Chapter 2: The Seeds of Trouble
Harry Potter was never meant to spend his summer at Privet Drive so peacefully. But Fate doesn't make his life so easy. Torn from his time and cast into Hogwarts of the 1890s, Harry becomes Harrison Evans.
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The greenhouse reeked of sex.
Heat clung to the glass, heavy and wet, the air thick with the sweet, drugged scent of the Venustus Ivy, now curling lazily around the wooden beams like a predator sated after the kill. Last of Moonlight filtered through condensation-streaked panes, painting everything in pale, sticky silver.
Harry stirred.
Every inch of him ached. His muscles were wrecked, his body drenched in sweat, and the thick, stifling heat of the greenhouse. He was soaked in it, used, spent, and fucked raw. His head throbbed, not with pain, but from how hard his magic had burned through him. It still buzzed under his skin, low and angry, like it hadn't had enough.
And then he felt it. The slick heat gripping his cock. The filthy ache in his balls. The wet, twitching throb of her cunt wrapped around his cock.
He realized his cock was still inside her pussy.
Her back was against his chest, her body limp and slack. One leg dangled off the bench, the other bent wide open, her pussy exposed to the air, red, puffy, and soaked. His cock sat deep in her, soft but still buried in the cum-soaked mess they'd made. His seed leaked out of her in slow, sticky dribbles, running down her thighs, pooling on the bench, soaking into the ivy and wood.
He didn't move.
Couldn't.
Even the smallest shift made her cunt squelch around him, sloppy and overstretched. He heard her breath catch, quick, broken, not asleep. She was awake. I'm hoping this was a bad wet dream.
They'd fucked until they broke. Until she was crying and begging, until he came again and again inside her, until she clawed at him and took more.
Now she felt her cunt still twitching around his hardening cock. He didn't move.
Harry realized Garlick was awake. He could feel it-her breathing wasn't steady. It hitched when he shifted just slightly, the smallest twitch of his hips causing a fresh wet squelch where their bodies remained joined.
For a long, frozen minute, neither of them said anything.
Then she moved.
A sharp breath. A stiffening of her spine. And slowly-deliberately-she lifted herself from him, rising on shaking limbs. His cock slipped from her, dragging sticky strings of seed between them, a fresh trail of slick dripping down her inner thighs.
She didn't look at him.
Her hands fumbled with her robes, crumpled and torn, her underthings nowhere to be seen. She found them by the potting table, held them once in her shaking grip, and dropped them again as they burned. Her blouse clung to her skin, translucent in places from sweat. Her hair was wild, mussed, tangled with stray ivy fronds.
Still, she didn't speak.
Not until she reached the greenhouse door.
She turned just enough for him to catch a glimpse of her face-wide-eyed, dazed, flushed from more than the heat. Her lips were parted. Her cheeks were blotched with red. She looked like she didn't recognize him. Or herself.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, voice cracked and barely audible. "This... this never happened."
Then she was gone. Barefoot. Limping slightly. Her ruined robes trailed behind her like smoke.
The door clicked shut.
Harry let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. He sat up slowly, groaning as every muscle screamed in protest. His cock twitched, soft, sticky, and aching. The air clung to him, thick with sweat and sex. He was soaked. The bench, his robes, the stone floor, everything reeked of her, of him, of what they'd done.
The Venustus Ivy rustled lazily, petals faintly glowing. One vine curled around his ankle, warm and slow, before retreating.
The plant wasn't releasing hormones anymore. It had done its job masterfully. I even felt proud of the aftermath.
And still, something pulsed inside him, his magic. It wasn't quiet anymore. It thrummed low in his blood, restless, alive, like the fucking had cracked something open. At Hogwarts, fate usually waited until the end of the year to ruin him. But not this time. This year, it hadn't waited. This year, it had decided to fuck him early. Maybe that meant he was cursed. Or maybe, just maybe, he'd finally gotten too lucky.
He swatted the ivy's vine, its tendrils snapping back. A jolt seared through him, buckling his knees.
Garlick's ragged moans tore through the air, her sweat-drenched body thrashing beneath him, her tight cunt gripping his cock like a vise, slick with her creamy release as she shattered in orgasm, her sharp cries pulsing in time with her spasms. He snarled, thrusting deep, his thick cum flooding her quivering core, each hot spurt stretching her walls until she overflowed, her greedy pussy milking every last drop from him.
He gasped, stumbling back. The ivy recoiled as if it had seen it too.
It hadn't just triggered. It had been recorded.
His mark flared gold on his wrist, then faded.
"Fuck," he muttered.
He blinked down at himself. His shirt clung to his chest, trousers clumsily buttoned over a cock that was twitching again, half-hard from the memory. His cheeks flushed, hot up to his ears. A bloody Weasley-level blush.
He hadn't expected to lose his virginity like this. Not his clothes soaked in his own and someone else's cum. Not bent over a greenhouse bench with his professor writhing under him.
His cock stirred again. Twitching, eager, like his little friend hadn't had enough and was ready for another go.
"Fucking hell," Harry muttered, voice hoarse.
He needed a cold shower. Or a good, shame-ridden wank. Maybe both.
He glanced down and grimaced.
The bench was slick with semi-dry cum. Her heel prints were scuffed into the soil like fading echoes. Her knickers, torn and twisted, lay half-buried in the roots of the Ivy, stained and unmistakably hers.
If anyone saw this, they'd know exactly what had happened here. Who he had been inside. What he had done.
He swallowed hard, heart hammering.
Fucking a professor and filling her with enough semen to make the vines bloom could probably get him expelled or worse, killed. The Statute of Magical Conduct had entire sections on student-teacher boundaries. He was fairly sure violating them didn't come with a light slap on the wrist.
Hell, he could be arrested. Killed to keep the reputation of Hogwarts intact.
Had he been the first student to shag a professor at Hogwarts? He seriously doubted it. Not in this madhouse of a castle, where the walls had ears, the paintings gossiped, and the house elves probably knew more about the students than the Headmaster ever would.
Every Defence professor he'd had so far had tried to kill him. Be it Quirrell, Lockhart, Lupin, or fake Moody, each in their own unique, horrible way. He still held a healthy suspicion that his Potion Master and even the bloody Headmaster had similar plans brewing. And of course, how could he possibly forget Voldemort's annual attempts to murder him personally? Hogwarts was something else, still better than the Dursleys, though.
He really should've read Hogwarts: A History. There was probably a footnote buried in the appendix about some lovesick Ravenclaw shagging an Arithmancy professor in the 1600s.
