurt like hell if it connected.
I planted my feet, gritting my teeth as I thrust my left hand forward. A dense, swirling wall of pressurized water erupted from the earth, intercepting the crimson sphere. The impact was deafening—a hiss of steam and a shockwave that rattled my bones as the destruction magic chewed through my water shield, dissipating just inches from my face.
"Come on, Harry!" Rias called out, her voice breathless but eager. "I know you have more than that!"
I growled low in my throat, channeling my frustration into my next move. I spun on my heel, drawing moisture from the damp forest floor and the morning mist, condensing it into two high-pressure whips of water.
With a sharp flick of my wrists, I lashed out at both of them simultaneously.
Sona didn't even flinch. She raised a hand, and a wall of ice instantly crystallized in front of her, catching my strike with a heavy thud. Rias was flashier—she swatted my attack aside with a wave of destruction energy, the water evaporating into nothingness before it could touch her.
I prepared to follow up, gathering my magic for a heavier strike, when a sudden, sharp zzzt sound buzzed directly behind me.
Before my brain could register the threat, a jolt of electricity slammed right into my ass cheek!
"OW FUCK!"
I jumped a solid foot in the air, the spell in my hands fizzling out as I clutched my stinging backside, spinning around with a glare.
Standing near the edge of the clearing was Akeno Himejima. She had one hand covering her mouth, her violet eyes crinkled in delight as she giggled, her shoulders shaking. She looked entirely too pleased with herself.
"Ara, ara," she purred, her voice dripping with sadistic amusement. "Sorry, Harry-sama. But you were the one who said you wanted to train with both Rias and Sona this morning. It's painfully obvious your heart just isn't in it. I was simply trying to... properly motivate you."
I rubbed my ass, scowling at her, though there was no real heat in it. "Motivate me?"
"Just a little wake-up call," she teased, winking. "You were leaving yourself wide open."
I sighed, my shoulders slumping as the adrenaline faded. "Yeah... I guess I was."
This morning was rough… Having to break the news to Ginny and her brothers and seeing all of their reactions to the news.
Akeno giggled again. "You need a distraction, Harry-sama. Luckily for you there are three gorgeous devils out here in the forest with you!"
Across the clearing, Rias and Sona lowered their hands, letting their magical auras dissipate. Realizing our little afternoon spar was over, they walked toward me.
They had both worked up a sweat during our spar. Rias's Hufflepuff robes were clinging tightly to her body, the damp fabric molding perfectly to her voluptuous curves. I couldn't help but watch the way her heavy breasts bounced gently with each step, the white shirt beneath her robe turned translucent enough to hint at the dark lace of her bra underneath. Her crimson hair was slightly messy, sticking to her flushed neck in a way that made her look incredibly devastating.
Sona was just as distracting. Her Ravenclaw uniform was disheveled, the top buttons of her blouse undone to let her breathe. A sheen of sweat coated her pale skin, making her glow in the filtered sunlight. Her smaller, perky chest heaved as she caught her breath, and her glasses had slipped slightly down her nose.
Despite my mood, my eyes lingered on them. But even that view couldn't completely chase away the shadows in my mind.
"I'm sorry," I said as they reached me, running a hand through my hair. "I know I asked for this sparring session to clear my head, but... I can't stop thinking about yesterday."
Rias reached me first. She stepped right into my space and wrapped her arms around my left arm, hugging it tight against her chest. I felt the incredible softness of her breasts enveloping my bicep, the warmth of her body seeping into me.
"Don't apologize," Rias said softly, looking up at me with those vivid blue-green eyes. "We know why you're distracted. Yesterday was... difficult."
I looked down at the ground. "My first official contract... and I brought a corpse home to his family."
The memory of Mrs. Weasley's wail this morning was still ringing in my ears. Ron had just stood there with an almost blank look. The way Ginny had collapsed, the way the twins had gone silent and pale…
"That's not true," Rias insisted, squeezing my arm tighter, pressing her curves firmly against me as if she could physically push the guilt away. "You did your best, Harry. You found him, you brought Arthur Weasley home. His family has closure now. They can mourn him properly because of you."
On my other side, Sona nodded, though I caught the slight pout on her lips as she eyed the way Rias was monopolizing my left side. She adjusted her glasses, stepping closer until she was right in front of me.
"Rias is right," Sona said, her voice pragmatic but gentle. "You cannot save everyone, Harry. Not even devils can cheat death every time."
She hesitated for a moment, glancing at Rias's grip on my arm, before she seemed to make a decision. Sona stepped in and wrapped her arms around my waist, pulling herself flush against my front. I chuckled weakly, letting my free arm wrap around her shoulders. I pulled her closer until her smaller, firm breasts were pressed tightly against my chest, the sensation of her body against mine grounding me.
Sona's cheeks dusted with a lovely shade of pink at the contact, but she didn't pull away. She looked up at me, her expression serious.
"Not all contracts will have happy endings, Harry," she said quietly. "I learned that early on. I've taken contracts to cure humans who were terminally ill. I used the best healing items or magic I knew—short of Phenex tears, and sometimes, it still wasn't enough. Sometimes, you can't stop the inevitable." She rested her forehead against my chest, her voice dropping lower.
I stood there for a long moment, sandwiched between two gorgeous women while Akeno pouted nearby looking jealous. Ha! That's what she gets for shocking my ass!
"I guess you're right," I murmured, resting my chin on top of Sona's head while giving Rias's hand a squeeze where it rested on my arm. "It just... sucks. Ginny is devastated."
"She is," Rias agreed softly. "But she has you. You'll help her through it. She's your contracted witch. Maybe when you catch that Voldemort guy, you can let her finish him off for revenge!" she said with a bit more pep that made me chuckle.
Now there was a thought…
….After that, I was feeling better. Sona, Rias, and even Akeno all continued training a bit more with me, getting some magical exercise in—which basically was the same as regular exercise for magical beings like devils.
We all headed back to the castle for showers and then dinner once it got around that time. The mood at the Gryffindor table was a bit somber because rumors spread fast in this castle. All the Weasleys had also been pulled out of their classes for the rest of the week but I'd make sure to be there for Ginny when she got back.
….After dinner I decided to head to the infirmary, figuring Lilja should be awake by now.
I pushed open the heavy double doors of the infirmary, the smell of antiseptic and magical potions hitting me instantly. The ward was mostly empty, save for a few screens set up at the far end.
Madam Pomfrey bustled out of her office, looking harried, but her expression softened just a fraction when she saw it was me. "Mr. Sitri," she said, her voice hushed. "I assume you're here for Miss Nornas?"
"I am," I said, giving her a polite nod. "How is she?"
Pomfrey pursed her lips, a mixture of professional concern and mild amusement flickering in her eyes. "Physically? She'll survive. Although her dignity might take a few days to recover. I've given her a Strong Sobering Draught and a Pain-Relieving Potion, but she insisted the room was 'spinning like a top' until about an hour ago." She gestured toward the drawn curtains at the far end of the room. "Try to keep it quiet. She's… sensitive to noise right now."
"Thanks, Poppy," I said with a grin.
I made my way down the row of empty beds, my footsteps soft on the stone floor. When I reached the curtains, I slipped through the gap.
There she was.
My beautiful, fierce, terrifying Valkyrie—the woman who had slaughtered a basilisk and pledged her eternal loyalty to me—was currently curled into a miserable little ball beneath a mountain of white blankets. Only the top of her head was visible, a messy spill of vibrant red hair fanned out across the pillow.
She groaned as the light from the rest of the ward filtered in through the open curtain.
"Turn off the sun," a muffled voice demanded from beneath the duvet. It was hoarse, cracked, and sounded absolutely pathetic.
I couldn't help it. A laugh bubbled up in my chest, escaping before I could stop it.
"It's eight o'clock at night, Lilja," I said, stepping closer to the bed. "The sun's been gone for hours."
The blankets shifted. Slowly, painfully, a pale face emerged. Lilja squinted at me, her emerald eyes bloodshot and narrowed against the dim torchlight. She looked like hell. Her skin was chalk-white, there were dark circles under her eyes, and her usually immaculate composure was completely shattered.
And yet, even looking like a wreck, she was stunning.
"Harry," she rasped, wincing at the volume of her own voice. She flopped back onto the pillow, throwing an arm over her eyes. "Kill me. Please. Just take your water sword and end it. It would be a mercy!"
I sat down on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under my weight. "That bad?"
"You have no idea," she moaned. She peeked out from under her arm, shooting me a glare that lacked its usual heat. "Never let me drink with Rossweisse again! Ever! My sister is a monster. She is a bottomless pit designed to consume alcohol and sadness!"
Well, from everything I've heard, that's not a terrible description.
I reached out, gently brushing a stray lock of red hair away from her forehead. Her skin was cool and clammy. "So, a Valkyrie of Asgard was defeated by a bottle of mead?"
"It wasn't just mead," she grumbled, leaning slightly into my touch. "It was Enchanted Nord Mead. Aged in dwarven casks. The kind that Odin keeps in his private reserve. Rossweisse stole a bottle—or three—before she came to London." She shuddered, looking a little green. "I thought I could keep up. I thought, 'I am a warrior, I have faced dragons and demons, I can handle a drink with my big sister.'" She let out a ragged sigh. "I was wrong. I was so wrong. I remember the first bottle. I remember her crying about dying alone with forty cats. And then… nothing. Just blackness and the sensation of my skull being split open with a war hammer."
"Well," I said, fighting a smirk as I trailed my fingers down her cheek to her jawline. "You'll be happy to know that you checked yourself in here around ten this morning. Apparently, you stumbled in, told Madam Pomfrey that the floor was attacking you, and passed out."
Lilja groaned, covering her face with her hands again. "Oh gods. The shame. I am supposed to be your future Queen. I am supposed to be dignified!"
"I think it's cute," I murmured.
She lowered her hands, looking at me with skepticism. "Cute? I am drooling and I smell like a brewery."
"You smell like honey," I corrected her, leaning down. "And yeah. Cute. It proves you're not perfect. You've got flaws. Everyone has flaws." I leaned in closer, hovering just inches from her face. "Besides," I whispered, my voice dropping to a low, "I like seeing you vulnerable...mum."
Lilja's breath hitched. Her eyes searched mine, the green irises dilating slightly as the mood shifted from humorous to something heavier. Her hand moved from the sheets to rest on my thigh, her grip weak but possessive.
"My head hurts, Harry," she whispered, pouting slightly.
"I can help with that," I said.
I summoned my magic. I let the cool, soothing energy of my Sitri water affinity flow into my fingertips. I placed my hand gently on her forehead, letting the magic seep into her skin. It wasn't water in the physical sense, but the essence of it—cooling, fluid, cleansing.
I visualized the magic flowing through her, washing away the toxins, cooling the inflammation in her brain.
Lilja gasped, her eyes fluttering shut. "Oh… oh, that feels good."
"Just relax," I murmured, using my other hand to stroke her neck. "Let me take care of you."
I continued to channel the magic, watching the tension bleed out of her face. The color started to return to her cheeks, the pinched look of pain between her brows smoothing out.