Still, that didn't help now.
He raised his wand and whispered, "Scourgify."
The puddle vanished. The sticky sheen on the bench faded to clean wood. The sour-sweet scent of sweat and sex dulled, replaced by faint earth and mint. A second pass of "Tergeo" siphoned the stains from her torn underthings and the surrounding soil. Another muttered charm, "Evanesco," made them disappear entirely.
The evidence was gone.
But not the memory.
Harry stood in the quiet aftermath, wand still in hand, and felt something cold twist in his gut.
His magic had changed, and so had his entire worldview. And now, there was no trace left of the incident he'd never forget.
Except for the aching reminder between his legs. His cock was still half-hard, sticky against his trousers, every step back to his quarters a slow, chafing torment. The castle was mercifully empty, but that didn't make the walk any less humiliating. He clenched his jaw, staring ahead, refusing to look down and force himself forward, hoping no one crossed his path.
It was hard to pretend nothing happened when your dick refused to calm down.
…
Harry entered the Great Hall with his head bowed slightly, eyes fixed on the floor. The usual hum of breakfast chatter was muted, broken by whispers that skittered across the room like restless insects. Now and then, someone glanced toward him, their stares sharp and wary, each glance digging deeper into his skin.
He forced himself toward his seat at the Gryffindor table, sitting carefully and mechanically spooning scrambled eggs onto his plate without appetite. From the corner of his eye, he noticed Natty watching him, her normally warm gaze cool and guarded. She studied him openly, her expression unreadable but heavy with suspicion.
He looked away, stomach tightening painfully.
Poppy, usually eager to greet him, now sat rigidly, pushing her porridge around her bowl without eating. When Harry's gaze met hers, she immediately looked down, cheeks flushed pink, clearly uncomfortable. Moments later, she muttered a quick excuse to Natty and hurried from the table, leaving Harry feeling even more isolated.
The whispers grew louder, bolder.
Herbology began soon after, bringing no relief. At the greenhouse, students gathered in tight clusters, whispering urgently. A dull-faced wizard from the Magical Botany Board stood near Garlick's desk, looking utterly disinterested.
"Professor Garlick will be absent today due to an unforeseen personal matter," the substitute announced in a flat voice, eyes never leaving his notes. No one believed him, least of all Harry.
The murmurs intensified immediately.
Harry pretended to take notes, gripping his quill too tightly as he strained to block out the whispered speculation around him.
"I swear I heard something from Greenhouse Three last night," one voice said from behind. "Sounded like someone moaning and crying at the same time."
Another replied quietly, "Yeah, and someone else said they heard crying out, some name. Larry, I think?"
Harry's hand trembled, smearing ink across his parchment. His chest tightened painfully at the mention of his mother's name. He closed his eyes briefly, fighting a wave of nausea.
The substitute glanced up. "Something wrong, Mr. Potter?"
"No, sir," Harry replied quietly, steadying his hand. "Just a slip."
The wizard shrugged indifferently and returned to his lecture. But Natty's stare burned hotter, more intense. She didn't miss a thing. She never did.
When the lesson finally ended, students filed out quickly, their conversations already turning into whispers and sideways glances. A few lingered at the door, pretending to adjust their bags while sneaking looks at Harry. He kept his head down, shoving his things into his satchel with deliberate care, waiting for the space to clear.
The greenhouse emptied around him. Chairs scraped. Boots scuffed over stone. The quiet built back slowly like mist settling after a storm.
Only when the last voice faded and the door creaked shut behind them did Harry finally stand. He adjusted his bag, hoping that if he moved quietly enough, he might disappear into the corridor before anyone else took notice.
He had just reached for the door when a calm voice stopped him.
"A word, Harry?" Fig's voice was quiet, almost gentle, but firm enough to leave no room for refusal.
Harry nodded numbly, following Fig down a corridor until they stood in a secluded alcove, hidden from curious eyes. The silence stretched painfully between them, Fig's gaze steady and probing.
"Some magic leaves footprints," Fig began softly, carefully choosing his words. "Most overlook them, blind to the trail left behind. But not everyone."
Harry swallowed, throat tight, pulse-quickening uncomfortably. "Professor, I'm not sure…"
Fig raised a calming hand. "Unchecked emotion always leaves its mark on magic, Harry. It disturbs the balance, destabilizing what we carefully control."
Harry forced himself to appear dismissive. "I'm not emotional, Professor. I'm fine."
Fig gave him a knowing look, quiet but piercing. "Perhaps. But humor me. Write a reflection on this: how does unchecked emotion alter magical stability?"
Harry hesitated only briefly before giving a grudging nod. "Alright. If you say so."
Fig's gaze softened slightly as if sensing Harry's struggle beneath his carefully maintained indifference. Without another word, Fig quietly left, leaving Harry alone, surrounded only by cold stone walls and oppressive silence.
Harry leaned against the wall, breathing shallowly. His heartbeat echoed in his ears, loud and accusing. The images from the greenhouse came rushing back. Garlick's flushed skin, the heat of her trembling body, the rawness of their shared need. He clenched his fists, nails digging painfully into his palms.
Unchecked emotion. Fig had understated it. Harry felt anything but checked. He felt reckless, ashamed, and exposed. And worst of all, he feared it wasn't over.
He forced himself off the wall, walking deliberately down the empty corridor. Every footstep echoed hollowly, reminding him of the whispered rumors already spreading throughout Hogwarts, rumors dangerously close to the truth.
Harry quickened his pace, eyes fixed firmly ahead, determined not to look back.
He didn't speak to anyone for the rest of the day. Not in Charms, where Professor Ronen's cheerful tone barely registered, and the spellwork flickered at his fingertips. Not in Potions, where the steam from his cauldron curled like an accusation, and he stirred by instinct more than focus. And not in History of Magic, where the lecture on goblin rebellions blurred into background noise behind the noise in his head.
He kept his head down. Answered no questions. Avoided every glance.
By the time the final class ended, the weight in his chest felt heavier than the books in his bag. It was as if the greenhouse hadn't let go of him. As if its heat and sin still clung to his skin. The corridors felt narrow, tighter than usual, the portraits unusually quiet. Too quiet.
He wandered the long hall beside the greenhouses again but didn't go near the one where it happened. His eyes refused to look in that direction. Garlick's voice still echoed in his head. This never happened. But it had. It had, and his magic remembered. The castle remembered, too. Even if it said nothing.