After a few minutes, she let out a long, shuddering breath and opened her eyes. They were clearer now, more focused.
"Better?" I asked.
"Much," she breathed. Her hand slid higher up my thigh, her fingers digging in. "You really are too good to me, my King."
"It's part of the job description," I said with a grin. "Taking care of my peerage." Even if she hasn't gotten her Evil Piece quite yet, it was pretty much a done deal. "Get some more rest, I'm sure Madame Pomphrey will have you good as new tomorrow!"
"That's right, I will!" the woman said as she pushed aside the curtains to come and check on Lilja. "Although, Miss Nornas, you will be the one to explain to your professors why you missed classes all day because you were too hungover to get out of bed. And don't think I couldn't see your hand on Mr Sitri's thigh when I walked in! There will be no sex in my infirmary! Other people use these beds, you know!"
The whine Lilja let out before throwing her covers back over her head was adorable.
…I left Lilja cocooned in her mountain of blankets, chuckling softly to myself as I slipped out of the infirmary. She was going to be just fine, though her pride might need a few more days of intensive care than her liver.
The castle was initially quiet as I made my way up toward Gryffindor Tower. However, my peaceful walk was interrupted as I neared the corridor housing the staff quarters. Specifically, the hallway leading to Narcissa Black's new apartment.
Voices drifted around the corner—raised, angry voices.
I recognized that shrill, arrogant tone immediately, though it sounded different tonight. Deeper. Less pathetic, but somehow more unhinged.
"You need to choose a side, Mother! You need to stop these foolish games and come back to where you belong!"
I frowned, creeping closer to the edge of the wall. I hadn't seen the little ferret in a while since he'd been avoiding me and Sona.
"The Dark Lord is forgiving!" Draco's voice rose, cracking with a fanatical edge that made my skin crawl. "He is generous to those who serve him! Look at me, Mother! Look! He fixed me! He restored my manhood when the healers said it was impossible!"
Fixed?What a waste of magic… I thought to myself as I peered around the corner.
Draco was standing aggressively close to Narcissa, invading her personal space. He looked manic. His pale face was flushed, his eyes wide and wild, and he was gesturing frantically at his crotch. "He gave me back what that bitch Sona Sitri took!" Draco practically shouted. "I am a man again! He even made me 3 inches instead of 2 and a half, so I'm even better than before! The Dark Lord has power you can't even imagine. Come back to the correct side before it's too late!"
I tensed, ready to step in and blast him down the hall with some high pressure water, but Narcissa didn't flinch at his words.
She stood tall, her posture impeccable, looking every inch the pureblood aristocrat she was raised to be. She wore a long, elegant evening gown that clung to her curves. Her expression was ice-cold, her blue eyes filled not with fear, but with a profound, crushing disappointment.
"That is quite enough," Narcissa said, her voice low and steady. She looked at him with a detachment that must have cut deeper than any curse. "That manor is not my home anymore, Draco. And you…" She paused, her gaze sweeping over him with chilling finality. "You are no longer my son."
Draco recoiled as if she'd slapped him. "What? You can't mean that—"
"I have a new family now," Narcissa declared, her voice ringing with conviction. "One that actually values loyalty and strength, not cowering servitude to a monster." Just then, her eyes flicked past Draco's shoulder and locked onto me. The transformation was instant. The ice melted from her features, replaced by a radiant, adoring warmth that lit up the dim hallway. Her blue eyes sparkled, her lips curving into a lush, inviting smile. "Hello, Harry," she purred, her voice dropping an octave into something sultry and intimate.
Draco spun around, his eyes bulging as he saw me standing there!
I didn't even look at him. I kept my eyes on Narcissa as she glided past her stunned son, moving with a predatory grace that made my pulse jump. She reached me in seconds, and she didn't stop.
She threw her arms around my neck, pulling my head down as she pressed her incredible body flush against mine. I felt the softness of her breasts crushing against my chest, the heat of her thighs brushing mine through the thin fabric of her dress.
"I was wondering when you'd come to see me," she whispered against my ear, loud enough for Draco to hear, before pressing a lingering, wet kiss to my cheek.
"Him?!" Draco shrieked, his voice cracking. He pointed a trembling finger at us, his face twisting in a mask of pure revulsion. "You… you really are shacking up with Harry Sitri? With the enemy?!"
I wrapped my arm around Narcissa's waist, pulling her even tighter against me, staking my claim. I felt her shiver delightfully at the contact.
"That's right, Malfoy," I said coolly, staring him down over his mother's shoulder. "You got a problem with that? She's an adult woman, and I'm a grown man. It's none of your business…"
Draco looked like he was going to be sick. "I thought they were just rumors," he spat, his lip curling. "Disgusting, filthy rumors about you being part of Sitri's disgusting harem! But it's true! You're nothing more than a whore! Selling yourself to a half-blood just to—"
A low growl rumbled in my chest, my demonic energy flaring hot and violent in my veins. I took a step forward, ready to tear his throat out. No one called my Bishop a whore!
"Harry, wait," Narcissa murmured. She placed a soft hand on my chest, her fingers splaying over my heart, halting me with a gentle touch. She wasn't upset. If anything, she looked amused, a cruel, superior smirk playing on her lips as she looked back at her former son. "Just ignore him, Harry dear," she said, her voice dripping with condescension. She ran her hand up my chest, her nails scraping lightly against my neck, drawing my gaze back to her. "He's just like his father. All bark and no bite."
Draco turned a violent shade of purple. "Shut up! Father is a great man! He—"
"Lucius is a limp-dicked coward," Narcissa cut him off smoothly, her eyes never leaving mine. She stepped closer, rising on her tiptoes so her face was level with mine. "He never knew how to satisfy a woman. He never knew how to take charge. Not like you, Master."
The way she said 'Master'—with that mix of reverence and lust—sent a jolt of electricity straight to my groin.
"Show him," she whispered, her breath hot on my lips. "Show him who I belong to."
She didn't wait for me to answer. Narcissa cupped the back of my head, weaving her fingers into my hair, and crashed her lips against mine.
It wasn't a chaste kiss. It was a performance, a declaration, and a hungry demand all at once. Her mouth opened immediately, inviting me in, and I didn't hesitate. I swept my tongue into her mouth, tangling with hers. She moaned, a low, wanton sound that echoed loudly in the quiet corridor. She ground her hips against mine, shamelessly rubbing her soft lower belly against the hardening bulge in my trousers.
I gripped her ass with both hands, squeezing the firm flesh through her dress, pulling her up so she was practically climbing me. We devoured each other right there in the hallway, messy and wet and loud.
"Gah! STOP IT!" Draco screamed. The sound of his retching filled the hall. "STOP IT! YOU'RE DISGUSTING!"
I broke the kiss for a second, just enough to look at him with a smirk while keeping Narcissa pressed tight against me. "Sounds like someone's jealous they're not getting any," I taunted.
Narcissa laughed, a dark, throaty sound, and nipped at my lower lip. "Don't pay attention to the boy, Harry. Focus on me."
Draco let out a sound of pure, impotent rage. He hissed like a snake, stomping his foot. "You'll regret this, Narcissa! The Dark Lord will hear of this! You're dead to us!"
He didn't even call her Mother.
He spun on his heel and stormed off down the hall, his robes billowing, looking like a petulant child throwing a tantrum.
We stayed like that for a moment longer, wrapped in each other's arms, listening to his angry footsteps fade away.
As soon as he was gone, the tension drained out of Narcissa's body. Her shoulders slumped, and the fierce, arrogant mask she'd worn dropped, revealing the exhaustion and sadness underneath.
She rested her forehead against my chest, letting out a long, shaky sigh. "I'm sorry you had to see that," she whispered, her voice losing its sultry edge, sounding small and tired.
I rubbed her back gently, holding her close. "Don't apologize. You were amazing."
She looked up at me, her blue eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "I… I really have lost him, haven't I? My son."
"He made his choice, Cissa," I said softly, using the nickname for the first time. "He chose a monster over his own mother. That's on him. Not you."
I leaned down and kissed her forehead, then her nose, and finally pressed a soft, comforting kiss to her lips.
"I'm proud of you," I told her, looking her in the eye. "Standing your ground like that? Telling him off? That took guts. You're strong, Narcissa. And you're not alone. You have me. You have the peerage. We're your family now."
She managed a weak, watery smile, sniffling slightly. "Thank you, Harry. I… I think I needed to hear that." She pressed closer, seeking my warmth. "Will you… stay with me tonight? I don't think I want to be alone."
I grinned, scooping her up into my arms bridal style. She squeaked, wrapping her arms around my neck.
"I wouldn't be anywhere else," I promised, carrying her toward her quarters.
….I sat on the edge of the massive four-poster bed, completely naked, my hands resting on the silk sheets behind me for support. My heart was hammering a heavy rhythm against my ribs, the blood pumping south so fast it made my head spin. My cock was already rock hard, throbbing eagerly and pointing straight up at the ceiling, leaking a clear drop of precum in anticipation.
Across the room, standing near the foot of the bed, Narcissa watched me.
The tension in the room was thick, charged with a mix of emotional relief and raw, unfiltered lust. She stood tall and proud, the earlier grief over Draco tucked away and forgotten.
A slow, knowing smile curved her red lips as she held my gaze, her blue eyes darkening with intent. "You're staring, Master," she purred, her voice low and velvety.
"I can't help it," I admitted, my voice rough. "You're breathtaking, Cissa."
Her smile widened, and she reached behind her neck, undoing the clasp of her elegant evening gown. With a slow, fluid shimmy of her shoulders, she let the expensive fabric cascade down her body. It pooled around her ankles in a heap of dark silk, leaving her standing there in nothing but a set of scandalous white lingerie that made my mouth instantly go dry.
The contrast was stunning. The lacy white fabric seemed to make her pale, porcelain complexion glow in the dim light. It was the kind of lingerie that was meant to be seen, meant to tease.
Her bra was a masterpiece of sheer lace and structural engineering, struggling to contain her heavy, voluptuous breasts. The material was completely see-through, offering me a perfect, hazy view of her large, dark pink nipples, which were already stiff and pushing against the delicate mesh. Her matching panties were high-cut, accentuating the wideness of her hips and the long, elegant lines of her legs.
She placed a hand on her hip, cocking it to the side. "Do you like what you see, Master?" she asked, her voice dripping with the need for validation.
I let out a shaky breath, my eyes roving over every inch of her. "Like isn't a strong enough word," I swore, shaking my head. "Narcissa, you are… you are absolute perfection. I'm so fucking glad I met you that day on the bench."
Her expression softened, a genuine warmth breaking through the seductress act for a fleeting moment. "I am too, Harry," she whispered sincerely. "You saved me."
Then, the lust returned to her eyes, darker than before. She reached behind her back, her movements deliberate and teasing. I heard the distinct click of the hooks undoing.
The straps slid down her smooth shoulders. The cups fell away.