Eventually, he found himself lingering in the Transfiguration Courtyard, the wind biting at his hands. The sky above was pale and overcast, the trees near the edge of the Highlands stripped down to bone. His magic still thrummed faintly under his skin. Subdued, but restless. Waiting.
He leaned against the stone railing, breathing in the cold. The world felt fragile. Still.
Some magic leaves footprints. Fig's voice echoed in the back of his mind. And some people are blind to the trail.
Harry clenched his jaw. He couldn't afford to leave trails anymore. He couldn't afford another mistake.
Above him, something rustled.
A slip of parchment spiraled through the air, catching the wind before pressing softly against his chest. He caught it without thinking and unfolded it.
Report to Professor Weasley's office. Immediately.
No signature. None needed.
The corridor leading to the Deputy Headmistress's office was hushed, its torches burning lower than usual, the stones cold beneath his boots. When he reached the arched oak door, he paused just long enough to steady his breathing, then knocked once and stepped inside.
Professor Matilda Weasley stood behind her desk, hands clasped, posture straight. Her deep red robes were lined in gold, and her wand rested on the parchment beside her. She didn't speak as he entered. Her sharp eyes were already fixed beyond him.
He turned.
Natty stood near the fireplace, arms crossed, expression unreadable. She didn't greet him, just gave a slow nod that said, You're late and you're in this now.
"Close the door, Mr. Potter," Weasley said calmly. "And listen carefully."
He obeyed.
"There's been a confirmed Ashwinder incursion near Feldcroft," she began without preamble. "A Muggleborn child was taken two nights ago during a skirmish with goblins. The Ministry has been informed, but their response is, predictably, delayed. I'm assigning the two of you to investigate immediately."
Harry didn't flinch, but something tightened in his chest. This wasn't a lesson or a trial. This was real.
"Your task is simple in outline but not in execution. Locate the child. Determine if the Ashwinders and goblins are still working together. Extract her safely, if possible. You are not to engage unless necessary. Observe. Plan. Act only when you're certain."
Natty straightened. "Understood."
Harry said nothing, not yet. He was still watching Matilda, the way her gaze lingered on him just a fraction longer.
She knew what this meant for him.
If he did this right, if he brought the girl back safely, if he held control, if he proved himself, he could finally be sorted. Officially accepted. A student of Hogwarts not by technicality but by belonging. No more side looks. No more "exceptions." Just him, and a place among the rest.
"I've arranged for Floo travel to the Irondale Ministry outpost," Weasley continued. "From there, you'll find two broomsticks waiting. Stormtail-class, swift and silent, charmed for low-altitude gliding and stealth flying. Use them wisely. You'll land west of Feldcroft near the lower ridge path. From there, proceed on foot."
Harry's eyes flicked to Natty. She was already alert, already calculating. She was built for this. The Auror's daughter. The rebel in training. And Harry? He was still the outsider, the latecomer with raw power no one fully understood, not even himself.
But he'd seen enough suffering. Enough silence. He wasn't going to stand back.
"I understand," he said quietly. "We'll bring her back."
Weasley studied him for a beat longer, then nodded.
"The Floo is ready. The powder is beside the grate. Say 'Irondale Outpost' clearly. And, Mr. Potter," her voice lowered slightly, "be careful with your magic."
He stiffened. "I will be."
The green fire swallowed him, heat curling briefly around his skin before the world twisted. For a moment, there was nothing but spinning air and streaks of emerald flame, and then his boots hit cold stone.
Harry stumbled forward into a small, high-ceilinged chamber lined with Ministry crests and iron sconces. The Floo fire behind him shrank to a normal hearth. Natty was already there, standing at the far wall, her arms folded and her expression tight.
She turned her head slightly as he arrived, the barest flicker of acknowledgment passing between them. No words. Just focus.
The room was quiet, save for the wind hammering against the outpost windows. It smelled faintly of oil and parchment, and in the corner rested two sleek broomsticks, silver-bristled and dark-handled. Stormtail-class, just as Weasley had promised. Long, narrow-bodied, clearly built for maneuverability more than comfort. Harry had never ridden one before.
"Mount up," Natty said simply, already strapping her travel cloak tighter against the wind.
Harry nodded, grabbing the other broom. He threw one leg over it, gripping the shaft as the wood thrummed beneath his palm. It was eager, enchanted, and finely tuned.
They stepped outside into the gale.
The Highlands stretched vast before them, iron-grey and moaning under the weight of a coming storm. Clouds rolled thick and fast overhead, and the first hints of rain stung Harry's face as they took off, cloaks snapping behind them in the wind.
The journey to Feldcroft was short, no more than ten minutes on a broom, but the silence between them stretched much longer. Natty flew ahead, eyes forward, her movements tight and controlled. Harry followed closely, hugging the tree line, feeling the sting of wind against his knuckles and the buzz of unsettled magic in his blood.
He didn't speak. Neither did she.
By the time they descended, the sun had all but vanished behind low clouds, and the trees howled around them like wolves. They touched down west of Feldcroft, boots crunching into frost-bitten grass and damp soil. The air felt heavier here. Wrong.
Ahead lay the ruins.
Crumbled arches, broken pillars, and craggy stone walls littered the landscape like bones. Thick brush pushed in from all sides, the forest encroaching. Somewhere beyond, barely visible through the gloom, was the cave Matilda had marked on the map. A jagged slit in the cliffside, shadowed and ancient.
Harry dismounted quietly, his boots sinking into the soft earth. He kept his broom in hand a moment longer, then shrank it with a quick charm and tucked it into his robes. Natty did the same.
"Stay behind me," she said without looking at him, her wand already drawn.
Harry arched an eyebrow. "Not a chance."
"This isn't a duel, Harry," she muttered. "This is a rescue. We do it clean, we do it fast, and we don't get caught. I'm used to this sort of mission."
He scoffed. "And I'm used to things going sideways. I'm not standing around while someone gets hurt."
They held each other's gaze for a long moment, a quiet clash of wills. Then Natty finally huffed and turned forward. "Fine. Just don't get in my way."
They moved through the ruins with silent precision, cloaked in Disillusionment. The spell shimmered faintly over their skin as they crept from stone to stone, breathing low, steps measured. Harry's eyes swept the rubble-strewn path ahead. The tension here was different, thicker, stretched taut like a wire about to snap. Somewhere nearby, something was very wrong.
Broken crates lay scattered near a cave mouth, charred at the edges. Scorch marks. Goblin iron. Poacher sigils burned into the stone. Ashwinder handiwork. Harry knelt beside a dropped doll, its fabric muddy and torn.
"She's here," he whispered.
Natty motioned for silence and crept closer to the entrance. From inside came muffled voices, low, sneering tones. Goblin and Ashwinder both. A rough laugh. The unmistakable clink of chains.
"She's tied up," Natty said grimly. "Two goblins on the left. One poacher by the fire. Possibly further in."
Harry tightened his grip on his wand. "We'll draw them out."
"I'll draw them out," she corrected. "You get the girl. Get her out."
But before either of them could move, the ground trembled.
A spell cracked through the silence. Blinding orange light shot from the cave mouth. Their cover was shattered. Someone had tripped a ward.
The cave erupted.
A blast of magic forced them back as figures surged out into the open, Ashwinders in black leather with cruel, curved wands, goblins armored in enchanted iron. One shouted something guttural before flinging a hex that shattered a nearby rock.
Natty ducked, rolled, and fired off a Stunning Spell. One goblin dropped. Two more closed in, fast and coordinated.
Harry moved without thinking. He parried hex mid-air, twisted left, and then hit the attacker with a silent Expelliarmus that sent the goblin's weapon spiraling away. Another poacher came from behind with a wicked grin and a wand crackling green.
Natty screamed his name.
Harry turned, wand rising, but he was too slow.
The curse fired.
Everything stopped.
The fear twisted in his chest, blooming hot behind his ribs. And then, it cracked.
His vision flared white-blue. The air around him convulsed.
Ancient Magic answered.
A shockwave tore through the field. Three enemies flew backward, their bodies crashing against the rock with bone-jarring force. Another boulder cracked and half-suspended above the cave entrance, groaned, and snapped loose.
It fell.
Dust and rubble blanketed the ground. Silence returned in a single breath.
Natty stood frozen, wand still raised. Her wide eyes stared at the place where the boulder had landed. Then she looked at him.
"What... what did you do?"
Harry said nothing. He couldn't. The glow of Ancient Magic still pulsed faintly at his fingertips, his chest heaving with unspent energy. Fig's words echoed in the back of his mind: Some magic leaves footprints.
And this had left a crater.
Behind them, a child's cry broke the silence. It pulled Harry from the haze.
He blinked, trying to steady his breath. The blue shimmer of Ancient Magic faded slowly from his fingers, disappearing like smoke. Natty was already moving. She stepped over the rubble, wand at the ready, checking each of the fallen bodies with efficient precision. All unconscious. Some bleeding. None, hopefully dead.
Inside the cave, tucked between overturned crates and broken charms, a small girl sat bound at the ankles and wrists. Her face was streaked with dirt and tears. She couldn't have been more than seven.
Natty dropped to one knee beside her, murmuring soothingly as she cut the bindings with a flick of her wand. The girl clung to her instantly, small fingers fisting into Natty's robes.
"It's alright," Natty whispered. "You're safe now. No one's going to hurt you."
Harry stood at the mouth of the cave, heart still pounding. The wind had picked up. It screamed through the ruins, dragging the scent of ash and stone with it. The first drops of rain began to fall, sharp and cold against his skin.
The girl was trembling in Natty's arms.
"We need to move," Harry said quietly, his voice nearly swallowed by the wind. "Storm's on its way."
Natty nodded, rising slowly. The girl clung to her like ivy to stone, her face buried in Natty's shoulder. Natty didn't speak. She didn't look at Harry. Not yet. Her expression remained tight and unreadable, and her steps were steady as she turned toward the ridgeline.
They left the cave behind them. Scattered bodies, broken crates, scorched grass still faintly smoldering in the cold air. The boulder lay cracked at the entrance, a silent witness to something that had no name. Rain began to fall in earnest now, a chill, stinging drizzle that slicked the ruins and soaked through their cloaks.
They moved quickly, cutting across the broken path westward, following the ridge trail Matilda had marked on their route map. The terrain grew rockier, the valley deepening, the air sharp with mountain wind. In the distance, the faint outline of a crumbled structure appeared through sheets of rain and mist.
The old Feldcroft watchtower stood like a broken sentinel on the ridge, its upper levels long collapsed, ivy clawing its sides, the stone dark with age and rain. Lightning forked overhead as they reached the archway, thunder chasing behind like distant cannon fire.
Harry reached the door first and pushed it open with a wet creak. Inside, the air was damp and hollow. The floor was strewn with moss and leaves, the remnants of a spiral staircase winding up into nothing. Shelter. Barely, but enough.
Natty followed close behind, adjusting the child in her arms, her expression drawn but focused. She looked like she'd walked through fire and chosen to keep walking.
Harry didn't hesitate. A flick of his wand conjured a soft mat in the driest corner, and another lit the hearth with a steady blaze. The fire crackled to life, painting the stone in shifting amber light and pressing the shadows deeper into the corners.
Natty laid the girl down gently. The child turned toward her immediately, pressing into her side without a word. She didn't cry. Didn't flinch. Just held on.
"She's not speaking," Natty murmured, brushing a few strands of wet hair from the child's brow. "But she's calm. For now."
Harry nodded and settled beside the fire, limbs heavy with more than exhaustion. His palms still pulsed faintly, scorched not by flame but by something deeper. The burst of magic hadn't bruised his skin, but it had marked him. There was something inside him now that refused to settle, like a current beneath the ice.
"Is she hurt?" he asked.
"No," Natty said after a pause. "Shaken, but whole. No curses. Just fear."
The rain softened against the stone outside. Thunder echoed once more, then faded. Lightning flashed across the tower window, casting flickers along Natty's face, sharp one moment, soft the next. Her silhouette looked carved out of ash and steel, something both beautiful and war-worn.
"You saved us," she said quietly, eyes fixed on the fire.
Harry didn't speak.
"That wasn't wandwork. It was something else."
He drew a slow line across the stone with his finger, not looking up. "I don't know what it is. Not really."
"You need to," she said. "Because if you can't control it."
"I didn't mean to use it," Harry cut in, sharper than he intended. "It just happened."
The words echoed in the tower, too loud for how softly they were spoken.
"I've seen magic used to hurt people. Dark spells. Curses. This... this wasn't that. But it didn't feel safe either."
Harry clenched his fists. "Would you rather I hadn't used it? Let them kill us?"
"No." She answered too fast. "I'm glad you did. I just... I wasn't ready."
The child stirred once beside her, then stilled again, tucked into the blanket Harry had conjured. Her face had relaxed, tear tracks fading into smudged cheeks, lashes still wet but peaceful.