Her massive breasts spilled free, bouncing heavily with the release. They were magnificent—full, soft, and heavy, swaying gently with her movements. She didn't shy away, instead, she grinned wickedly and brought her hands up to cup her own weight.
I watched, mesmerized, as she squeezed her breasts together, pushing them up and out. Her thumbs circled her erect nipples, tweaking and pulling at them while she bit her lower lip, moaning softly at her own touch.
"Does my King want to touch them?" she teased, giving them another squeeze that made the soft flesh bulge between her fingers.
My mouth watered. "You know I do."
"You will soon," she laughed, a throaty, dangerous sound, and let her hands trail slowly down her torso. Her fingers skimmed over her flat stomach, tracing the line of her waist before hooking into the sides of her lacy white panties.
She pushed them down slowly, inch by agonizing inch, over her wide hips and down her thighs. She stepped out of them gracefully, kicking them aside to join the dress.
Now she was fully nude, a vision of mature, devastating beauty. My gaze locked onto the space between her thighs. Her pussy was plump and inviting, the lips pink and glistening with her own wetness. Just above her clit was a neatly trimmed patch of pubic hair—platinum blonde, matching the silk on her head perfectly.
"Beautiful," I groaned, my hips bucking involuntarily on the mattress.
Narcissa tossed her hair back over her shoulder, swaying her hips with an exaggerated, hypnotic rhythm as she took a few slow steps toward me. Her breasts swayed with every step, her eyes locked on my hard cock like a predator eyeing a meal.
She stopped right between my spread knees, close enough that I could smell her arousal mixing with her expensive perfume.
"I'm all yours, Harry," she whispered, reaching out to run a manicured nail down my chest.
My throat clicked audibly as I swallowed. I couldn't take my eyes off her. I didn't want to.
She stood between my spread knees, completely, gloriously naked. She was a masterpiece of mature, feminine beauty.
Her eyes were molten now as they raked over my body. I felt her gaze like a physical touch, sliding down my chest, lingering on my abs, and finally resting hungrily on my erection.
"Harry," she murmured, breaking the short silence. She stepped closer, until her thighs bumped against the insides of my knees. "Do you know how much I appreciate this?"
"Appreciate what?" I rasped, my voice roughly two octaves lower than normal. My hands itched to grab her, to pull those wide, birthing hips onto me, but I held back, letting her set the pace.
"Your patience," she whispered, reaching out to thread her fingers through my hair. Her nails scratched lightly against my scalp, sending shivers down my spine. "You could have demanded this from me the moment you saved me. You could have taken me the night I joined your peerage. As your Bishop, as your servant... I would have let you." She paused, her expression softening into something incredibly vulnerable. "But you waited," she continued, her thumb tracing the line of my jaw. "You waited until I was ready. Until I had severed the ties to my past completely."
I leaned into her touch, turning my head slightly to press a kiss into her palm. "I didn't just want your body, Cissa," I told her honestly, looking up into her eyes. "I wanted you. All of you… I wanted you to need me yourself."
A shiver wracked her frame, and her pupils dilated, swallowing the icy blue color. "Oh, I need it, Master," she breathed. "I need it so badly I can barely stand." She pressed her chest forward, bringing those massive, soft breasts right to my face.
I groaned as the warm, heavy flesh smothered me. She pressed them against my cheeks, the skin impossibly soft and fragrant with the scent of expensive perfume and her own natural musk. I turned my face inward, burying my nose in her cleavage, inhaling deeply as I nuzzled against her.
"Mmm, yes," she moaned above me, her fingers tightening in my hair to hold me in place. "Worship me, Harry. Make me forget everything but you."
As I kissed and licked at the soft slopes of her tits, I felt her hand drift down.
Unlike the younger girls—unlike Ginny's eager but fumbling grip, or even Hermione's enthusiastic but inexperienced touch—Narcissa knew exactly what she was doing. Her hand wrapped around my shaft with a confidence that nearly made my eyes roll back in my head. Her palm was soft, but her grip was firm, authoritative.
She didn't hesitate. She didn't explore tentatively. She took ownership.
She started to stroke me, a slow, twisting motion that dragged the loose skin of my shaft over the sensitive head before pulling back down to the base. It was agonizingly good. She knew exactly how much pressure to apply, exactly where the nerves were clustered.
"You're so hard," she whispered, her voice thick with lust as she leaned back slightly to watch her hand work. She kept her breasts pressed against my face, but pulled back just enough so she could look down at me, her eyes heavy-lidded. "So thick. Lucius... he was never like this. He never filled my hand like this."
The mention of her ex-husband's inadequacy was the perfect fuel for the fire burning in my gut. I growled, biting gently into the side of her breast, making her gasp and arch her back.
"Forget him," I muttered against her skin.
"You're right," she panted, her hand speeding up, her thumb swiping over my leaking slit, spreading the precum over the head of my cock. "He's nothing. You're the only man in my life now."
She pumped me faster, her technique flawless. She twisted her wrist at the top of each stroke, stimulating the head, then milked me all the way down to the root. My hips bucked involuntarily, chasing the sensation, slamming my cock into her palm.
"Fuck, Narcissa," I hissed, my hands coming up to grip her waist. "Your hand feels amazing."
"Just my hand?" she teased breathlessly. She stepped closer, spreading her legs so she was straddling my thigh, the heat of her pussy radiating through the air between us. "I have so much more to offer you, Harry."
She released my cock, leaving it bobbing and glistening, away from her warmth for only a second before she pushed me back. I let myself fall onto the mattress, scuttling back until my head hit the pillows.