Inside, the fire burned lower. Shadows danced on moss-streaked walls. The wind curled through the cracks, no longer howling.
Harry leaned back against the stone, wringing out his sleeves absently. Water hit the floor in soft drops. He stared into the fire but didn't really see it. His thoughts were a tangle of heat and restraint, the aftershock of something ancient and monstrous.
Footsteps crossed the tower floor. Light. Steady.
"You didn't even speak," Natty said behind him.
He blinked and looked over. She stood a few feet away, arms crossed, face drawn tight. Her curls were damp, tied back roughly. Her clothes stuck to her skin, clinging like armor after the storm.
"That spell," she said. "It was Ancient Magic, wasn't it?"
Harry nodded. "It comes when I'm not thinking. Like something inside me just... takes over. And it doesn't care who's watching. It always reacts too hard."
He rubbed his hands together. They still felt raw, nerves buzzing like they hadn't come down yet.
"Like something inside you wants to destroy anything that gets close," Natty said, stepping closer. Her voice didn't tremble, but her eyes did.
He looked at her fully now. She was closer than before.
"I know that feeling," she added, barely louder than the fire's whisper.
She sat beside him slowly. Close, but not quite touching. Her eyes stayed on the flames.
"It scares me," he said, his voice rough.
Silence grew between them, not empty but heavy. The storm outside had moved on. The one inside hadn't. The one between them was still forming.
"You didn't wait," she said at last. "You didn't hesitate. You let yourself burn for her."
She nodded toward the girl, fingers resting gently on the child's back.
Harry didn't reply, but something inside him softened. He had never wanted to be a hero. But in that moment, he had chosen to become the shield.
Natty turned to him, no longer guarded. Studying.
Her hand rose. He twitched, but didn't flinch.
She brushed his cheek. Her fingers came back red.
"Blood," she murmured. "Yours."
She wiped gently again, slower this time. Her touch stayed. Warm. Real.
"You're not normal," she said.
He didn't shrink from it. "Neither are you."
She stopped. Their eyes met and held.
Harry saw the firelight flicker in her gaze and knew. He wasn't just being looked at. He was being seen.
And that frightened him more than magic ever had.
But still, he didn't look away.
Her hand dropped slowly to the floor between them.
"I used to think if I stayed measured, careful... the pain would stop. That control was everything."
Harry stared at the fire. "It never is."
"No," she agreed.
The fire crackled. The tower groaned. Thunder whispered far off.
They said nothing for a while. Only the breathing of a sleeping child and the creak of rain on stone filled the space.
Harry reached for his wand. It didn't pulse. It felt cold. Muted.
"I don't want to hurt anyone," he said. "But if I can't stop it..."
Natty's voice was quiet, but firm. "Then you'll need someone to help you hold the line."
He glanced sideways.
She didn't smile, but something in her face had softened. Something that said: I'm still afraid. But I'm staying.
Harry nodded once. Just once. That was all he could give.
The storm outside had quieted.
But the one inside, the one neither of them had named, was only just beginning.
The fire had burned down to coals. Orange embers cast flickering shadows that barely reached the far walls, leaving most of the old watchtower in darkness. Rain lashed the stone from outside. It slid through cracks and trickled down, streaking ivy-draped walls in glistening threads.
The child was asleep. Tucked deep in conjured blankets by the hearth, her breathing soft and shallow, like she was made of nothing but silence now. Safe. Unaware.
Harry sat with his back against a cracked stone beam, breath still ragged from the fight. The fire he'd conjured flickered low, casting long shadows on the bloodied stone around them. His robes clung to his skin, damp with sweat and rain, the scent of magic still curling faintly around him.
His chest heaved. His eyes burned. But he was calm now. The fight was over.
Across from him, Natty stood still, silent.
She hadn't spoken since they pulled the child from the wreckage and tucked her against a dry patch of cloth. Her curls stuck to her cheeks in heavy, wet ropes. Her eyes didn't shine with tears. They burned. Something inside her had cracked open and was spilling out, molten and unstoppable.
She stepped forward. One step, then another, until the firelight reached her, casting a golden glow over her deep brown skin. It was smooth and rich like dark honey, flushed from adrenaline and rain.
Then she dropped to her knees in front of him.
Harry's pulse throbbed deep in his neck. His pale skin flushed under the wild mess of black hair, and the heat in his groin was sudden and sharp.
"Natty?" he said, voice low and rough.
She didn't speak. Her eyes searched his, wide and hesitant, but full of that wild burn that made his cock twitch. Her dark hands, soaked and trembling, clutched the edge of his robe, her fingers tight in the fabric.
Then she kissed him.
It was soft. Shaking. Her lips barely brushed his, like she wasn't sure she was allowed to want it. But when he didn't pull away, when his hands settled on her hips, she kissed him again. This time it was harder.
That kiss dragged the air from his lungs.
She gasped against his mouth, her hands gripping the front of his robes with desperate fists. She tasted like rain and fear and something fierce that had finally broken loose. Harry groaned, his tongue sliding over hers, coaxing her open. She kissed like someone who had never done it before. She was learning on him, trembling and unsure, but so fucking eager.
He pulled back just enough to breathe. His voice was hoarse, almost broken. "Are you…"
She cut him off with another kiss.
"I don't know," she whispered, her forehead pressed to his. "I just watched you fight. You looked untouchable."
Her breath stuttered against his lips. "And I needed to touch you."
Harry didn't answer. His fingers curled harder into her waist. His cock pulsed behind the fabric of his trousers, painfully full already.
"I've never done this," she said. "I didn't plan it. But I need you to hold me down before I disappear."
He knew that feeling. The magic still burned under his skin, low, hot, and alive. Not violent, but aching. His muscles felt too tight, his cock too full, like he'd snap from the inside out if he didn't bury himself in her and release it.
"You're sure?" he rasped.
"I'm scared," she said, her voice trembling, "but I want you to show me. Whatever it feels like."
He didn't wait.
He kissed her deep, wet, and filthy. His tongue pushed past her lips and dragged hers into a rhythm her body didn't yet understand. He held her jaw gently, thumbs caressing her cheeks, guiding her without rushing. She moaned into his mouth, a sound full of surprise and raw arousal.
When he pulled back, her lips were kiss-bruised and glistening. Her eyes were dazed, her breath ragged.
"Lie back," he said. "Let me take care of you."
Her heart thudded against her ribs. But she nodded and lay down on the rough blanket near the fire. Her legs were tucked beneath her at first, modest and unsure, but her eyes stayed locked on him. Her deep brown skin shimmered in the firelight, glowing like embers.
Harry moved over her slowly, controlled, every movement tight with want. His hands braced on either side of her head, the pale skin of his arms lined with faint scars. The heat coming off him made her shiver.
"Harry… I've never even…"
"I know," he whispered. "I won't hurt you."
He kissed her again, slower now. One hand trailed down her side, skimming soaked fabric clinging to her skin. She twitched under his touch. Not in fear. In pressure. Anticipation. She was holding herself still, trembling with restraint.
His hand slid beneath her robe, the heat of her thigh meeting his palm. Smooth and firm. She gasped when he touched her, her hips jerking ever so slightly.
He kissed along her jaw, down her neck, slow and reverent. Her breath hitched. She didn't stop him.
"Tell me to stop, and I will."
She shook her head fast. "Please don't."
He slipped the outer robe from her shoulders. Her school blouse underneath was soaked and clung to her like skin. Her nipples pressed against the fabric, dark and tight, the shape of her breasts full and heavy.
He kissed her collarbone, then lower, letting his mouth trail heat over her damp chest. When he reached her breast, still covered, he sucked gently over the cloth. Her nipple pushed up against his lips, and she arched into him, moaning.
"Oh…"
Harry smiled faintly against her.
He reached for the buttons and undid them one by one. He didn't rush. Inch by inch, her skin was revealed. The firelight made her glow, deep brown, smooth, flawless.
When the blouse was gone, she lay beneath him in only her bra and wet knickers. Her chest rose and fell rapidly. Her breasts were round and heavy, barely contained by the thin cotton. Her nipples were dark, wide, clearly visible through the fabric, already hard.
"I'm burning," she whispered. "I can't think straight when you look at me like that."
"You don't need to think," he said, voice low. "Just feel."
He reached behind her and unhooked her bra. The cups fell away, and her breasts spilled free, soft and full, her nipples large, dark, and tight in the cold air. His pale hands moved to cup them, the contrast between them stark and stunning.
He rubbed one thumb over a nipple, and it hardened more beneath his touch. Her gasp was immediate. Her back arched, offering him more.
"Fuck," he whispered, admiring her. "You're perfect."
Then his hand moved lower.
He cupped her through the soaked cotton of her knickers. Her heat hit him instantly. Wet. Pulsing. His fingers pressed firmly, dragging against her folds through the fabric.
Then he felt it.
A soft, coarse tangle beneath the cloth, her pubic hair thick and damp. It rubbed against his palm, a wild, warm brush that made the touch feel even more raw.
He groaned.
Her pussy was soaked. Her panties clung to her, drenched and sticky, the wetness spreading as he moved his fingers up and down. She moaned loudly now, hips rising to meet his touch.
His fingers slid lower, pressing against the slick line of her slit, the soaked cotton dragging between her folds. He could feel her throbbing under his hand, her cunt pulsing, lips swollen and hot.
She whimpered.
Her thighs shook.
Her hands grabbed his arms.
She clung to him like she had no idea what came next, but she didn't want it to stop.
Harry leaned in and kissed her again, slow, deep, and consuming.
"Let me show you how it feels when someone makes you lose yourself."
Her voice cracked into a whisper.
"Okay…"
He slid her underwear down.
Her pussy was slick and untouched, folds glistening in the flickering light, framed by a thick, coarse bush of dark pubic hair that curled tightly, damp with her arousal. Her deep brown skin glowed under the firelight, smooth and rich like polished mahogany. Her thighs were tight with tension. Harry kissed her neck and her chest, letting her feel how much he wanted her, how he wasn't rushing or pushing.
She gasped when his fingers finally touched her properly, brushing through the wiry curls of her pubic hair, the texture rough and warm against his fingertips before he reached her soaked folds.
The moment his thumb brushed her clit, she arched, back lifting off the blanket, a cry escaping before she could stop it.
"Oh, Merlin... what...?"
Harry kept his touch soft, slow, circling her nub gently, fingers teasing along her slit without entering, gliding through the wet heat and tangled hair. Her hips bucked instinctively, as if her body already knew what it needed even if her mind didn't.
"Just feel it," he murmured, kissing her jaw. "You're perfect, Natty. Let me show you how good this gets."
She whimpered as his fingers slid lower, brushing her entrance, grazing the damp curls clinging to her skin. She was tight. Virgin-tight. But slick. So slick, she clenched around nothing.
Her breath came ragged now, her moans spilling out as his fingers dipped just inside. It was shallow, testing, parting her folds and feeling the coarse hair catch faintly against his knuckles. She held onto him like she might shatter, her breasts heaving, full and heavy, her dark nipples taut and puckered in the cool air.
"I don't think I can take much more."
"You can," he whispered, voice dark with need. "And you will. But not yet."
Harry kissed her fiercely, muffling her cries, his fingers working her slowly open, stroking through her slickness and the rough texture of her bush.
She didn't know sex could feel like this.
She'd thought it would hurt. Thought she'd be scared.
Instead, Natty burned.
And Harry looked at her like she was sacred, his pale skin flushed and scarred, contrasting with her smooth, deep brown curves.
He hovered above her, fingers still buried inside, stroking her gently from the inside while her slick walls fluttered around him. Her pubic hair brushed his wrist with every movement. Natty gasped, her hips grinding down against his hand without meaning to, her body chasing every curl of his fingers like it had a mind of its own. Her full breasts trembled, nipples hard and dark against her glowing skin.
"I didn't know..." she whispered, voice shaking. "I didn't know it could feel like this."
Harry smiled, brushing his lips against her cheek. "It gets better."
Her eyes fluttered open, wide and dazed. "How?"
"Let me show you."
He kissed her deeply as he pulled his fingers from her, slow and careful, the coarse hair at her entrance catching faintly on his skin as he withdrew. She whimpered at the loss. Her thighs trembled. Her body already ached to be filled again, but this time by him.
She looked down.
His cock was thick and hard, glistening with her slick where he'd rubbed against her thigh earlier. His pale skin stood out stark against the faint sheen of her arousal. The sight made her throat tighten with nerves and hunger.
"Will it hurt?" she asked quietly.
Harry cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing her bottom lip, his pale skin striking against her deep brown complexion, smooth and glowing in the firelight. "Only for a moment. I'll go slow. I promise."
She nodded, wide-eyed and flushed, her breath trembling. Her skin shimmered with a faint sheen of sweat, her full breasts rising and falling, her nipples dark and taut in the cool air. She trusted him completely.