Narcissa followed me. She crawled onto the bed on her hands and knees, moving over me with her sinful body. Her breasts swayed heavily beneath her, nipples hard and red, begging for attention. Her stomach was smooth, her hips wide and inviting, and as she crawled over my legs, I got a perfect view of her pussy.
It was beautiful. Plump, pink lips nestled in a neat triangle of platinum blonde curls, glistening with moisture. She was soaking wet.
– Narcissa –
Narcissa hovered on her hands and knees over Harry, her gaze locked on the magnificent sight of him sprawled helplessly beneath her. The air in her private quarters was thick with the scent of arousal—musk, expensive perfume, and the undeniable, heady sweetness of two devil's lusts mixing together.
She shifted her weight. Her knees sank into the plush mattress on either side of his hips, straddling him but not yet settling down. She wanted to savor this. She wanted to drink in the way he looked at her.
Harry's eyes were dark, dilated pools of blue that raked over her naked body with a hunger so raw it made her womb clench. He wasn't looking at her like she was a mother, or an aunt, or a professor. He was looking at her like she was the only water in a desert, and he was dying of thirst.
A slow, confident smile curled her red lips. She straightened her spine, sitting back on her heels to display herself proudly for him. She arched her back, thrusting her chest out, knowing exactly how devastating she looked.
Since her rebirth as a Bishop in Harry's peerage, Narcissa had spent hours in front of her mirror, marveling at the changes. The years of stress, the coldness of her marriage to Lucius, the worry lines—they had all been erased. Her skin was creamy and flawless, glowing with an inner vitality she hadn't possessed even in her twenties. Her breasts were fuller, heavier, sitting high and proud on her chest, tipped with nipples that were currently dark pink and pebble-hard from the cool air and her own excitement.
She was perfect now, and she belonged to him.
"Do you like what I'm showing you, Harry?" she purred, her voice a low, sultry vibration in the quiet room. She ran her hands up her own sides, cupping the weight of her breasts and squeezing them together, offering them to his gaze. "Does your new Defense Professor meet your standards?"
Harry let out a ragged groan, his hands gripping the sheets as if he were trying to keep himself from seizing her right then and there. "You have no idea," he rasped. "You're flawless, Narscissa."
His words sent a shiver of pleasure down her spine. She loved the way her name sounded on his tongue—possessive, intimate.
Walking through the halls of Hogwarts these past few weeks had been an exercise in amusement. She saw the way the older male students looked at her when she turned to write on the blackboard. She saw the glazed eyes, the dropped quills, the desperate attempts to hide the tents in their robes. She was the fantasy of half the school—the unattainable, icy, beautiful Professor Black. They dreamed of her at night. They jerked off thinking about her.
But they were boys playing at being men.
Narcissa looked down at Harry, at the thick, throbbing column of flesh standing straight up from his groin, leaking clear fluid from the angry red head. This was a man. This was her King. And he was the only one who would ever get to touch her like this.
The realization made her feel powerful and submissive all at once.
She lowered herself slowly. She didn't aim for penetration. Not yet. She positioned herself so that her wet, swollen pussy hovered directly over his shaft. She could feel the heat radiating from his cock.
"Narcissa," Harry warned, his hips bucking up instinctively, trying to impale himself inside her.
"Ah, ah," she chided gently, reaching down to press a hand against his chest, holding him down. "Patience, Master. We have all night."
She pressed her hips down until her slick, exposed flesh made contact with his rigid length. She gasped at the sensation—the velvety heat of his cock meat rubbing against her sensitive, soaking wet lips.
She didn't take him inside. Instead, she began to grind.
She rubbed her clitoris against the sensitive underside of his shaft, sliding up and down in a slow, agonizing rhythm. The friction was exquisite. Her juices coated him, making him shine in the dim light, slicking the way for the friction to turn electric.
"Fuck," Harry hissed, his head falling back against the pillows, his neck tendons straining. "You're such a tease."
"I'm just making sure you're ready," she teased back, though her own breath was hitching. She rolled her hips in a circle, mashing her swollen vulva against the ridge of his cock head, spreading her lubrication all over him. Every movement made her breasts bounce heavily. They swayed with a hypnotic rhythm, the soft flesh jiggling, nipples dancing in the air just out of reach of his mouth. She saw his eyes tracking the movement, saw the hunger in his gaze as he watched her tits jump and sway.
She moaned, the sound low and guttural. Her pussy was aching, throbbing with a need so intense it felt like a physical weight between her legs. It had been years—decades—since she had felt this kind of raw, animalistic desire.
She leaned forward, bracing her hands on his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin. She ground down harder, the head of his cock slipping partially between her lips before she lifted her hips and denied him again. She rubbed the length of his shaft along her slit, treating herself like he was a living dildo she wasn't quite ready to accept.
"Beg me," she whispered, the demand slipping out before she could stop it. It was the Black family arrogance surfacing, the need for control even as she surrendered. She looked down at him, eyes heavy-lidded with lust. "Tell me you want it, Harry. Tell me you need to be inside me."
Harry growled, his hands abandoning the sheets to grip her wide hips. His thumbs dug into her flesh, bruising and possessive.
"I need it," he snarled, his voice rough with restraint. "I need to bury myself in you, Narcissa. Stop playing games and sit on my cock."
The command sent a bolt of lightning straight to her core. That was what she wanted. She didn't want a boy who asked permission. She wanted her King to take what was his!
"Yes, Master," she breathed, her voice trembling.
She lifted her hips one last time, reached down with one hand to guide him, and positioned the wide, weeping head of his cock at her entrance.
She paused for a heartbeat, looking him in the eye. "This belongs to you," she vowed.
Then she let gravity take over. She sank down.