He reached down and guided the tip of his cock to her entrance, brushing through the thick, curly bush of her pubic hair, coarse and damp with her arousal. The rough texture teased his sensitive skin. Her breath caught as he nudged forward, the head of his cock slipping against her slick lips, waiting and pressing, framed by the wiry curls.
Slowly, he eased into her.
The first push made her gasp. Her tightness almost stopped him entirely. Her pussy clenched hard around the tip, heat slick and trembling, the curls at her mound brushing along his shaft. He felt the resistance immediately.
"Breathe, Natty," he whispered, kissing her. "You're doing so well. Let me in."
She nodded again, though her hands clutched his shoulders tightly, her dark fingers digging into his pale, scarred skin. Her breath shuddered as her body slowly began to open. Inch by inch, he pushed deeper. Her walls stretched around him, hot and untrained, hugging every inch with desperate pressure. Her pubic hair scratched faintly against him. She whimpered, her back arching, breasts pressing up, nipples tight and prominent, trying to take him but fighting the ache.
Then he felt it, the moment her barrier gave.
There was a soft give, and Natty let out a sharp cry, her entire body tensing as he slipped past it. Her slick folds clung tightly around him, her coarse curls dragging along his shaft.
"Shh... I've got you," he murmured, kissing her cheek, then her temple. "That was the worst part. I promise."
She trembled, breath caught in her throat, eyes glistening at the corners. Her deep brown skin glistened too, her breasts heaving, nipples dark and flushed with arousal. But she didn't stop him. Her virgin cunt gripped him like it didn't know how to let go. Her body held him tight, her bush framing their joined flesh in a mess of dark curls matted with heat and slick.
"Almost there," he said softly, his voice shaking with the effort it took not to thrust.
He kissed her again, his hands moving over her waist and up to her breasts, heavy and warm in his palms. His thumbs brushed the stiff, dark peaks of her nipples, grounding her as the pressure grew.
And then, finally, he slid the rest of the way in.
His cock was buried to the hilt, wrapped in scorching heat and breathtaking tightness. A groan escaped him. Her legs twitched as her pussy adjusted, snug around him, pulsing in erratic waves. Her pubic hair scratched faintly against his pelvis, raw and intimate, slick and tangled.
Natty let out a strangled sound. "Oh god... it's... It's so much... I feel... full..."
Harry didn't move. He held her close and kissed her temple, giving her time. His hands cupped her breasts again, thumbs gliding softly over her taut nipples, coaxing them back into aching stiffness.
"I'm not moving until you're ready," he whispered.
Her walls fluttered around him, tight and uncertain. Then she exhaled.
"You can move."
He started slow.
The first stroke pulled a cry from her lips, half pain, half surprise. Her hips flinched. Her breasts trembled, nipples brushing against his chest.
The second had her moaning his name, less tense, more open.
By the third, her hips rose to meet him. Cautious, eager. Her thighs trembled as she adjusted, her breasts bouncing gently with each thrust, nipples grazing his pale skin.
Harry found a rhythm, deep and steady. Every motion drew a new sound from her lips, whimpers melting into soft cries. Her cunt clenched around him like it was memorizing every ridge and curve. Her pubic hair dragged along his skin with every movement, rough and wet, real, raw friction. The slap of skin filled the room, lewd and thick with heat.
"Harry..." she gasped. "It's too much... oh..."
Her head fell back. Her back arched. Her breasts lifted, nipples flushed and tight against her glistening brown skin.
He hit her spot again, then again.
Her moans cracked into broken gasps. Her hands clawed at his back, her fingers digging into his pale skin.
Her orgasm didn't sneak up. It crushed her.
She cried out loud, her whole body shaking. Her pussy clenched down around him, spasming in fierce waves. Her pubic hair, soaked and messy, dragged against his pelvis, her thighs quivering around his hips as she rode the crash.
"Fuck... oh... oh god... It's better than my fingers..."
Harry froze.
Mid-thrust.
He blinked down at her.
Natty's eyes widened. Her face turned scarlet against her deep brown skin, smooth and glistening with sweat under the firelight, her full breasts heaving, dark nipples still taut from her climax. "I... I didn't mean to say that..."
Harry grinned, his cock still twitching inside her, nestled in the wet heat of her pussy, her coarse pubic hair brushing against his skin. "Better than your fingers, huh?"
She covered her face with one hand, her dark fingers stark against her flushed cheeks. "Shut up."
"No, no," he chuckled. "That's high praise, Natty. Very high praise."
"You're such a prat."
Before she could say more, he started thrusting again.
Harder now.
No more teasing.
Her words collapsed into a cry. Her voice vanished beneath the sound of his hips slapping against her, deep and filthy. Her cunt welcomed every stroke, slick and raw, walls fluttering, still sensitive. Her thick, curly pubic hair was matted with their combined slick, dragging roughly against his pelvis. Her breasts shook beneath him, full and heavy, dark nipples firm and prominent, begging to be touched.
"You like teasing?" he growled in her ear. "Then take it."
She couldn't reply.
She couldn't speak.
He fucked her through the aftershocks of her climax, then pushed her toward another. Her nails clawed at his back, digging into his pale, scarred skin. Her mouth opened on his shoulder, her cries muffled against him. Her breasts pressed tight to his chest, her dark nipples dragging against his skin with every motion, hard and sensitive.
They came together, hard and messy.
Harry's cock jerked inside her and spilled thick, hot pulses of cum into her, filling her quivering pussy, mixing with the slickness and the curls at her entrance. Her pussy clenched again, milking him as another orgasm tore through her. Her deep brown skin flushed and glowing, her breasts trembled, her nipples dark and swollen. She sobbed his name into his skin, legs wrapped around his hips, nails pressed into his shoulders as her body trembled uncontrollably.
He collapsed over her, both of them gasping, skin sticky with sweat, magic, and sex. Her full breasts pressed against his chest, nipples still grazing him faintly.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Natty shifted under him, her deep brown skin slick with sweat, her breasts heavy against him.
"Harry..."
"Hmm?"
"Your cum is leaking out," she muttered.
He chuckled against her neck, his lips brushing the warm skin of her throat. "That's what happens."
She shoved at him, her face blazing, cheeks flushed red against her dark skin. "Get off."
He rolled to the side, just enough to let her move. But his cock slipped out with a wet squelch, and they both looked down.
Her thighs were a mess. His cum smeared her folds, dripping from her slit, pooling on the blanket, and soaking into the thick, curly bush of her pubic hair. The coarse strands were matted with a glossy sheen. Her deep brown skin glistened, coated in sweat and their combined release. Her breasts were still full and flushed, dark nipples softening but still prominent and sensitive.
Natty stared.
"That's... that's a lot."
Harry grinned, eyes dark, his pale skin stark against hers. "You took all of it."
She swallowed.
Still flushed.
Then slowly, she tilted her head.
"I've heard," she said carefully, "that the best way a witch can thank a wizard is with her mouth."
He raised a brow, surprised, firelight catching across his pale skin. "Where'd you hear that?"
"Girls' dormitory," she replied, her skin still flushed, breasts rising with each breath, nipples dark and faintly glistening. "Lots of rumors. Never knew if it was true."
Harry smirked. "Well... It's not a bad tradition."
Natty pushed him gently onto his back, crawling between his legs. Her full breasts swayed, nipples brushing his thighs as she moved closer. Her fingers wrapped around his half-hard cock, still wet with their mess. The coarse curls of her pubic hair brushed his skin as she settled in.
She hesitated.
"You don't have to," he said gently, his pale hand resting on her shoulder, a stark contrast to her smooth, dark skin.
"I want to."
She leaned down and licked a bead of cum from the tip, her tongue flicking over the sensitive head, her dark lips parting to taste him.
She blinked.
"...Salty," she muttered.
Harry laughed, his pale chest shaking.
But she didn't stop.
Tentatively, she opened her mouth and took him in, her lips sliding over the head and lower, her tongue swirling around him. Her breasts pressed to his thighs, nipples brushing faintly along his skin as she moved. The firelight danced across her skin as she sucked him slowly, experimentally.
He groaned, head tipping back.
"You're good at this," he breathed.
She pulled off with a wet pop, smirking faintly, lips wet and flushed. "Beginner's luck."
Then she took him again. Deeper this time. Her mouth was warm and wet, tongue teasing the underside of his cock as she adjusted her grip.
Her pace was slow, careful, and messy. She gagged once and pulled back, coughing softly, but she didn't stop. One hand gripped the base of his cock while the other braced against his thigh. Her breasts swayed gently with each motion, nipples grazing his skin. Her dark fingers held him steady against her mouth, her rhythm building.
Harry's hips twitched. His cock swelled again, growing fully hard in her mouth.
"Fuck... Natty... gonna cum..."
She didn't pull away.
He came with a groan, hot spurts hitting the back of her throat. She gagged again but swallowed most of it, eyes watering, her skin flushed, her breasts trembling as she steadied herself. When she pulled off, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, coughing once. Her lips glistened with spit and a trace of cum.
Harry stared at her, wide-eyed, his pale skin flushed.
She blinked.
"Well. That was... something."
"You okay?" he asked, sitting up. He reached out, brushing her shoulder.
She nodded, still glowing, her breasts heavy, nipples soft but dark and tender. "Weird texture. Not terrible. Just... weird."
He smiled, his chest still heaving. "You're amazing."
She shrugged, lips curving slightly. "It was my thank-you."
He pulled her into his lap, pressing a soft kiss to her temple. His pale skin warmed against her dark cheek, her breasts soft against his chest, nipples brushing faintly with every breath.
"Best thank-you I've ever had," he murmured.
Natty smirked, settling against him, her skin slick with sweat, her body warm and loose, her breasts pressing close, her nipples soft but still sensitive.
They cuddled in silence.
Rain fell.
The child didn't stir.
Later, Natty lay curled into his side on the conjured mat, her cheek pressed to his chest, breath slow and even. One of her legs was still draped over his. Her inner thighs stuck faintly as they dried, the mess between them now cold. Her knickers lay somewhere near the hearth, forgotten.
Harry stared up at the ceiling beams, unable to sleep.
Not because he regretted it.
But because the silence was too full.
They didn't speak again that night.
And when morning came, neither of them reached for the other first.
. . .
Morning broke slow and gray over the Highlands. The storm had passed, leaving behind a wet hush and a sky still streaked with bruised clouds. Pale light filtered through the arrow slits in the crumbling stone, illuminating the watchtower in a soft, cold haze.
Harry stirred the damp chill of the conjured mat biting into his spine. The fire had long since died down, leaving only a faint, smoky warmth in the air. His clothes clung to his skin. Every muscle ached, but it wasn't the pain that made him still.
It was the emptiness beside him.
Natty was gone from the mat.
He sat up slowly. His trousers were half-buttoned, his skin sticky, thighs still marked with the mess they'd made hours ago. He adjusted himself quietly, cleaned with a half-hearted charm, and then glanced around.
The child stirred near the fire, a small body wrapped in conjured blankets. Her eyes blinked open slowly, gaze vacant and dazed but calm. She looked toward the doorway as if sensing something before she even registered where she was.
Harry followed her line of sight.
Natty stood at the door.
She was fully dressed. Her uniform, wrinkled and stained, clung to her like armor. Her cloak was pulled tight around her shoulders. Her hair had been tied back, still damp from the storm, though her skin was dry. Pale.
Her expression was unreadable.
She didn't look at him for several seconds. She just stared out at the gray hills beyond the tower, eyes locked on something far away. Maybe nothing at all.
Then she looked over her shoulder.
Just once.
"We never talk about it," she said. Her voice was flat. Not angry. Not broken. Just distant.
Harry held her gaze for a breath.
He nodded.
She turned toward the mist outside and stepped forward, boots crunching faintly on the wet stone threshold. But as she moved, Harry noticed it.
Her hand, subtle and slow, curled inward. She clutched her lower stomach, not like she was in pain, but like something deep inside her had tightened. Her steps didn't falter, but her shoulders tensed slightly as if the ache had weight. Meaning.
She didn't look back again.
Harry sat still as the girl beside him began to stir properly, yawning quietly.
Outside, the wind moved gently through the hills, no longer howling.
But inside the tower, silence lingered. Something had been unleashed that night, inside him, inside her, and no words now could put it back.
---
Thanks for reading. This fic will run for six chapters, straight through the Hogwarts Legacy AU to the end of Voldemort. Expect angst. Expect smut. Chapter 3 (Harry x Poppy x Natty) is already up on P*treon. Every chapter will hit 10k words, minimum.
If you want early access, alternate scenes, or the uncensored stuff, you can support the story here: P*treon.c*m/OmniNymph
Commissions and prompts are open. You can reach me on my Discord profile name: omni_nymph
Got feedback? A kink you want to see? Something I missed or messed up? Drop a comment or DM. I read everything. I don't shy away from detail, so tell me exactly what you want more of.