Narcissa gasped, her head throwing back as he breached her. He was huge. Incredibly, impossibly thick. She felt him stretching her, filling her completely, pushing past rings of muscle that hadn't been touched in years. It was a feeling of fullness so intense it bordered on pain, but the pleasure that rode its coattails was blinding.
She slid down inch by agonizing inch, her body accommodating him, her inner walls clutching at him greedily. She felt every vein, every ridge of him as he invaded her.
When she finally bottomed out, her ass hitting his thighs with a soft slap, she let out a long, broken sob of pure ecstasy.
"Oh, Merlin," she whimpered, her hands clutching his shoulders to keep from collapsing. "Harry… you're so big… you're filling me up completely."
She could feel him pulsing inside her, deep in her stomach. She was impaled on him, anchored to the bed by his cock. It was the most grounding sensation she had ever experienced. She felt safe. She felt owned.
Harry didn't give her time to adjust. He gripped her hips and thrust upward, hard.
Narcissa cried out, her eyes flying open as the pleasure spiked!
She began to move, tentatively at first, then with growing confidence. She rose up on her knees, dragging her tight, wet pussy along the length of his shaft until he almost slipped out, then slammed herself back down, impaling herself to the hilt.
Slap. Slap. Slap.
The sound of her flesh hitting his filled the room, obscene and wet. She found a rhythm, a desperate, grinding cadence. She rolled her hips as she rode him, churning against him, trying to take him deeper than physically possible.
"You feel incredible," Harry groaned from beneath her, his hands roaming over her body. One hand squeezed her hip, the other moved up to cup her breast, kneading the heavy flesh, his thumb flicking over her nipple.
The sensation of his hand on her breast while his cock hammered into her womb was too much. Narcissa threw her head back, her hair cascading down her back like a silver waterfall, and moaned loudly, uncaring if the portraits in the hallway heard.
"Yes! Touch me! Use me!" she begged.
She looked down at where they were joined. It was a beautiful, carnal sight—his thick cock disappearing into her stretched, pink flesh, glistening with juices, white foam gathering at the edges from the friction.
"I'm yours, Harry," she panted, increasing the pace, bouncing harder. Her breasts jumped wildly, slapping against her chest. "I'm your Bishop. Your slut. Your woman. Lucius never made me feel like this. He never filled me like this!"
She needed him to know. She needed him to know he was superior in every way.
"Fuck Lucius," Harry growled, his hips snapping up to meet her thrusts, driving deeper, hitting a spot inside her that made her vision blur white.
"Yes! Fuck him!" Narcissa screamed, lost in the haze. "You're the only man who matters! You're the only one who can make me cum!"
She leaned forward, bracing her hands on his chest, trapping him beneath her. She stared into his blue eyes, watching the pleasure wreck him, watching his face twist with the same desperate need she felt.
She ground her clitoris against his pubic bone, circling her hips, milking him with her internal muscles. She squeezed him, tightly, rhythmically, feeling him throb in response.
"I'm going to drain you," she whispered, her voice husky and dark. "I'm going to take everything you have, Harry. Give it to me." With a sharp intake of breath, Narcissa tightened her core muscles and began to move her hips with a renewed, feral intensity.
She abandoned the slow, teasing rhythm she had started with, replacing it with a punishing, desperate cadence. She slammed her pelvis down against his, the wet slap of her flesh meeting his thighs echoing obscenely in the quiet room.
She rode him harder, faster, her mind narrowing down to a singular point of focus: the sensation of his massive, throbbing cock piston-ing in and out of her.
Her pussy felt incredibly full, stretched to its absolute limit by his girth, and she reveled in the feeling of invasion. She clamped her internal muscles down, gripping his shaft with a tightness that she knew would drive him mad!
She could feel the veins on his erection, the ridge of the head dragging against her sensitive interior walls with every stroke, hitting a spot deep inside her that sent blinding white sparks of pleasure shooting up her spine.
"Oh, fuck," she hissed through clenched teeth, her head falling back as she ground down on him, her hips rolling in a wide, lubricated circle that allowed her to feel every millimeter of him inside her. "You feel... you feel absolutely massive, Harry."
"You're so fucking tight, Narcissa! You're amazing!" he groaned back.
It was a delicious, filling pressure that erased every other thought from her mind. She was drowning in him, her pussy slick and dripping, her juices coating his shaft so thoroughly that every movement produced a wet, squelching noise that sounded like music to her ears.
She watched through heavy-lidded eyes as his cock disappeared into her again and again, glistening with her arousal, disappearing into the swollen, pink lips of her sex before emerging again, shiny and wet. It was hypnotic.
Needing more contact, needing to feel him everywhere, Narcissa leaned forward. She lowered her torso slowly, arching her back to keep the friction constant between her legs, until her chest met his.
She gasped as her large, heavy breasts pressed firmly against his muscular pectorals. Her nipples, swollen and aching, dragged across his skin, the friction sending fresh jolts of electricity through her nerves. She rubbed her chest against him, flattening the soft mounds of her flesh against the hard wall of his body, reveling in the contrast between her softness and his strength.
"Harry," she breathed, her face hovering inches from his. His eyes were blown wide, dark with lust, staring up at her with an intensity that made her knees weak.
She didn't wait for a response. She crashed her mouth down onto his, sealing their lips together in a kiss that was less about affection and more about consumption.
It was deep, wet, and passionately messy. She opened her mouth wide, inviting him in, and moaned into his throat as his tongue swept inside to meet hers. She sucked on his tongue, swirling hers around it, tasting him—he tasted of desire and power. She kissed him as if she were trying to breathe his air, trying to merge their souls through the contact of their mouths.
As they made out, saliva slicking their lips and chins, Narcissa kept working her hips, refusing to break the rhythm. She ground her clitoris against his pubic bone with every downward stroke, the friction against the sensitive bundle of nerves making her vision swim.
She felt his hands moving restlessly over her body. They swept up her spine, tracing the indentation of her backbone, his fingers digging into her soft skin with a possessiveness that thrilled her. He mapped her body with his touch, exploring the curve of her waist, the flare of her hips.
Then, his hands slid lower, and Narcissa cried out into his mouth as he gripped her ass cheeks firmly.
His fingers dug into the plush flesh of her bottom, kneading and squeezing the soft globes. He pulled them apart, spreading her cheeks wide even as she rode him, exposing her tight asshole to the cool air while his thumbs pressed into the dimples of her lower back. The sensation of being pulled open while he filled her so completely was overwhelming.
He used his grip on her ass to take control, his fingers biting into her skin as he began to thrust upwards, meeting her downward slams with powerful bucks of his hips. He drove into her with a violence that shook the bedframe, his cock hammering against her cervix, touching places deep inside her womb that had been neglected for far too long.
"Mmmph!" Narcissa moaned against his lips, her nails digging into his shoulders, anchoring herself as he pounded into her. The slap of skin against skin grew louder, faster, a frantic tempo that matched the wild beating of her heart.
She broke the kiss with a loud, wet smack, pulling back just enough to look him in the eyes again, gasping for air. A string of saliva connected their lips before breaking, landing on his chest.
"Yes... yes, just like that," she panted, her voice ragged and unrecognizable. She threw her head back, her expression was pure ecstasy. "Use me... break me... oh, Merlin, you're hitting it... you're hitting it perfectly!"
She could feel his hands sliding around to the front of her thighs now, gripping her legs and pulling them wider, opening her up completely to him. She was totally exposed and she had never felt more powerful in her life.
The pleasure was building rapidly now, a tightening coil deep in her belly that wound tighter and tighter with every thrust. Her body was beginning to shake, tremors starting in her thighs and radiating outward until her whole body was vibrating with the force of her arousal.
"Harry..." she whined, the need becoming unbearable. She looked down at him, her eyes glassy and unfocused. "Harry, please... I'm close... I'm so close..."
"I'm close too! I'm going to cum so hard!" Harry moaned and sped up thrusting underneath her.
She felt his cock swell inside her, the head pulsing as it rubbed against her internal hotspots. He was close too. She could see it in the tension of his jaw, the way his neck muscles strained, the way his eyes were glazed over with the same animalistic need that was consuming her.
"Don't you dare stop," she ordered breathlessly, her voice breaking. She ground her hips down, holding herself deep on his shaft, swirling her hips to milk him. "I want it... I want everything... give it to me!"
Her pussy was clamping down on him involuntarily, her inner walls spasming in quick, rhythmic flutters that she knew must feel incredible for him. She was milking him, dragging every drop of pleasure from him with her own body.
"Cum for me," she begged, her voice dropping to a desperate whisper. She leaned forward again, her breasts swaying just above his face. "Cum inside me, Harry. Fill me up. I want to feel you pour into me! Fill your Bishop!"
Harry roared, a guttural sound of release that rumbled through his chest and into hers. He slammed his hips upward one final, brutal time, burying himself to the root, grinding his pelvis against hers so hard it bruised.
Narcissa screamed as her orgasm hit her like a physical blow.
"YES!"
Her body seized, every muscle locking tight as the waves of pleasure ripped through her. Her vision went white. Her inner walls clamped down on his cock with a vice-like grip, squeezing him ruthlessly as she convulsed around him.
And then she felt it.
The distinctive, powerful throbbing of his cock as he erupted inside her. She felt the hot, thick jets of his semen shooting deep into her pussy, coating her cervix, flooding her canal with scalding heat.
It was glorious.
She sobbed out his name, riding out the aftershocks, grinding weakly against him to milk out every last drop of his essence. She could feel him twitching inside her, pouring more and more of himself into her, claiming her in the most primal way possible.
"Harry... Harry... oh gods..." she whimpered, her body going limp, collapsing forward until she was draped over him like a ragdoll, her cheek resting against his heaving chest.
She lay there, gasping for breath, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. She could feel the sticky warmth of their combined fluids leaking out of her, pooling between their bodies, a messy, tangible proof of what they had just done.
His arms came around her, holding her close, his hands stroking her sweat-slicked back. The gesture was so tender, so possessive, that it brought fresh tears to her eyes.
She was ruined. She was utterly, completely ruined for any other man, for any other life. And as she listened to the steady, calming rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her ear, Narcissa knew she wouldn't have it any other way.
She lifted her head slowly, her limbs heavy and languid. Her hair was a mess, sticking to her face and neck, and she knew her makeup—what little she wore since becoming a gorgeous devil—was likely smudge. But she didn't care.
She looked down at Harry, seeing the satisfied smirk on his handsome face.
"You... are incredible," she whispered, leaning down to press a soft, lingering kiss to his damp forehead. "My King."
Harry opened one eye, a lazy grin spreading across his face. "And you, Professor Black," he murmured, his voice rough and deep, sending a fresh shiver through her, "are a very naughty teacher."
Narcissa laughed. She shifted, feeling him soften slightly inside her, though he didn't slip out. She tightened her muscles around him one last time, just to remind him where he belonged.
"Only for you, Harry," she promised, resting her head back on his chest, listening to the world settle around them. "Only ever for you."
XXX
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